(OOC: Coding will be done sometime tomorrow afternoon.)

“We’re sorry, but the number you’ve contacted cannot be reached right now. Please, try again at a later-”

Click.

Scoops McGee turned off the attempted phone call once again, looking with tired eyes as the caller log revealed a disheartening amount of phone calls sent to the same number, all of which having given him the same response.

“I… don’t think you’re gonna be able to talk to her, Scoops,” Noah hesitantly offered as he walked behind him among the busy streets of Pittsburgh. His teeth chattered with every step he took, the cold permeating through even the layers he had on. Winter was nearing its end, but this was still its last laugh.

“Ain’t gonna stop me from tryin’, boah,” Scoops sighed dejectedly. “I just wish I knew what her actual, new phone number was now.”

So it’s a her, Noah furrowed his brows in realization as they started to turn a corner together. He watched as Scoops put his hands in his pockets, his gaze turned off towards the distance. With silence hanging over the two for a short period of time, Noah finally asked the question that had been looming within his mind.

“So, where are we actually going, anyway?”

Scoops shrugged. “Off to see a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yep.”

Noah scrunched his brows together yet again. Scoops was being unnaturally coy about all of this. He knew how to dance around a subject, but this was something else entirely. “I wouldn’t know about this guy, would I?”

“Nope,” Scoops responded. Feeling Noah’s trained eyes still on him, Scoops sighed and relented only slightly. “We’re goin’ to see this guy for information. Back in my day, this guy was reliable for scopin’ out solid bookings, or if you really wanted to track a guy down, he was the man to talk to. I never really had an agent, back in the day, but this guy was the closest one to it, y’know?”

Finally, an actual answer. Noah nodded slightly, but another question still tugged away at him from all of this being revealed. “Back in your day… what, is he not really reliable now?”

“Nah, he is. Only keeps himself active for so many people, though,” Scoops nodded. He stopped, looking at the William Penn Tavern off to the side, with many a drinker and sports fan enjoying themselves within. On one screen hanging above the bar, reruns of XWF matches were being shown as a man with a suit and gray hair were enjoying an order of buffalo wings.

As Scoops squinted through the window, he realized the match that was playing - the Anarchy Championship match he had with Dom Strife on Anarchy. The Xtreme Championship match…

…that he got screwed out of.

“Sonuvabitch,” Scoops cursed as he walked his way into the tavern, leaving Noah to try and catch up. Hardly anyone paid attention to the old-timer as he walked inside, the bandana helping to obscure some of his face from the rest of the crowd. Others raised an eyebrow at Noah lugging along his camera, but said nothing.

As Scoops plopped himself down next to the suited man, he rested his chin in his palm while shooting a glare at him. “Gettin’ real cozy while watchin’ some raggedy cunt kickin’ me in the jewels, huh, Carl?”

Carl snickered while turning over to see the old-timer, and spread his arms out wide to welcome him. “What, I don’t get a ‘hello’ first? Figured I owed it to you to keep up with the new career, now that you’re back at it, am I right?”

Taking the second tray of buffalo wings that were in front of him, Carl placed them right in front of Scoops. “Go on. Have it, on me. Ordered it for you when I knew you were close by.”

Scoops grumbled, but didn’t complain. His stomach was growling, and spicy wings were just the thing to sate him. A small dip in the accompanied ranch was all he needed to try and fill himself and the irritability he carried with him.

Noah took the seat on the other side of Scoops, carefully craning his camera over to watch him and Carl. Noah was reminded of Joseph at first as he looked at Carl, another of Scoops’ old friends from his time wrestling, but then he had to correct himself. They both had easy smiles, but there was an air of approachability with Joseph. He was a drunkard, but he was the type to welcome you warmly and share some stories by the fire as he indulged in his vice of choice.

Carl was different. Just from hearing his voice, Noah could tell. Carl was the type to rub his hands together and smell money in the air. He was the man who could try to sell you sand in the middle of the desert. He was the man who always looked for opportunity at every turn.

It just so happened that his opportunity was information.

“Who’s this, a friend of yours?” Carl pointed at Noah before beginning to peck at another wing on his tray. “Should’ve told me you were bringing someone along, Terry. I would’ve ordered more wings.”

Scoops finished the bite in his mouth, before sighing and turning to Carl. “He’s my damn cameraman, if you oughta know. Sometimes the little fucker comes and he grows on me, though. He’s an honest sort like that. Ain’t that right, Noah?”

The more time Noah was spending around Scoops, the more time he was finding it in himself to throw more compliments his way every now and then. That brought a smile along Noah’s face as he nodded. “Right. Uh… I’m Noah, Noah Larson. The pleasure’s mine, Mister…?”

“Charles Tanner,” the man grinned. “You can just call me Carl though, how’s that? How ‘bout I get you some wings, Noah? What kind do you want?”

“Oh, I’m not really one for spicy food…” Noah sheepishly admitted. “Garlic parmesan sounds good though!”

Scoops straightened at that revelation from Noah, giving him one hell of a stink-eye in response that made Noah squirm in his seat. “Oh, we’re gonna change that soon, boah, yes we are.”

The thought of what could be coming from that made Noah gulp, and Carl chuckled at the sight. “You’re gonna terrorize that kid, huh? Big bad Terry lookin’ to scare the scrawny little cameraguy?”

“Aw, shut the hell up, Carl…” Scoops grumbled as he downed another wing, rubbing out some of the buffalo sauce that was getting caught up in his beard. “I need a goddamn beer, at this rate.”

“Drinking so soon?” Carl hummed, his smile not wavering. “Before we get to the good bits?”

This was what Scoops came here for. Now it was Noah’s turn to straighten, ignoring the barkeep who was already getting to work on his order as he tried to listen in.

Scoops kept his haggard eyes on the TV screen, huffing as he saw Dominick Strife pinning him thanks to the timely assistance from Madison Dyson. Without even looking down or at Carl, Scoops reached into his pocket, pulling out a small collection of crisp $100 bills for him. Noah’s eyes widened at the amount of money being moved in one sitting like that.

“That enough?” Scoops asked.

“Money-wise, it sure is,” Carl hummed as he counted the bills before pocketing it all. His gaze turned up towards the TV, the two watching the celebration take place to close Anarchy. “He’s pretty good. Young, wet behind the ears, but skilled. He’ll do pretty good with that belt.”

“Sure hope so,” Scoops grumbled. “Need to beat him later to settle the damn score.”

Noah was a fly on the wall, but he wanted so badly to speak out. What the hell were they doing? Scoops pays a small fortune, and now they’re stuck making small talk again? There had to be something behind this.

“Must have hurt, losing that belt so quickly,” Carl noted as the feed faded out, only for the TV to churn out another XWF replay, this time going back to Snow Holds Barred. “You’re the man who got a pinfall victory over Kieran King of all people to make that happen!”

“I technically didn’t even defend the damn thing once, that’s what’s so frustratin’,” Scoops grumbled. “I ain’t gonna take the win away from the boah, but it’s too damn easy to just think… ‘what if,’ y’know?”

“And that’s a dangerous line of thought to go down, old friend. You start thinking about the what ifs, should haves, and if onlys in life…”

“Yeah, yeah, if wishes were fishes, then the world would be an ocean,” Scoops huffed and rolled his eyes as he downed another wing. “What else do ya need?”

Carl mulled it over for a bit, before shrugging. “Well, I guess I can’t get any private information out of you, considering that damn camera’s watching us.”

Noah felt immediately out of place, even as his wings were served to him from the barkeep. Still, the dots all connected into place. It was no wonder Carl wasn’t only interested in money if he really was an information broker of sorts. That was the tool of his trade, how he kept his wheels spinning.

Am I ruining this for Scoops? Noah thought as his finger hesitantly trailed over to turn off the recording.

Before he could follow through with that, though, Carl continued. “Well, if I can’t get some of the secret stuff out of you because of that, I think I’ll just stick with the obvious juicy question. How long is this last dance of yours gonna go on for, Terry?”

“Til’ the wheels fall off, I guess,” Scoops shrugged without a second thought.

That brought a chuckle out of Carl. “What, you think you’re gonna be content if you just go up and die out there? That’s what the kid was saying before your match, you know.”

“The kid can think whatever the hell he wants to,” Scoops quickly responded. “I ain’t plannin’ on dyin’ any time soon. What I want is the same as I’ve been wantin’ since forever - a goddamn top championship around my waist.”

“And you’re just gonna give it all up when you lose that Universal title - if you even make it to the top of the mountain to begin with?” Carl smirked. “Terry, I’m sorry for being a skeptic, but like… wrestling in your sixties? I’m sorry, but you’ve gotta hear some of the fans. They caught on with that one announcer, uh… Brody, right? He’s talkin’ about it on screen right now - they’re calling this shit your ‘Suicide Tour.’ You wanna know how they came to that conclusion?”

Scoops was dead silent, continuing to stare at the TV screen as the opener of Snow Holds Barred - the six-man tag he had found himself wrapped up in between Roxy Cotton and Game Girl to take on one of XWF’s many Revolutions.

“Because you’re going out there, trying to figure out the world record for how many concussions you can get in a single match. You’re going out there breaking your bones on a bi-weekly basis. You’re going out there figuring out how much the human body can physically bleed before they pass out. You say you don’t want to die out there, but that might as well be putting you on the fast track to an early grave, you know?”

“You gonna tell me what I wanna know, or are you gonna keep wastin’ time tryin’ to insult me, boah?” Scoops finally snapped, jerking his head at Carl.

He innocently raised his hands, noting the rise he had gotten out of him. “I’m just worried about you, Terry. Hell, a lot of the old boys are. They love the fact that you’re enjoying the fame again, but… they don’t like seein’ you get hurt. Again.”

“If you’re worried about me, then you can tell me what the hell I wanna know.”

Carl nodded at that, drumming his fingers on the countertop in deep thought. “Well… one more thing, before I do.”

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go again…” Scoops groaned as he buried his face in his hand.

“Relax a minute, Terry,” Carl chuckled as he clapped Scoops on the shoulder. “Why don’t you tell me about the guy you’re facing on Warfare next, right? Larry Tact?”

“Surprised you don’t know enough about that jackass already,” Scoops scoffed.

Carl shrugged. “I like getting individual perspectives. Besides, I figure it can double as one of those promos you like doing every now and then.”

“Where do I even begin…” Scoops took a deep breath, exhaling away all of the tension that had been accumulating itself in his chest. “He’s a vet of the business, like me. Can’t take that away from him. He’s been elsewhere in that goddamn Level Up place - I’ll tell ya somethin’ right now, I don’t give a rat’s ass what he’s done elsewhere. Right now, I’m lookin’ at the present, and you know what the present’s tellin’ me, Carl? The present is tellin’ me that jackass ain’t ready for the prime time.”

“Larry’s like a two-bit version of Kieran, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he ain’t showin’ nearly as much talent to back up what got him to this point. He’s got all the advantages in the world - all the money, the companies, the state-of-the-art training, all of it. And you know somethin’, that piece of shit still got taken to school by Aurora, bless that little girl’s heart. That sack of shit went and got himself dogwalked by Sarah Wolf live on TV. You look at all those advantages he’s got for himself, and they ain’t doin’ shit for him.”

“Oh, but he’s got plenty of excuses though, that he does. He’ll yap up a storm, goin’ on about wantin’ to be a ‘builder.’ The only thing that jackass needs to build is some goddamn dignity and grit. He ain’t raisin’ the level of anything, the way he is right now. We’ve both been fallin’ on some hard times, and you know, they know that. Why else do you think they’re jumpin’ at the chance to put us on as the opening act of all things?”

“I don’t mind bein’ an openin’ act if I need to be, but a guy like Tact, I’ve seen his type so many times before, and I know that’s gonna eat him alive. He’ll see it as a slight against him. And you know what? He should see it as a slight against him. This company doesn’t wanna put any more promotional weight behind him. He squandered goin’ over the boss man himself by not bein’ able to get the job done.”

“Even if I’m down in the muck with him right now, I know that shit ain’t gonna stop me. My run’s been like a roller coaster so far - plenty of ups, plenty of downs, and I know that’s gonna keep continuing. But what I know isn’t gonna be continuing when I’m done is Tact’s ego after I’m done knocking the teeth right out of that jackass when I smash my damn forearm into him. Tact wants to talk the talk, alright, but he can’t walk the walk anymore. He’s gonna walk out to that ring, and he knows this is gonna be his last chance to make somethin’ of himself. Going down three in a row to some heavy hitters, well… that’s gonna start the death spiral for him. The question of ‘can I really do this?’ is only gonna get louder… and louder for him.”

“The only Tact Fact Larry needs to be concernin’ himself with is the odds of him scrapin’ by ole’ Scoops has never looked slimmer. I’m a dog on the hunt again, lookin’ for gold, for blood, for glory. And old Larry? He’s a wounded mutt. He tries not to show, but he’s more wounded than me, yes siree, and come Warfare? I’m gonna put that mutt out of his misery.”

“Not bad,” Carl nodded. He seemed truly satisfied with Scoops’ work, before he finally sighed in recognition. “Sabrina McGee. I haven’t been able to find any trace of her, or her maiden name, anywhere in Iowa or the midwest. I’ve been trying to expand my search, but…”

“And I just paid you a damn fortune and rattled off a storm for you to give me jack shit?” Scoops scoffed in disgust, facepalming yet again. “What the fuck are you even good for?”

“I didn’t say my search was done yet, did I?” Carl frowned. “We’ll have to try and look together if you wanna see her again.”

“S-Scoops…” Noah finally talked again after a long time, remembering the picture he saw back at Joseph’s home. “This Sabrina… is she your wife?”

Scoops released a haggard sigh, shaking his head. “...Ex. Ex-wife, boah.”

Things were finally starting to make sense as Noah nodded. No wonder Scoops had been so obsessed with trying to talk to her again… but before Noah could truly let that sink in, he watched as Carl reached into his jacket.

“There’s more, old friend,” Carl said as he slipped Scoops a note. “You got mail. Got handed this the other day from an old acquaintance of yours.”

Scoops furrowed his brow, snatching the white envelope away from Carl and opening it for himself. But as he read the ornate cursive of the letter, his face paled in recognition.

“Mother of God…”