06-28-2019, 05:12 PM
07-02-2019, 06:00 PM
JULY 1, 2019
Canada Day
Toronto, Ontario
The sound of exploding fireworks can be heard, with the image in the distance illuminating the night sky. Atop the Drake Hotel on Queen Street - not named after the actor-turned-rapper-turned basketball mascot - the properties’ owners, Donovan Kayl and his wife Chloe Barnes-Kayl share a reclining lawn chair, gazing out upon the night sky.
“Every year, these fireworks get bigger,” Donovan exclaims. It was true - every year, more people expect more fireworks, bigger fireworks. More explosions and colours blasting into the night sky, set off by people who probably drank one-too-many domestic beers attempting not to sacrifice any of their limbs to the nation they call home. Donovan looks to his side, seeing the wonder in his wife’s eyes, as he subtly pulled her closer to him. It was their tenth Canada Day “together” - their romantic relationship not having started until 2010, although they had been business and tag team partners and close friends for much of the preceding decade. But in Donovan’s mind, everything resets at the Drake.
“Well, of course they get bigger,” Chloe responds. “The guy in charge of the fireworks always wants to prove that his dick is bigger than the guy that did it last year. And so on and so forth, oh-bla-dee, oh-bla-dah.”
Donovan could only laugh. His wife - in her career the premier trash talker in professional wrestling - was never one to mince words. Still, it had been a whirlwind 48 hours. From the SCW house show Saturday night to the funeral for Ricky Octavius in Los Angeles on Sunday, back across the continent and out of the country to the couple’s Toronto property, the time had been a mix of laughter and tears, happiness and sadness, reminiscing and reminiscing.
It seems that, no matter when or under what circumstances people gather, there’s always reminiscing.
Donovan looks to Chloe again, this time catching her looking back at him. He smiles…
“Just think,” he begins. “This time next year, I’ll be up here with you a retired man… no rushing away to attend any shows… no thoughts about whoever is going out there trash talking me. Just a simple, quiet life with the woman I love and the family we share.”
“Donovan,” Chloe says, successfully containing the laughter she has in her throat… barely. “What in our lives has ever been simple and quiet?”
“Good point,” he says, acquiescing the point. The craziness of professional wrestling was one thing. But this was a couple with twin infants and an eight-year-old running around in circles. The idea of anything being “simple” and “quiet” was a pipe dream to be held onto for another 18 years. “Well, whenever time does slow down and we get a little simpler and quieter, I’ll still be right here by your side, watching these fireworks.”
Chloe smiles, leaning over and kissing her husband gently on the rooftop. She moves closer, resting her head on his chest as he moves his arm inward, pulling her closer still.
“Did you ever think of running this city?” Chloe asked. Donovan couldn’t tell if she was being serious or tongue-in-cheek. Still, he thought about it… “Or the province? Maybe the country? I mean yeah, politicians basically suck and can only ever get half of the population on their side, but I think you could get 51… 52… maybe as high as 55% support.”
“Jeeze, when you put it like that…” Donovan says, laughing again.
As more fireworks hurtle into the Toronto sky, exploding in sight, the scene fades…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ANOTHER TIME BACK AT THE YOAN ACADEMY…
The scene opens up inside the Youth of a Nation Wrestling Academy offices. A young woman previously unseen by our SCW-sanctioned supervision - where we see everything that happens in an unofficial capacity - works over a punching back with a series of elbows and high kicks. As some intense workout music plays - picture something like “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor or “Never” by Moving Pictures - she goes through a workout montage, culminating in her working directly with Donovan. As the song - whichever one you’re using here - builds to its crescendo, she does a handspring off the ropes, bouncing back and hitting a standing moonsault across Donovan’s chest with the momentum. Your song ends, and the woman turns to Donovan, reaching out her hand. He takes it and she pulls him to his feet.
“Good workout,” he says. “I see Vik has been going through the right drills with you.”
“Vik doesn’t have a choice,” the woman exclaims. She has a rather noticeable Hispanic accent in her words. “Is it true he attempted to abduct Chloe once or “The Agency”? And couldn’t they have come up with a better name for “The Agency” than “The Agency”?”
“Yes, they could have,” Donovan begins. “But Vik wasn’t the one who was involved in that. That was a man by the name of Jonathan Merrick… I guess Chloe has been giving you history lessons as well.”
“What’s a secret between hermanas?” she asks, flawlessly transitioning from English to (we assume) her native Spanish. Still… the shocker here for anyone who has followed Donovan Kayl and Chloe Barnes-Kayl throughout their shared history is in the translation for the word “hermanas”... “sisters”. Donovan, however, appears unaffected by this, suggesting that this woman isn’t new to their lives.
“I suppose you have a point there,” Donovan relents. Moving over to the water cooler, he pulls out a bottle, tossing it over to the woman before taking one out himself. “The wrestling industry… for all the income potential there is there… can be full of some bizarre situations, that’s for sure.”
“All in the name of “sports entertainment”, I’m told,” the woman responds. The term “sports entertainment” made Donovan wince just a bit, still stinging from the attack last month at the hands of The Network.
“You know, it’s funny…” he begins. “10 years ago, our family was under attack by people who thought they would lecture us on the merits of professional wrestling over “soap opera bullshit” - their words. Now, here we are 10 years later, and I’m being confronted with the preference of “sports entertainment” over professional wrestling. I don’t think I’ve changed any… yet here we are, and I’m to accept that I’m on the ‘wrong side” without ever picking a side to begin with.”
He laughs again. For Donovan, the dichotomy between the two terms was never really evident. He was always able to flow consistently and seamlessly throughout both sides of the great debate.
“So this Steward puta,” the woman interjects, mentioning “Steward” in an effort to prompt more from Donovan’s mind. He just shakes his head…
“Katie Steward…” and shrugs his shoulders. “Katie Steward and TJ Johnson have been on this supposed crusade to extoll the values of sports entertainment. And I get it. Without having something to draw the people in, we’re just a bunch of people facing each other. Even in legitimate sport, the highest drawing contests are the ones with some narrative behind it. That said, TJ Johnson paid some goons to jump me in order to make an “entertaining” story, which would be the first time TJ Johnson accomplished entertaining anyone.”
The woman laughs.
“It’s all leading somewhere,” Donovan nods his head. “I can feel it… but until Katie actually accepts that it’s leading somewhere, all I can do is spin my wheels in place. That’s the most frustrating thing, These people are getting on my last nerve, and with the end so close…”
Donovan trails off. The woman walks over, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Do you want me to embarrass them?” she asks completely unironically. She absolutely appears like she would, but Donovan shakes his head.
“No,” he answers. “This is my fight, and even if it’s the last one I’ll have, I have to do it myself. You just make sure you get ready for when you debut somewhere.”
“If you say so,” the woman responds. “So we’re still on for RTG weekend?”
“What?” Donovan asks playfully. “You actually want to come around SCW?”
“I can take care of myself, Don,” she answers. “Besides. With the way you’ve been training me, that place might be a good path to follow.”
Donovan thinks about it… he’d been training this woman now for about 2 years, ever since she came into his life as his wife’s half-sister. Now she’s talking SCW.
“If you think you can handle it,” he responds. It was a serious response. He had no fewer than four students follow him to SCW, only to pull out after a few months. Still, the woman scoffs.
“Please,” she says with a sense of derision. “Of course I can handle it. I put up with you, don’t it?”
Donovan laughs. “That you do, Eva…”
As the pair continue to converse, the scene cuts to black…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lights…
...Camera…
...Action!
Donovan Kayl, the Cornerstone of Professional Wrestling, sits in the empty gym of the Youth of a Nation Wrestling Academy. He looks to the camera, one that he commissioned from his cousin Brittany’s Kayl TV venture, with a smirk on his face.
“So that sucked…”
He pauses, realizing immediately the need for clarification.
“Not SCW Breakdown itself. In all my years of professional wrestling - all 24 of them, set to come to an end in a few short weeks - there hasn’t been a company putting on as consistent a product as Supreme Championship Wrestling. It’s a testament to the talent of the roster that this company has survived at such a high level for so long, especially in a business where companies peak and valley with frightening regularity. But the last time I stepped into the ring on Breakdown, well… it kind of sucked.”
Donovan laughs.
“I mean, how else could I describe a night where I basically get the shit kicked out of me by Xander Valentine… by the way, Xander - I’m still fucking standing… and then got blindsided in the medic’s office by The Network at the behest and contracted payment of TJ Johnson? Overall, that night sucked. It sucked to have the performance I did against a man like Xander Valentine. I mean, shit… I’m trying to show that I still have some fire, that I’m not an old dog looking to be brought out behind the woodshed and given the Old Yeller treatment by Xander Valentine to send a message to someone else, and instead I had people telling me after the match “So THAT’S why you’re retiring” like I should just shrug my shoulders and say “At least it’s a job”... it’s not. It’s never been just “a job” to me. This has been my LIFE, and it KILLED me inside to have THAT kind of performance when I’m riding off into the sunset. So that was a thing that happened. And if that wasn’t bad enough…”
Donovan scoffed, shaking his head.
“The fucking Network decided to take the payday and jump a wounded man. Now, I did right that wrong the next week, procuring the information as to who paid them from Jack Parker in two ways he’d understand - force and finances - it’s still kind of nagging at me. And while this thing with Katie Steward… Professional Wrestling versus Sports Entertainment… is going somewhere if I have anything to say about it, I’m still left stinging with the idea of being so callously treated at Breakdown. Which brings me here… to Dante McCaffery.
I’ll be honest. I don’t pay attention to the details quite as much as I used to. I’m not saying I checked out, but until three weeks ago, I didn’t have The Network or Dante McCaffery on my radar. So, to that end, I don’t know if they are still associated with one another or if Dante just drew the short straw of someone having to face a pissed off Cornerstone feeling like he has something to prove. Because that is exactly what I am right now. After Xander whipped my ass three weeks ago, I’m feeling like I have a whole lot to prove. I’m here to prove that I’m not a wounded dog limping to the finish line. Dante… you’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Donovan stands up in the ring, pulling on the ropes to help him up.
“Because I am walking towards the setting sun, but when it sets, I will be remembered not as a whipping boy. I will be remembered as the seven-time World Champion. I will be remembered as Toronto’s favourite son. I will be remembered as The Cornerstone of Professional Wrestling! And that exclamation mark is coming POINT. BLANK!”
With that, the scene fades out completely.
Canada Day
Toronto, Ontario
The sound of exploding fireworks can be heard, with the image in the distance illuminating the night sky. Atop the Drake Hotel on Queen Street - not named after the actor-turned-rapper-turned basketball mascot - the properties’ owners, Donovan Kayl and his wife Chloe Barnes-Kayl share a reclining lawn chair, gazing out upon the night sky.
“Every year, these fireworks get bigger,” Donovan exclaims. It was true - every year, more people expect more fireworks, bigger fireworks. More explosions and colours blasting into the night sky, set off by people who probably drank one-too-many domestic beers attempting not to sacrifice any of their limbs to the nation they call home. Donovan looks to his side, seeing the wonder in his wife’s eyes, as he subtly pulled her closer to him. It was their tenth Canada Day “together” - their romantic relationship not having started until 2010, although they had been business and tag team partners and close friends for much of the preceding decade. But in Donovan’s mind, everything resets at the Drake.
“Well, of course they get bigger,” Chloe responds. “The guy in charge of the fireworks always wants to prove that his dick is bigger than the guy that did it last year. And so on and so forth, oh-bla-dee, oh-bla-dah.”
Donovan could only laugh. His wife - in her career the premier trash talker in professional wrestling - was never one to mince words. Still, it had been a whirlwind 48 hours. From the SCW house show Saturday night to the funeral for Ricky Octavius in Los Angeles on Sunday, back across the continent and out of the country to the couple’s Toronto property, the time had been a mix of laughter and tears, happiness and sadness, reminiscing and reminiscing.
It seems that, no matter when or under what circumstances people gather, there’s always reminiscing.
Donovan looks to Chloe again, this time catching her looking back at him. He smiles…
“Just think,” he begins. “This time next year, I’ll be up here with you a retired man… no rushing away to attend any shows… no thoughts about whoever is going out there trash talking me. Just a simple, quiet life with the woman I love and the family we share.”
“Donovan,” Chloe says, successfully containing the laughter she has in her throat… barely. “What in our lives has ever been simple and quiet?”
“Good point,” he says, acquiescing the point. The craziness of professional wrestling was one thing. But this was a couple with twin infants and an eight-year-old running around in circles. The idea of anything being “simple” and “quiet” was a pipe dream to be held onto for another 18 years. “Well, whenever time does slow down and we get a little simpler and quieter, I’ll still be right here by your side, watching these fireworks.”
Chloe smiles, leaning over and kissing her husband gently on the rooftop. She moves closer, resting her head on his chest as he moves his arm inward, pulling her closer still.
“Did you ever think of running this city?” Chloe asked. Donovan couldn’t tell if she was being serious or tongue-in-cheek. Still, he thought about it… “Or the province? Maybe the country? I mean yeah, politicians basically suck and can only ever get half of the population on their side, but I think you could get 51… 52… maybe as high as 55% support.”
“Jeeze, when you put it like that…” Donovan says, laughing again.
As more fireworks hurtle into the Toronto sky, exploding in sight, the scene fades…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ANOTHER TIME BACK AT THE YOAN ACADEMY…
The scene opens up inside the Youth of a Nation Wrestling Academy offices. A young woman previously unseen by our SCW-sanctioned supervision - where we see everything that happens in an unofficial capacity - works over a punching back with a series of elbows and high kicks. As some intense workout music plays - picture something like “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor or “Never” by Moving Pictures - she goes through a workout montage, culminating in her working directly with Donovan. As the song - whichever one you’re using here - builds to its crescendo, she does a handspring off the ropes, bouncing back and hitting a standing moonsault across Donovan’s chest with the momentum. Your song ends, and the woman turns to Donovan, reaching out her hand. He takes it and she pulls him to his feet.
“Good workout,” he says. “I see Vik has been going through the right drills with you.”
“Vik doesn’t have a choice,” the woman exclaims. She has a rather noticeable Hispanic accent in her words. “Is it true he attempted to abduct Chloe once or “The Agency”? And couldn’t they have come up with a better name for “The Agency” than “The Agency”?”
“Yes, they could have,” Donovan begins. “But Vik wasn’t the one who was involved in that. That was a man by the name of Jonathan Merrick… I guess Chloe has been giving you history lessons as well.”
“What’s a secret between hermanas?” she asks, flawlessly transitioning from English to (we assume) her native Spanish. Still… the shocker here for anyone who has followed Donovan Kayl and Chloe Barnes-Kayl throughout their shared history is in the translation for the word “hermanas”... “sisters”. Donovan, however, appears unaffected by this, suggesting that this woman isn’t new to their lives.
“I suppose you have a point there,” Donovan relents. Moving over to the water cooler, he pulls out a bottle, tossing it over to the woman before taking one out himself. “The wrestling industry… for all the income potential there is there… can be full of some bizarre situations, that’s for sure.”
“All in the name of “sports entertainment”, I’m told,” the woman responds. The term “sports entertainment” made Donovan wince just a bit, still stinging from the attack last month at the hands of The Network.
“You know, it’s funny…” he begins. “10 years ago, our family was under attack by people who thought they would lecture us on the merits of professional wrestling over “soap opera bullshit” - their words. Now, here we are 10 years later, and I’m being confronted with the preference of “sports entertainment” over professional wrestling. I don’t think I’ve changed any… yet here we are, and I’m to accept that I’m on the ‘wrong side” without ever picking a side to begin with.”
He laughs again. For Donovan, the dichotomy between the two terms was never really evident. He was always able to flow consistently and seamlessly throughout both sides of the great debate.
“So this Steward puta,” the woman interjects, mentioning “Steward” in an effort to prompt more from Donovan’s mind. He just shakes his head…
“Katie Steward…” and shrugs his shoulders. “Katie Steward and TJ Johnson have been on this supposed crusade to extoll the values of sports entertainment. And I get it. Without having something to draw the people in, we’re just a bunch of people facing each other. Even in legitimate sport, the highest drawing contests are the ones with some narrative behind it. That said, TJ Johnson paid some goons to jump me in order to make an “entertaining” story, which would be the first time TJ Johnson accomplished entertaining anyone.”
The woman laughs.
“It’s all leading somewhere,” Donovan nods his head. “I can feel it… but until Katie actually accepts that it’s leading somewhere, all I can do is spin my wheels in place. That’s the most frustrating thing, These people are getting on my last nerve, and with the end so close…”
Donovan trails off. The woman walks over, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Do you want me to embarrass them?” she asks completely unironically. She absolutely appears like she would, but Donovan shakes his head.
“No,” he answers. “This is my fight, and even if it’s the last one I’ll have, I have to do it myself. You just make sure you get ready for when you debut somewhere.”
“If you say so,” the woman responds. “So we’re still on for RTG weekend?”
“What?” Donovan asks playfully. “You actually want to come around SCW?”
“I can take care of myself, Don,” she answers. “Besides. With the way you’ve been training me, that place might be a good path to follow.”
Donovan thinks about it… he’d been training this woman now for about 2 years, ever since she came into his life as his wife’s half-sister. Now she’s talking SCW.
“If you think you can handle it,” he responds. It was a serious response. He had no fewer than four students follow him to SCW, only to pull out after a few months. Still, the woman scoffs.
“Please,” she says with a sense of derision. “Of course I can handle it. I put up with you, don’t it?”
Donovan laughs. “That you do, Eva…”
As the pair continue to converse, the scene cuts to black…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lights…
...Camera…
...Action!
Donovan Kayl, the Cornerstone of Professional Wrestling, sits in the empty gym of the Youth of a Nation Wrestling Academy. He looks to the camera, one that he commissioned from his cousin Brittany’s Kayl TV venture, with a smirk on his face.
“So that sucked…”
He pauses, realizing immediately the need for clarification.
“Not SCW Breakdown itself. In all my years of professional wrestling - all 24 of them, set to come to an end in a few short weeks - there hasn’t been a company putting on as consistent a product as Supreme Championship Wrestling. It’s a testament to the talent of the roster that this company has survived at such a high level for so long, especially in a business where companies peak and valley with frightening regularity. But the last time I stepped into the ring on Breakdown, well… it kind of sucked.”
Donovan laughs.
“I mean, how else could I describe a night where I basically get the shit kicked out of me by Xander Valentine… by the way, Xander - I’m still fucking standing… and then got blindsided in the medic’s office by The Network at the behest and contracted payment of TJ Johnson? Overall, that night sucked. It sucked to have the performance I did against a man like Xander Valentine. I mean, shit… I’m trying to show that I still have some fire, that I’m not an old dog looking to be brought out behind the woodshed and given the Old Yeller treatment by Xander Valentine to send a message to someone else, and instead I had people telling me after the match “So THAT’S why you’re retiring” like I should just shrug my shoulders and say “At least it’s a job”... it’s not. It’s never been just “a job” to me. This has been my LIFE, and it KILLED me inside to have THAT kind of performance when I’m riding off into the sunset. So that was a thing that happened. And if that wasn’t bad enough…”
Donovan scoffed, shaking his head.
“The fucking Network decided to take the payday and jump a wounded man. Now, I did right that wrong the next week, procuring the information as to who paid them from Jack Parker in two ways he’d understand - force and finances - it’s still kind of nagging at me. And while this thing with Katie Steward… Professional Wrestling versus Sports Entertainment… is going somewhere if I have anything to say about it, I’m still left stinging with the idea of being so callously treated at Breakdown. Which brings me here… to Dante McCaffery.
I’ll be honest. I don’t pay attention to the details quite as much as I used to. I’m not saying I checked out, but until three weeks ago, I didn’t have The Network or Dante McCaffery on my radar. So, to that end, I don’t know if they are still associated with one another or if Dante just drew the short straw of someone having to face a pissed off Cornerstone feeling like he has something to prove. Because that is exactly what I am right now. After Xander whipped my ass three weeks ago, I’m feeling like I have a whole lot to prove. I’m here to prove that I’m not a wounded dog limping to the finish line. Dante… you’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Donovan stands up in the ring, pulling on the ropes to help him up.
“Because I am walking towards the setting sun, but when it sets, I will be remembered not as a whipping boy. I will be remembered as the seven-time World Champion. I will be remembered as Toronto’s favourite son. I will be remembered as The Cornerstone of Professional Wrestling! And that exclamation mark is coming POINT. BLANK!”
With that, the scene fades out completely.