Post by Damon Graves on May 21, 2024 21:14:17 GMT -5
Sunday, May 19th 2024
Private Terminal
Pensacola International Airport
Scene opens with a shot of a pair of gleaming custom Harley-Davidson Heritage Classics, one in black with green trim and the other in black with red metallic wings airbrushed on the tank. As the camera widens its view, we see that they’re parked next to a massive black Boeing 737 business jet. Ground crew members are busy unloading what remains in the cargo hold. We pan around to where the airstairs are being deployed. A moment later, a pair of tattooed figures emerge. Long time fans of professional wrestling quickly recognize them as highly decorated tag team wrestlers Aurora and Damon Graves. Both of them are dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts, a stark contrast to the opulence of their transportation.
Crewmember: Travelling light, folks?
Aurora: Lighter than usual. The kids are at home…
Aurora’s voice wavers a bit on the last sentence.
Damon: C’mon Harley, it’s not as if we haven’t asked your parents to babysit before. Kinda hard to use the “regular” babysitter when she’s my opponent in a few days…
The absurdity of the last statement makes her chuckle a little.
Aurora: Touche, Puddin.
Crewmember: Anyways, folks, the rest of your luggage should be brought up to your room if you’d like to do a little sightseeing first. Granted it’s starting to get a bit humid…
Aurora: No, we’re just going to head over to the hotel. Who knows? With these beauties (indicating the motorcycles), we may just beat our luggage there…
Damon: You go on ahead, Harley. I’ll be there in a bit.
Aurora: Everything OK?
Damon: Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. Just need to take care of something…
A look of understanding washes over her. She nods.
Aurora: Ahhh, I see. Striking while your thoughts are fresh?
Damon: Bingo.
Aurora steps into Damon’s arms and lays a tender lingering kiss on her husband before stepping over to the black and red motorcycle. Hitting the ignition brings the beast of a machine to life. She gives it a couple of revs before taking off, leaving Damon by himself.
Damon (sighing): All things considered, I could throw out a metaphor about bikes, but I’m not THAT cheesy.
Yet, as familiar as all of this is, there’s still a sense of newness… uncertainty…
After all, It’s been a while since my wife and I have stepped between the ropes, in a professional sense.
But this time around, things are gonna be just a BIT different.
Time was, Aurora and me, we’d waltz into a promotion like a pair of friggin’ steamrollers and dominate every stinking tag team unlucky enough to stand across from us. Tag Team gold was easy to get as milk at a supermarket.
But…
Damon leans against the airstair railing and closes his eyes for a moment before continuing.
Damon: The whole “wash, rinse, repeat” routine has lost its luster, if ya catch my drift. So this go around, the focus ain’t on tag team wrestling, cause we’ve already wrote the book on that. The world already knows how good we are as a team, so now they get to see us raise hell as individuals and bring home some singles gold.
That’s not to say that we won’t team up if the circumstances are right, but that’s not the point right now…
The thing I wanna get off my chest right now concerns my first singles match since gods know when.
Stella, we ain’t strangers by any stretch of the imagination. Your brother and I tried our damnedest to give you the best training possible. It was helluva lot of fun, to be honest. You took to the ring like it was second nature…
But this business not quite as big as you might think, Starr. It was only a matter of time before we had to cross paths as competitors instead of mentor and student.
Damon’s expression grows wistful.
Damon: I’m not gonna bore ya with the “Vader vs Kenobi” BS, Starr. Donovan wouldn’t put up with that crap, and neither will I. You’re a pro now, and I’m sure as shit gonna treat you like one.
That doesn’t means I’m gonna pound you into dog meat. After all, I’m not stupid enough to piss off people that I consider friends. But don’t factor that friendship into how I treat you in the ring. You’re standing between me and a championship, so I have no problems pushing you to the side.
Wednesday is your baptism in fire, kid. Hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am…
With this, Damon straightens up and mounts his black and green Harley and starts it up. He drinks in the sound of the engine before turning around and exiting the tarmac. Scene fades to black.
Private Terminal
Pensacola International Airport
Scene opens with a shot of a pair of gleaming custom Harley-Davidson Heritage Classics, one in black with green trim and the other in black with red metallic wings airbrushed on the tank. As the camera widens its view, we see that they’re parked next to a massive black Boeing 737 business jet. Ground crew members are busy unloading what remains in the cargo hold. We pan around to where the airstairs are being deployed. A moment later, a pair of tattooed figures emerge. Long time fans of professional wrestling quickly recognize them as highly decorated tag team wrestlers Aurora and Damon Graves. Both of them are dressed casually in jeans and t-shirts, a stark contrast to the opulence of their transportation.
Crewmember: Travelling light, folks?
Aurora: Lighter than usual. The kids are at home…
Aurora’s voice wavers a bit on the last sentence.
Damon: C’mon Harley, it’s not as if we haven’t asked your parents to babysit before. Kinda hard to use the “regular” babysitter when she’s my opponent in a few days…
The absurdity of the last statement makes her chuckle a little.
Aurora: Touche, Puddin.
Crewmember: Anyways, folks, the rest of your luggage should be brought up to your room if you’d like to do a little sightseeing first. Granted it’s starting to get a bit humid…
Aurora: No, we’re just going to head over to the hotel. Who knows? With these beauties (indicating the motorcycles), we may just beat our luggage there…
Damon: You go on ahead, Harley. I’ll be there in a bit.
Aurora: Everything OK?
Damon: Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. Just need to take care of something…
A look of understanding washes over her. She nods.
Aurora: Ahhh, I see. Striking while your thoughts are fresh?
Damon: Bingo.
Aurora steps into Damon’s arms and lays a tender lingering kiss on her husband before stepping over to the black and red motorcycle. Hitting the ignition brings the beast of a machine to life. She gives it a couple of revs before taking off, leaving Damon by himself.
Damon (sighing): All things considered, I could throw out a metaphor about bikes, but I’m not THAT cheesy.
Yet, as familiar as all of this is, there’s still a sense of newness… uncertainty…
After all, It’s been a while since my wife and I have stepped between the ropes, in a professional sense.
But this time around, things are gonna be just a BIT different.
Time was, Aurora and me, we’d waltz into a promotion like a pair of friggin’ steamrollers and dominate every stinking tag team unlucky enough to stand across from us. Tag Team gold was easy to get as milk at a supermarket.
But…
Damon leans against the airstair railing and closes his eyes for a moment before continuing.
Damon: The whole “wash, rinse, repeat” routine has lost its luster, if ya catch my drift. So this go around, the focus ain’t on tag team wrestling, cause we’ve already wrote the book on that. The world already knows how good we are as a team, so now they get to see us raise hell as individuals and bring home some singles gold.
That’s not to say that we won’t team up if the circumstances are right, but that’s not the point right now…
The thing I wanna get off my chest right now concerns my first singles match since gods know when.
Stella, we ain’t strangers by any stretch of the imagination. Your brother and I tried our damnedest to give you the best training possible. It was helluva lot of fun, to be honest. You took to the ring like it was second nature…
But this business not quite as big as you might think, Starr. It was only a matter of time before we had to cross paths as competitors instead of mentor and student.
Damon’s expression grows wistful.
Damon: I’m not gonna bore ya with the “Vader vs Kenobi” BS, Starr. Donovan wouldn’t put up with that crap, and neither will I. You’re a pro now, and I’m sure as shit gonna treat you like one.
That doesn’t means I’m gonna pound you into dog meat. After all, I’m not stupid enough to piss off people that I consider friends. But don’t factor that friendship into how I treat you in the ring. You’re standing between me and a championship, so I have no problems pushing you to the side.
Wednesday is your baptism in fire, kid. Hope you’re looking forward to it as much as I am…
With this, Damon straightens up and mounts his black and green Harley and starts it up. He drinks in the sound of the engine before turning around and exiting the tarmac. Scene fades to black.
