Awful

Waldorf Astoria Chicago
Chicago, Illinois
Friday November 11th, 2022

Friday morning was a busy one inside of the Waldorf Astoria Chicago. People were rising and shining even though it was a cloudy and dreary day outside. The last business day before the weekend brought promises of accomplishment and celebration. None more so than for the current HOW LSD Champion Jace Parker Davidson.

He was up bright and early at 8am to get his day started. Dressed in a fine three-piece suit he walked out of his room and headed towards the elevator. Stepping inside he waited quietly as the elevator traveled downwards. His mind was focused on the match Sunday night here in Chicago where he would be defending the HOW LSD Championship belt against Scott Stevens. Having witnessed Stevens’ promo it was clear that nothing has changed about the man that has been the laughingstock of HOW for the last decade.

With a ding the doors to the elevator opened and Jace stepped out and made his way through the lobby. That journey was short lived because Jace stopped dead in his tracks as he laid eyes on the man standing there insolently glaring at him.

His biological father Terrence Miles Davidson.

The man was dressed in his own three-piece suit along with a stylish coat, hat, and the same cane that he’s carried around before. Jace tightens his jaw and just tries to sidestep his father like he wasn’t even there but of course Terrence moves over to block his son’s path.

“Is this what we’re doing? First thing in the fucking morning?” Jace growled in a low tone.

“First thing in the morning?” Terrence scoffed and tapped his cane down onto the floor. “First thing in the morning would be 5am at the latest. What you call the first thing in the morning is the day almost being half done.”

“Cool, good to know father time. Now please get the hell out of my way.” Jace requested in the nicest way he could muster at the time.

“I will do no such thing.” Terrence declared. “You continue to run away and act like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. So, I came here to Chicago, and you’ll be riding with me today.”

“Yeah, that’s not fucking happening!” Jace shouted loud enough for everyone in the lobby to hear.

Terrence narrows his eyes at his son before shaking his head a bit.

“Such a foul mouth for someone that acts so immaturely.” Terrence observed as he tugged at the leather gloves on his hands. “I don’t have time to waste with your juvenile antics. So, you’ll either ride with me today or I will do like your stepfather Mr. Brown and press charges against you for laying your hands on me. Outside of a courthouse no less.”

Silence hangs thick in the air between the two men as they wait to see who will flinch first. People inside of the lobby begin to whisper to each other and watch this confrontation go down until the silence is broken.

“Come now, we don’t want to keep my driver waiting longer than we already have.” Terrence gestured towards the main entrance of the lobby.

Terrence spun on his heels and headed towards the doors without a verbal response from his son. Jace stays planted in place for a moment before cursing under his breath and following his father. Outside a driver can be seen standing and holding the door open for Terrence. Jace’s father steps inside of the luxury vehicle. The driver continues to hold the door open until Jace himself steps inside beside his father. The driver closes the door behind them then takes his seat behind the wheel before they take off towards their destination.

“Happy to see you’ve finally seen things my way.” Terrence commented.

“Saw things your way? You literally blackmailed me into sitting here with you. You don’t even know where I was planning on going.” Jace complained.

“You’re headed to the airport, naturally. You have a flight scheduled to go back to Miami to pick up Mr. Abdullah Choi and one of your female bodyguards to bring back here to Chicago.” Terrence uttered with extreme confidence.

“Stalking is a criminal offense.” Jace leaned his head back against his seat.

“No court in our country would sentence a father trying to help his son pull his head from his own backside.” Terrence retorted.

“Right, so, what is it that you want? You know, since punching you in the face didn’t send the ‘fuck off’ message loud enough.” Jace sighed.

“I want many things.” Terrence began. “But the first of which is to know why you continue trying to flush your life down the toilet.”

“Excuse the fuck out of me?!” Jace snapped his head in Terrence’s direction.

“This whole professional wrestling thing is dreadful and I’m putting that lightly. All of that time and effort just to step inside of an empty prison and go to war with an obese woman with a loudmouth. Just to get stabbed multiple times with a knife and now you’re walking into another similar match this weekend for that Championship belt you currently hold.” Terrence tightens his grip on his cane.

“I’ve done the whole ‘father doesn’t approve of son’s chosen career path’ thing already and I don’t need a repeat of it, thanks.” Jace folded his arms over his chest.

“If you’re going to destroy your body in such a barbaric sport then at least be good at it.” Terrence rolled his eyes.

Jace raised his eyebrow at the comment from his father. Instead of arguing he just raised his hand and admired his HOW Hall of Fame ring. Making sure to obnoxiously polish it against the blazer of his suit.

“Yes, fancy jewelry but here you are doing anything and everything other than focusing on your opponent for your upcoming match.” Terrence huffed.

“What makes you think I’m not focused on Scott Stevens?” Jace lowered his hand that his HOF ring rested upon.

“Look at you, you’re heading off to Miami to pick up a man and a woman who you are housing like you’re running some kind of Airbnb. You’re the head of a company that produces a beverage made out of meat. You spend your time in relation to a woman that spends her Sunday nights dancing around a pole. And of course, you just purchased a team in a Lingerie Football League.” Terrence turned his nose up at his son.

“That man and woman both work for me. That company afforded me the money to buy a home in Denver for a little under eight million dollars along with a ladies’ football team. And that woman is allowed to do whatever the fuck she wants with her Sunday nights. Everything I’ve done lately is to set up my future past professional wrestling and it’s all falling into place. I’ve managed to do all of that and still be one of the very top wrestlers in this industry. Scott Stevens alone will not change that.” Jace proclaims.

“Words don’t win fights.” Terrence protests. “The fact remains that you should be training around the clock to prepare for this challenge no matter the opponent. You call yourself the greatest LSD Champion ever, but you coast by on the wings of lackluster booking. Completely shameful to the entire Davidson name.”

“Being the greatest LSD Champion in HOW isn’t something I need to prove, it’s already a fact.” Jace corrected his father. “And since you know so much about me and my career then you’d know that the match is for the LSD Championship which means the stipulation could be anything. Scott Stevens is delusional, lame, and doesn’t know when to shut up. But as a wrestler? He’ll never fucking change. I got this.”

“Quite” The skepticism in Terrence’s voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“What now?” Jace murmured.

“You talk a good game and think you’re untouchable right now. However, you’re more than likely going to lose to a man that found his meals out of garbage receptacles. Could not be me.” Terrence visibly shudders and makes a disgusted face.

Jace turns then reaches out and grabs a hold of Terrence by the tie of his suit. He yanks Terrence forward until the two men are nose to nose.

“Scott Stevens is a moron, but you don’t get to make comments like that about him. Not about this. I lived that reality; I was kicked out of Dennis’ house at 14 years old because of what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. I nearly died on those New York streets having to steal to put a bit of food in my stomach among other things. All because you decided to skip town on me and my mother before I was born.” Jace hisses.

“Someone is still pining away for that trip to Chuck E. Cheese, huh?” Terrence egged on Jace’s aggression.

“You wonder why I don’t want anything to do with you? This is exactly the reason, you are arrogant, smug, and a son of a bitch. If you thought punching you in the face was bad, what do you think I’ll do to you behind tinted windows?” Jace formed his free hand into a fist.

Once again silence was thick in the air between the two men until a smile formed across Terrence’s face.

“If you’re going to hit me again then you might as well get it over with. We’ve arrived at the airport, and you wouldn’t want to miss your flight.” Terrence said smugly.

Jace tilted his head and looked out of the window to see that his father’s statement was indeed true.

“Hurry up now, I expect you back here in Chicago by tomorrow morning. Proper preparation for your match Sunday night will be achieved whether you like it or not.” Terrence ordered.

Jace sneered then let go of his father’s tie. He turned himself in his seat then opened the door to exit the vehicle.

“Don’t forget to check all of that displaced aggression with your friendly TSA agents.” Terrence called out.

Jace exited the vehicle and slammed the door shut as hard as he possibly could. Jace marched his way towards the main entrance of the airport as Terrence leaned back in his seat content.

—–

Jace’s first house
Miami, Florida
Friday November 11th, 2022

It’s been a good long while since Jace had stepped foot in Miami and just as long since he had stepped foot inside of his Miami home. The place had become really crowded with his sister Bailey, Madison, Stella and Yulia all living there along with Shelley Greene. There was a lot of arguing, a lot of complaining, and a lot of shenanigans the moment Jace had stepped foot through the front door.

After many tedious hours of dealing with everyone’s bullshit Jace decided to award the women with an all-paid night on the town. Once their makeup was done and outfits were selected, they flew out of the door to enjoy everything that Miami’s nightlife had to offer. This left the house much quieter and peaceful. Aside from Shelley’s whining about not getting to go along with the four women to take advantage of any number of them while in an intoxicated capacity.

Jace had another job in mind for his new manager. Jace instructed Shelley to clear the living room space of all the clutter and set up a camera. While Shelley was busy with that task Jace made his way to one of the storage areas of the home. He stepped inside and then began to dig through various objects inside until he found a large box. He stood there and just glared down at the box as the memory of its contents raced through his mind. With a slight grunt Jace leaned down and grabbed a hold of the box. He lifted off of the floor then exited the storage area and headed back towards the living room.

After a few moments Shelley accomplished his task and stood behind the camera as Jace took a seat on the couch. He sat the box down onto the carpeted floor in front of him then nodded to Shelley that he was ready. Greene made sure the camera was focused and started recording.

“Scott Stevens, in two days I will be stepping into the ring against you with MY LSD Championship belt on the line. A belt that your pitiful 3 win and 10 loss record is not worth getting a shot at but circumstances being what they are, you’ve got the match. You would think seeing as how this is a chance to get a win over me in a legit fashion and add a Championship belt to your resume that you would take this seriously.”

Jace paused for a moment and nodded his head slowly.

“You would THINK that was the case but as everyone already knows, thinking and Scott Stevens aren’t two things that go together very often. Instead of going out there training and busting his ass in a gym or a ring. This fool is sitting tucked away inside of The Best Arena using its WIFI to masturbate to all the brand-new slurs on Urban Dictionary. Scott Stevens sees his name across from mine. Scott Stevens sees his name listed as getting a one-on-one title match for the LSD Championship and what does he do? He invites a camera crew to record him as he rambles about my spot in the Hierarchy of High Octane Wrestling.”

“You’re certainly not at the bottom of the barrel like a certain Lonesome Loser!” Shelley chirps from behind the camera.

“I didn’t think you would take something I said on last week’s show to heart like that. But I mean if you don’t like being slapped in the face with the truth then maybe stop doing idiotic things? Things like sitting behind a laptop and detailing all the so-called power and responsibilities you have behind the scenes in HOW. You’re responsible for all the footage and content that airs on the streaming services? You have an entire library of stuff from Peach State Wrestling? Cool, so you’re basically a video editor for HOW. Tell me again, what the goddamn FUCK all that has to do with improving your chances of winning the LSD Championship belt?”

Jace’s face contorts into an expression of annoyance mixed with confusion.

“You think watching the handful of matches I had in Peach State Wrestling more than a decade ago is going to help you here in 2022? See, instead of doing something important like improving your skills. You want to get into a debate of who is more important behind the scenes in HOW. You do this and you do that for HOW in Michael Lee Best’s absence. Motherfucker, please, Lee Best barely trusts you with a live microphone on air or on the social media platforms but yet you’re going to not-so-humbly brag about how you’re sooooo goddamn essential to HOW? That’s fine, Stevens, live in your fantasy world where you’re so fucking busy with your HOW duties that you don’t have time to be a trainer at TEN-X or to run an entire company. That’s good to freaking know but you know what I did? I used the internet too.”

Jace reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He glides his fingers across the screen until he reaches the website that he desires before holding the phone up towards the camera.

“I did a little digging about everything that is Scott Stevens. Lucky for me our little statistical nerd Scott Stevens put all of his information and inflated ego all in one neat little place on the internet. Scott Stevens says that he doesn’t have time to be a trainer because of all his wondrous duties that Lee has tasked him with. But yet if you look right here on the site formerly known as ‘Stevenspedia’ you’ll see something called ‘The Bar of Professional Wrestling Academy’ listed. Sure, sounds like a Wrestling School to me, a poorly named one, but a Wrestling School, nonetheless. And wouldn’t you know it, if you click on that link, it shows a list of people who work there it shows one of them happens to be Scott Stevens. Another click shows you that Scott Stevens is the Head Coach and President of Talent Development for this place.”

Jace stops and looks at the screen for a moment.

“Wait, that can’t be right. Scott Stevens says he didn’t have time for things like that because of all the mighty tasks he has to do for Lee Best. Scott Stevens wouldn’t lie, would he?”

Jace lets the question linger in the air as Shelley can be heard chuckling behind the camera.

“Well, with Scott Stevens leading the charge and being the President of Talent Development, this place must be kicking out Hall of Famers left and right. Let’s click around a bit and oh, I found a list of people that Scott Stevens has personally trained. Such great names as Drusilla Danes, Tumbleweed Steve, Judas Darksidias, Hong Fat, ‘Grizzly’ Earl Grissom, Deangello Mayne-Man… pretty sure that’s a classic Stevens’ racism. Brick Wall or ‘B-WaLL’ as he’s affectionately known, and finally Akmid Boomshakalaka.”

Jace lowers his phone and his head while Shelley is laughing so hard that no noise isn’t even coming out anymore. Jace takes a deep breath then raises his head.

“Any of those names listed ring a bell for anyone out there? No? Yeah, me neither but you can find all this and more on Scott Stevens’ personal information library. Scott Stevens is in charge of all the content on HOTv and PWA: TV along with the live broadcasts of Chaos. More like Scott Stevens combs the internet for any scrap of an accomplishment he’s ever had in his career so that his ego doesn’t die from starvation. Who cares about being the current HOW LSD Champion and the forever ICON Champion. Especially when Scott Stevens can sleep soundly at night knowing he won the Canadian Championship belt in a federation called NAW. A belt he won by defeating someone known as ‘White Chocolate.’ Is Scott Stevens one of the greatest wrestlers of all time? NAW!”

Jace raised his free hand into the air and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Honestly, what did I really expect from a man that thinks new padded ring gear is going to help him ‘wrestle good’ even though he got his ass handed to him by Scottywood. Stevens will sit there and talk about how my head is stuck up GREAT SCOTT’s ass or how if he was wrong Lee Best would have said something by now. I would rather have my head stuck up the ass of GREAT SCOTT who is a winner instead of going around pretending to be GREAT SCOTT’s father will having my head stuck up the ass of a ‘Hardcore Artist.’ Lee Best hasn’t said anything about your bullshit because Lee Best honestly doesn’t recognize your existence. If Lee found that you were so important, then why didn’t he call on you to help out with the beat down of Joe Bergman? Jatt Starr was there, GREAT SCOTT was there, Christopher America was there, and oh, I was there too! But sadly, not a ‘Demi-God of HOW’ to be found, quite curious if you ask me.”

Jace points to his own chest with his index finger for a moment which causes Shelley to laugh even more. However, almost instantly Jace’s demeanor turns cold and dead serious.

“But you did say something that wasn’t complete and utter nonsense. You mentioned that you were the reason my career almost permanently ended. I’m glad you remember that because I wasn’t going to bring it up first. I wasn’t going to throw that card out there because I wanted to see if you’d rub it in my face on your own free will. And like magic, egotistical Scott Stevens played his trump card prematurely.”

Jace leans down and grabs the box off of the floor in front him. He sets it on the glass table in front of him and opens it up. He reaches inside and begins to pull out and line on the table various neck braces and collars of various industrial sizes, a breathing tube, and a halo vest. Jace runs his hand over the items before looking back up towards the camera.

“For a long fucking time all I could think about was murdering you, Stevens. For five fucking years I was away from the ring because you had to resort to tactics of trying to end my career to try and win a match that. Spoiler alert: you did not win. Do you know what it’s like to be stuck in traction, Stevens? To have to lay there without moving just staring at a television screen and watching you wrestle on a weekly basis? It was a living nightmare. From traction, to surgery, to learning to even walk again. Each and every single day I spent struggling to get back into a wrestling ring fueled by spite for you and only you.”

Jace begins to move his foot repeatedly on the carpet. A nervous twitch he often gets when he reaches a certain level of annoyance.

“I want to hate you, Scott. I want to hate you and curse you and destroy you with every fiber of my fucking being. And for a long time, I did but you just chipped away at it day by day until we reached this very moment. And here right now? I don’t hate you Stevens, I pity you. The reality is that you used a dirty tactic to take me out. The truth is the person responsible for me getting injured was me for protecting Tara instead of myself. If you’re going to regale us with events of the past, then at least tell the whole story. Tell the people that even though I fell through that announcers table. That even though I had a broken neck. That very next week I stepped into the ring and defeated you single handedly. You must suffer from selective memory if you’re sitting there calling yourself a God and thinking you can beat me in a legit match that I put effort into even if I am not 100%.”

Jace leaned forward as he continued to speak towards the camera.

“You know why I pity you, Stevens? It took you taking me out of the pictures in 4CW to even win the XTV title. Not to mention you claim to be a former 4CW World Tag Team Champion even though you were never on the team with Tara and me. You were in the match for five seconds and you just leeched our accomplishment for your own personal gain. Nothing has changed since then in that regard. But you had a hand in making sure I was gone for five long years, Stevens. Half a fucking decade and what do you have to show for it? You had the distinction of saying ‘I retired Jace Parker Davidson’ and what did you do with it? Hardly any fucking thing. No 4CW World Championship reigns. No HOW World Championship reigns. Hell, you haven’t held HOW gold since…”

Jace raises his phone into the air again and looks at the screen.

“August 16th, 2019. And you were only one ⅓ of the HOW World Tag Team Champions because of the Freebird rule. You fucking substitute teacher of a professional wrestler. It’s been over three years since you’ve even touched a legit Championship belt. And yet you got the fucking nerve to tell me I was never ‘THE MAN’ in a wrestling promotion that mattered? You want to tell me you’re more important in HOW than I am? You want to beat that girldick ladystick you call a penis over the fact that you’re the ‘ONLY’ that bleeds 97red? I have interests outside of HOW because companies outside of HOW actually want me. You want to know how I have time for everything? I can walk and chew gum at the same time, that’s how. I want to know how you were homeless but yet not your wife, not your dad, brothers, or any family member at least let you crash on their couch?”

Jace holds out his arms.

“How does that work? How are you a proud Texan and American but you married someone from Canada? Maybe they disowned you because you let your son be passed around like Kirsta Lewis. You know what? It doesn’t matter because nothing about you makes a lick of sense. You want to know why I did what I did? Why did I leave HOW?”

Jace rolls his eyes.

“You want to know why I led team 4CW against HOW at War Games? It’s because HOW was no longer HOW. HOW at the time was just a jobber wonderland for the likes of you and ‘the never was’ group of wrestlers that think they are the core of HOW. I led team 4CW against HOW because Perry Wallace saw me as ‘THE MAN’ unlike you. See, the thing is Stevens, there is no glory in the fact that you sat there like the only rat on a sinking ship. There is no medal or rewards for waiting until the doors were shut completely on HOW. Especially, when 2.9 seconds later you were a member of the 4CW roster. Not to mention the UTA roster, and all the other federations you’ve been in while being in HOW. But you are the ‘ONLY’ one that bleeds 97red. You do all these things and tell all these lies and for what? You’re the only one that gets to use the EPU? Motherfucker, I worked with the EPU, and I know for a fact that there has never been a lead member named Earl.”

Jace’s eyes widened as he came to a realization.

“Son of a… that’s not even the real EPU. That Earl guy is just ‘Grizzly’ Earl Grissom running around in cosplay. You hired your own EPU to try and make yourself seem important.”

Jace begins laughing and rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. He takes a moment to compose himself then grabs a hold of the LSD Championship belt that’s been laying out of camera range.

“All of this utter bullshit just to perceive yourself as something that you are not and will never be. You want to be respected so fucking badly that it clouds your better judgement. You put all this hard effort into being a goon but expect people to forget that you’re the same guy when faced with a match against Clay Byrd you went out and bought him some new drip with your own money. This is who you are Scott, you’re the guy that forgets to list himself as GREAT on a list of GREAT SCOTT’s. You’re the guy that went out there against STRONK thinking you could win because you wrestled a Hippo at the zoo. Then turned around and tried to get that entire thing over. Nothing about you is new or evolved, it’s just a wash, rinse, and repeat process for you. Instead of working out a game plan, instead of finding a way to open up my wounds or rip open my stitches. You want to flex over you making signed and sealed negotiations with San Francisco so that we could hold an PPV there once a year for every single fucking year we’ve been open?”

Jace looks at the gold plate of the LSD Championship belt then back at the camera.

“I’m not going to murder you, Stevens. I’m not even going to severely injure you. You’re like HOW’s version of a cockroach infestation. You’ve had an eye taken, your back broken, you’ve been retired, and banned. And yet you still find your way back under our refrigerator. I’m just going to walk into this match Sunday night and I’m going to beat you. Whether it be by pinfall, submission, climbing a ladder, or putting you down for a ten count. I’m going to get my hand raised, I’m going to get my Championship belt, and then I’m going to move onto something more important in my life. Just like Lee Best does, just like Mike Best does, just like the Board and the entire HOW roster not named Scottywood does. It’ll be that simple and once and for all you’ll get to cement yourself as God…”

Jace smirks at the camera.

“God… damn awful at professional wrestling.”