Post by Magdalena Lockheart on Feb 5, 2017 0:16:06 GMT
There was a time in my life that everything I owned was in a backpack and a shoe box.
I'm used to that sort of thing, ya know? I came to understand a long time ago that life doesn't owe us anything. Some people say that I learned that at too young of an age, yet I feel knowing this earlier in my life kinda works to my advantage in ways. When it comes time to make a move, whether it's a physical move from place to place or a move where I find myself needing to make a critical decision, I can make that move easier and with a peace of mind that most don't have. I don't carry a lot of baggage, I barely carry myself through some days. Sometimes, that's all I need – to open up my eyes and to start the day.
The backpack that I was talking about rests in my chair at the Tattoo parlor. This place is mine, it belongs to me in a sense – My name is on the title but the shop sign on the old glass window has etched a permanent brand on my heart. I call this place the Paper Street Tattoo Company, because it used to be the famous Paper Street Barber Shop that had been in business through six generations. The original owner opened up shop just after the Revolutionary War here in New York City. One of the barbers chairs (not one currently on the main floor) even comes original from 1802. It was a shame that the previous owner had no children or next of kin that wished to keep the family business alive.
That's why I love this place, and in some ways, I feel as though these old tortured walls love me back. It has the history that I wish I had.
I made sure when Olympus paid for the shop that they kept everything old in tact. I was thankful that my MMA trainer, a Mister Jay Fles, decided to have the place renovated without my knowledge but made sure that everything that was old and beat up remained as such minus a careful cleaning here and a reupholstering there. All of the chairs that people sit in to get tattoos are old time Barbershop chairs. I've still got the old barbers pole sitting in the closet. I'll have that hung outside when I hire a hairdresser or two.
Tattoos and haircuts at the same time. A touch up and a shave? Done. Wax and a sleeve? You got it. Once word got around in New York City that this up-and-coming place with hot, young, talented artists opened up and is ready for walk-ins or whoever wants to fly in and see us – then business would be booming. The only problem seems to be that this business centers on reputation... and it's hard to build a reputation without getting work.
That's why I'm in Victory. Olympus stopped paying the bills the moment that they closed down. I've got employees to pay and a shop to maintain and a brand to build with little to no business coming through the door. Luckily I've been fortunate enough to meet new friends long before my debut ever started. If it wasn't for Lizzie, Misha, Victoria and Summer, I'd already feel lost in a new home.
Mister Vortex was kind enough to give me a job based off of some stories that someone must have told him from Olympus. Truth is, I'm not the best wrestler in the world. If it wasn't for Jay Fles working with me, then I would still be struggling for victories inside the ring; and I'd have nothing to show for it outside of it, either. But when Vortex told me that I would be facing one of my new friends in my debut match, I went a little bit off the handle. Summer has had the worst luck as of late, and I definitely didn't want to add to her bad luck.
I've had plenty of bad luck, too. But all I need is a paycheck to pass over to my employees so that I can keep this place running. It benefits me more if I win; and if I don't win I still need to give it my best effort. Victory obviously isn't going to pay me to sit around do nothing, or even worse take losses with no effort at all. I signed my contract on the basis that I would at least try to give fighting a fighting chance. In my heart of hearts, though, I'm beginning to wonder if Olympus closing isn't a sign from life that I should have hung up the wrestling boots then.
Summer really needs the win, but I just cant give it to her. I've got to fight for everything that I have, because it's all I have. Summer doesn't understand what its like to live out of a backpack and a shoe box. But I do. And if there's one thing I want out of life, regardless of how people perceive me to be, it's that I never want to go back to being a girl with a bag and a box again.
Miami, Florida || Friday, January 20, 2017, 8:17 AM (OFF CAMERA)
Brad Jackson paused on the corner, cupping his hand around the Zippo flame as he brought it to the tip of the mangled cigarette he'd found in the inside pocket of his jacket. Last one, stale as hell, but it didn't matter. He drew the smoke into his lungs, and heaved a ragged sigh. Leaning against the wall, he paused, pressing his palm against the sun-warmed concrete. "How many blocks are you gonna follow me for?"
"Oh." He heard the dismayed exhale and turned around. Kasey Summers stood there, her bright red hair in twin braids over her shoulders, making her look like Pippi Longstocking. A smile crossed his face as he looked her over; she'd lost some weight and was a little more toned than she'd been. "Only a psychopath would try and sneak up on the legendary Brad Jackson."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Wondered when you'd show up." He took a leisurely drag off his cigarette, closing the gap between himself and the petite redhead. His voice spoke volumes, indicating the relationship between the two. Close friends, perhaps? "You wanna see my gym?"
"Uhm, I guess. But, is Missy gonna be there? Because I kinda wanted to talk to you privately." Her voice was lower as she turned and glanced back over her shoulder.
"For fuck's..." he caught himself in time, managing a wan smile as he shifted tracks, quipping, "so what brings you here, psycho? Palm trees and sunny skies?"
"It's complicated," she groused, rolling her eyes, "and you know… there's… work and stuff in-"
"Kase," he shook his head, leaning against the wall. Across the street, he could see them reflected in the still-dark windows of Dark Horse Gym, "shit or get off the pot. I don't have time to pull teeth. C'mon," he turned and strode back towards the Starbucks on the corner, leaving her no choice but to follow.
"You remember Hunter?"
Jackson snorted disdainfully. "That wannabe musician piece of shit you were so sure was the one? Yeah. What about him?"
"I still have the deed for that land he bought."
"Okay. And?" He walked up to the counter, leaning against it, snapping his fingers. The barista nodded and started making his usual order. "What do you want, kiddo?"
"Oh. Uhm. Just a caramel macchiato. Extra caramel. Venti."
A few minutes later they were seated across from each other at a table in the middle of the crowded coffee shop. "I heard Ak was back...you been holding up well?"
"I'm fine," she replied, fiddling with her cup.
"And this too shall pass," he said softly, his voice hoarse as he took the lid off his own brew, adding a few packets of raw sugar. His eyes were steady, as cold and calculating as ever as he met her stare across the table. "So has anyone started the pool on when he's going to vanish again? If so, put me down for Easter weekend."
"That's not funny," Kasey snapped, eyes narrowed. "Don't make me have to kick your ass in front of all these witnesses."
One dark brow quirked, that cocky half-smirk curving his lips as Jackson looked at her. "Bring it on, little girl." A laugh passed his lips as he looked around the place before letting that intense gaze settle back on her. The thing he'd always liked about her was the fact that she'd never flinched under his scrutiny. "So, lemme make sure I follow. You've got oceanfront property in the same place fuckboy's at-" he held up his hand to halt her attempt to get defensive. "So, what? You're gonna give it to him? Build your dream home and live happily ever after?"
"No." She sighed. "See, I don't want to move here. At least not yet. I think that's the mistake we made last time. I pushed too hard. Invaded his personal space too much." She averted her eyes, "see, I thought maybe… okay. Hear me out. You could open a second gym and he can be the manager, I mean, if you want. Like he could do that - and you wouldn't have to keep an eye on it. Like a franchise. Like, you'd own the name and stuff but..."
Jackson shook his head. "No. No fucking way. I'm not getting in the middle of this messy bullshit you call a love life. Listen, you need a place to stay when you're here, there's a loft above the gym. There's a spare key in a magnetic box under the second last stair. Beyond that, I'm Switzerland."
Kasey pursed her lips before bringing the coffee up and taking a good long drink. "I just want him to have-"
"You want him under your thumb. You want to keep tabs. I get it, kid. I wasn't born yesterday. I'd like to keep bailing you out but eventually you're gonna have to learn how to adult on your own."
"So that's it then?" She looked crestfallen.
He stood, nodding. "Yeah. That's it. Sorry, kiddo."
