“Shawty's like a melody in my head
That I can't keep out
Got me singin' li—“
Diablo: If I have to tell you one more time….
It was a feeling of pure, blissful nostalgia for him. Waking up in the morning knowing that the coming day wasn’t going to full of analyzing quotes and futures for clients was as satisfying as a week long vacation himself. It would certainly take some getting used to…this, what once was the normal, was no longer the normal. It had become far from the normal. The last time he had competed it was under the same moniker, the same tights and the same company---but he was now a completely different person. Three years ago the WWS original sported long, flowing black hair, a more bulky physique---around 245 actually, and an embarrassing lack of personality. Having cut back on a few things in his life, Diablo was a different person now, having worked hard to get down to a lean 225 while cutting his hair to sport a bleach blonde look. He was the physical being, but all else had changed.
Sitting in the driver’s seat of his rented bright red 2011 Toyota Carolla and cruising down I-80 en route to Anaheim, California, he’s sporting a blue and white plaid shirt and a pair of dark, ripped jeans. Sunglasses intact, he’s staring outward and concentrating on the road in front of him. Next to him is a large, burly man. With a beard that would make a lumberjack in Alaska jealous, he was sporting his own pair of shades, a “One Man Wolfpack” T-Shirt inspired by the hangover and sweatpants.
Diablo: Dylan I swear to…
Dylan quickly leaps toward the radio, trying desperately to avoid Diablo from turning it off
Dylan: Alright, alright! What was it, my singing?
Diablo chuckles, lowering his head to make eye contact through the top of his sunglasses.
Diablo: No…well, actually, if you sounded anything better than a Katy Perry song on a week long trip of heroin I’d be able to stomach it.
Dylan: Aw, come on, you’re just nervous. Here, I’ll take the edge off for ya.
Dylan unbuckles his seatbelt, sitting up slightly to reach his hand into his right back pocket, pulling out a lighter. He scrambles for something else before inexplicably pulling out a joint.
Diablo: ….Where….the hell….did you get that….between the airport and the rent-a-car station…
Dylan looks over to his left, kind of shocked.
Dylan: Are you saying I stole it?
Diablo: What?
Dylan: Are you calling me a thief?
Diablo: What the hell? I’m not wondering anything except how the hell you snuck a joint through security at JFK and made it out here.
Dylan strokes his beard, staring sternly at his friend next to him.
Dylan: ….I’m insulted.
Diablo: Oh, wonderful, is it time for the waterfalls?
Dylan: No. No. I’m not insulted that you insulted my basic knowledge of how to sneak drugs through a major international airport….I’m insulted that you called this a joint.
Diablo turns the radio off, finally having had enough.
Diablo: Well if it’s not a joi—
Dylan: Do you remember anything?!
Diablo: About…
Dylan throws his hands into the air, the joint falling on his lap. He crosses his arms over his chest, making a loud pouting noise.
Dylan: It’s all about you now, isn’t it? I take off of work mid-week to fly out to Los Angeles to see your return match and you can’t even have the decency to remember what our promise was!
Diablo sighs, looking back over at Dylan.
Diablo: Dylan…what the fuck are you saying.
He sighs, looking back over at the Long Island native.
Dylan: Last July….
Diablo: ….Continue
Dylan: When you came to my house for the Jell-O party?!
Diablo slams his fist up against the steering wheel, jerking himself back in the seat.
Diablo: Stop with the shit and tell me what you’re getting at!
Dylan sighs quite exuberantly, tilting his head downward and speaking very rapidly.
Dylan: We watched Get Him to the Greek and you promised me that if you ever returned to wrestling we’d smoke a Jeffery in tribute to the movie before your match back! Remember?! You’re Aldous Snow! Minus the success…
Diablo takes his foot off of the accelerator, slowly moving it over to the break. Turning his head to the right, he flashes his turn signal, shifting over to the right lane while slowing down. With nobody behind him, he pulls to the side of the road, putting the car in park and turning his face to Dylan.
Dylan: You alright?
Diablo sighs, putting his head down on the steering wheel. Slowly creeping up, he turns to Dylan.
Diablo: What did you say?
Confused, Dylan looks at his friend, nodding his head.
Dylan: You alright?
Diablo: BEFORE THAT!
Dylan ponders for a moment but his eyes brighten the moment he realizes.
Dylan: Oh, you mean that you’re like Aldous Snow minus the success?
Diablo: Yeah…you did say it.
Dylan: Say what? Well, it’s the truth. You’ve always been the second fiddle, isn’t that why you’re coming back? In order to be the rock star you need to have someone chasing you to bring you back to the Greek Theatre with only 72 hours left before the concert.
Diablo shakes his head at Dylan, distracted by his scruffy beard.
Diablo: It’s not that I don’t agree with what you said…I do. It’s just the fact that you’re bringing it up only hours before I’m returning to the company that I built from the ground up…the company that I bleed so much for that I needed a transfusion after the second PPV. The company that I was a staple of and competed in every single PPV main event except one.
Dylan: Don’t fool yourself, though, people weren’t buying the shows for you. It was always Punk, Corvo, Ph-
Diablo: Don’t go there.
Dylan laughs, hiccupping in the process.
Dylan: You’re still butt hurt over that? Come on man, it’s been years.
Diablo laughs, patting Dylan on the back.
Diablo: Yeah…it’s time to get over it. You’re not right, though.
Dylan:….Nope, pretty sure its been a few years.
Diablo shakes his head in disbelief, Dylan completely serious.
Diablo: Have you ever heard of context?
Dylan: The house music band?
Diablo…..You mean Skrillex…
Dylan: Yeah, what about them?
Diablo: It’s like talking to a child….well, look, I was trying to say that you weren’t right. I was in the first ever Last Team Standing match, a War Games match and was poised to be in the second match on the card at Immortality…
Dylan: But none of it happened…
Diablo elbows the inside of the car, pulling back on his hair and kneeing the steering wheel. He shrieks, trying to put the pain behind him. He was still prone to the tantrums. On the outside he had a mask of a cocky, confident person. He was, largely, anyway…but he was still the same vulnerable guy, he was just a few layers deeper now.
Diablo: It should have! It was supposed to be my fucking time. It was always about someone else. Punk didn’t even give a shit! He would show up on heroin and Corvo? That straight edge gimmick was crap. The only straight edges he had were his flat, boring promos on society. I gave it my all every week…it’s not terribly wrong of me to believe that ONCE, just ONCE you’ll let me have fun. There’s a reason that I’m in the main event of Death Proof.
Dylan: Well, you’re a name…and you’re a hard worker. You were never THE guy…they know they’ll get a good match out of you.
Diablo opens the window, spitting a huge wad out. He crosses his arms like Dylan, his face red.
Diablo: They’re not taking advantage of me….I just never took advantage of my own opportunities. This time…this is mine. This is my last run, I need to make of it what I can.
Dylan: Isn’t it odd to you that you’re the only one being brought back from the original WWS?
Diablo: Well, I mean, not many people are free agents anymore…
Dylan: Bobby Mitchell? Jason Roche? Jason Punk? Nick Corvo? They’re all sitting on the sidelines and YOU were the one called? You don’t think this could all be a set up?
Diablo: What the hell could they be setting me up for, Dylan? I’m just going back to work.
Dylan: See?! You’re still naïve. Think one step ahead of the game…there’s a reason for everything, man. You’re in the main event, you were inauspiciously left off the first card as things were ‘getting worked out”…just give it some thought, that’s all.
Diablo: I’ll give it two seconds, I trust Mullins. I’m being paid well enough to know they’re not going to try anything fast with me. Plus, they’re the ones who told me to come out of retirement.
There’s an awkward silence in the car, Diablo and Dylan both staring at each other. Diablo looks down, starts the car and hops back on the road.
Diablo: I’ll keep an eye out…
Dylan: So…the Jeffery?
Diablo: Get rid of it.
Dylan: Bu—
Diablo: It’s either you or the Jeffery..
Dylan sighs, rolling the window down before chucking it.
Dylan: Once a killjoy, always a killjoy.
Diablo looks at Dylan and the two laugh, but Diablo looks at the open road with a solemn outlook., quite contemplative and not nearly as at ease as he previously was.
Fade
