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drunktuesdays · 2 years

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Hi Lea! I was just wondering how A4A danny and eddie are doing? I miss them and I hope danny isn't struggling too hard with what to do about JAS v BCC. 🥺👉👈

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Eight

The alarm goes off. Eddie groans, rolls to his feet, and shuffles half-heartedly towards the bathroom. It's late—the sun is high in the sky—so Eddie must have snoozed his fuckin' alarm a bunch before it actually got him up. It doesn't matter. He wasn't gonna do anything else with his day anyway. He should shower, but he's not gonna. He should shave at least. He should shave.

He puts the razor down. Slumps back to the bedroom.

The next day, the alarm goes off. Eventually, Eddie gets up.

The alarm goes off. Eddie gets up.

By the time TeeVee day rolls around, his accidental beard has managed to grow thick and wiry. More greys than the last time he grew it out, which he's sure twitter will have a lot to say about. He doesn't care. He gets backstage, and runs into Bryce.

"Oh hey," Bryce says, blinking. Then, his eyes narrow, and he gives Eddie one long, measured look.

"Fuck off," Eddie says, shouldering past him.

"I know what you growing a beard means," Bryce calls after him. "Hey, you have friends who love you, man!"

Eddie flips him a middle finger, and keeps going. No one's else is in the locker room when he opens the door, but Eddie's not willing to wait around either. He stashes his stuff in one of the cubbies, and then darts down a couple long hallways, through a quiet kitchen, and out through a pair of swinging doors. Eddie's never been to this arena, but there's always a quiet loading dock off a kitchen that no one ever uses for anything this late in the afternoon. He sits, puts his back against the brick, and watches the construction project next door. There's a couple guys still working, maybe digging up some pipework. That was Eddie once. He did that, for years and years, when he couldn't find other work, when he couldn't wrestle because all the bookers hated his guts. He thought he was gonna die doing that work, actually. He kinda still does.

Mox drops down next to him. "What the fuck," Eddie says. "How'd you find me?"

"I fucking taught you about loading docks," Mox says peaceably. He tenses his legs straight out in front of him for a minute and then relaxes, letting his feet dangle off the edge. "Bryce thinks your depression beard is a cry for help."

"Fuck him," Eddie says, rubbing a hand through his scruff. "I think it looks good."

"Mmm," Mox says, not agreeing, but not disagreeing either. Eddie lets his head thunk back against the brick again. He listens to the sounds of Mox taking out a cigarette, the flick of his thumb on the lighter, and then the sharp inhale. Eddie thinks about bumming one but he's tired. He's so tired.

"Why do you think we never ended up together?" He almost surprises himself with the question.

Next to him, he feels Mox pause and think about it. "Because we're both assholes, probably."

Eddie snorts. That's for damn sure.

"And you're too sensitive."

Eddie rolls his head sideways in outrage. "I'm too sensitive?"

"You heard me."

"Go to hell. Me, sensitive. Me. I got the thickest skin in this business, brother. You think I coulda survived my fuckin' life if I was sensitive?"

"Yeah," Mox says, unperturbed. "Cuz you did."

Eddie scoffs. "Full of shit." Mox doesn't say anything about that, so they lapse back into silence. Across the way, the construction guys hoot as one of them struggles to drive a little backhoe in a straight line. They oughta give the guy a break, because it's harder than you think it's gonna be. It ain't like driving a civc around the suburbs. He's possessed by the urge to walk over there and say, "hey, let me take a crack at it. One of you go wrestle for me, I'll do this instead. Trade lives, or whatever."

"Ruby told me I'm in love with the kid," he says. Apparently he's just sayin' shit today, good for him.

Mox steals a look at him. "Oh we're talking about it now?"

"Not if you're gonna be a dick," Eddie says.

"See? Sensitive."

"Oh fuck you—"

"But nah, I don't think you're in love with him," Mox says.

"Okay, see, that's what I told her," Eddie says. He thought he'd feel relieved that someone agreed with him but he doesn't really. There's a headache forming behind his eyes, and all he wants to do is go back to the hotel and lay down, take a nap.

"You don't wanna be," Mox says, ignoring him. "You're too busy being Eddie Fuckin' Kingston around here with the bigass chip on your shoulder, saying 'don't fuck with me pardna, I'm from the streets'—"

"I've told you about doing impressions of me, you fuckin suck at it—"

"—closed-off, too ready to snap someone's head off—"

"Tell me how you really feel, like damn son—"

"smelly as shit, raggedy-ass depression beard growing motherfucker—"

They're both laughing too hard to continue. By the time he gets a hold of himself, his ribs hurt and tears are streaming from his eyes. "I hate you," he tells Mox, slings an arm around Mox's shoulders and kisses him on the head.

"You wanna be?" Mox says, when Eddie lets him go.

"Wanna be what? Smelly?"

"In love with the kid."

Eddie squints out at the construction guys. They're knocking off for the day, gathering their shit. Heading home to their families or whatever they got. "Maybe," he says eventually. "I don't even know if it's on the table anymore. Probably not."

Mox snorts. "The way he stares at you when you're not lookin? It's on the table."

The door opens behind them, and Ortiz comes out. "Hey Monkey," Eddie says, looking up at him.

"Man, why are you still in street clothes? Nice beard, Santa Claus ."

"Aw, shut the hell up," Eddie says. "How'd you know we were out here?"

"You two are always makin' out out here," Monkey says.

"He fucking wishes," Mox says. He hauls himself up to his feet, and then extends a hand to pull Eddie up.

"Hey, we're gonna stage a surprise intervention for you later," Monkey says. "Didn't wanna get punched about it." He looks at Mox. "Wanna come? The more the merrier."

"Nah, I just did mine," Mox says. "Thanks though."

"Fuck both of you to hell," Eddie says, and stomps past the two of them. He doesn't know where he went wrong with his whole set of dumbass friends but he's gonna get around to dumping em all, probably.

He only sees Garcia once the whole day. Not that Eddie's looking for him in particular or anything. It's when he's coming through the back after his Dark tag match with Ortiz. He's covered in sweat, blood up, trying to walk fast to avoid Monkey squawking at him. He glances up quick, and there's the kid, laying on a stack of tables, talking to one of the Private Party goofs.

He looks good. Eddie's tryin' not to be a coward no more, so he just thinks it. It ain't a big deal. The kid looks good, so what? He's not paying attention to Eddie, that's for sure. He's smiling, relaxed and loose and happy.

Okay. Good for him then.

"Ooooh, I'm gonna make Penta yell at you at the intervention," Monkey says under his breath.

"Go ahead," Eddie says. "I'm not scared of him."

"Yeah, you are," Monkey says, the goddamn traitor.

After the show, Eddie goes back to the hotel. He could have gone out with the boys—probably should have. They said their piece, and he knows they wouldn't keep it up if he went out with them.

He doesn't. He goes back to the room. Doesn't draw the bolt.

It's stupid. He knows he's bein' stupid. After the fight they'd had about Yoots, after he'd shoved Garcia down and knotted him open, the kid made it clear what he wanted from Eddie, which was a fat lot of nothing. So what does Eddie think is gonna happen here? He thinks something changed? He thinks Garcia might come around and say—

Say what, Eddie. What do you want Garcia to say to you? OK, you're not bein' a coward anymore. What's the kid even got left to say to you?

Eddie doesn't know, and he's not ducking it—he doesn't know. He wants the kid to...to go soft. To stop being mad at him. Start coming around again. Maybe look at Eddie like he looked at Isiah today, amused, fond, relaxed.

When he was a kid, his mom used to give him the biggest grief about his attitude. "You want everyone in the world to give you a mile, but you won't give nobody a inch. Won't give anyone a sliver of an inch."

"So what?" Eddie had yelled back. "Who's giving me a mile? Nobody gives me shit, so what are you even talking about, ma?"

No one knocks on his door that night. No one tries the handle.

Big surprise.

The alarm goes off. Eddie gets up.

He's got an early flight out of here for once. Usually, he'll try to get booked on the midday flights because it ain't worth the grief to get his ass out of bed. But he's not sleeping so good anyway, and he wants to be home. He wants to be out of this hotel. He wants to be gone.

"Hey Eddie," Yuta says, sliding into the shuttle van next to him.

"Big Yoots," Eddie says, forcing a grin. "How you been, baby?"

Yuta dimples and offers him a Starbucks cup. "Want one? They accidentally made me two and said I could keep 'em both."

"Man," Eddie says, taking the cup. "I gotta hang around you more. You've got some luck." Yuta beams, and the van starts moving towards the airport with a growl and a lurch.

After a minute, Yuta says, "You haven't."

Eddie takes a sip of his coffee, and then says, "What? Had luck?"

"Been hanging around."

"Oh," Eddie says. "Well, you're big-time now. The rising star of the company and shit."

"I thought you were mad at me," Yuta continues, as if Eddie wasn't even talking. "You seemed kinda mad. I thought maybe it was because I was nice to Bryan."

"It is," Eddie says, immediately seizing on it. "You know how I feel about Goatface."

"Hmm." Yuta slides a look at him. "You sure it's nothing else? Nothing I did?"

"Aww, geez, Yoots." Eddie slings his arm around Yuta's neck, and tugs him close, ignoring as Yuta squawks and tries to keep his coffee from spilling. "I'm an asshole, alright?" He smacks a big kiss on the side of Yuta's head and then laughs as Yuta wriggles free. "I'm an asshole," he says again. "I'm trying to snap out of it."

"Okay," Yuta says. "Because I lost the belt to Garcia, and I'm gonna need all the friends I can get if Regal kicks me out."

The mention of the kid's name makes Eddie's heart skip like he needs a fuckin' pacemaker. "He's not gonna kick you out," Eddie says blankly. "It was a good match. You fought good."

"Thanks," Yuta says sunnily. "Plus, I'm gonna get it back from Garcia the next time I get a shot at him."

They ride in silence for a few minutes, and then Eddie says, in a tone as casual as an avalanche, "you ever talk to him?"

"Who," Yuta asks. "Garcia?"

"No, Goatface. Yeah, Garcia, c'mon."

Yuta gives him a weird look. "Sometimes. Not a lot or anything." "Oh," Eddie says, fighting the urge to squirm like a little kid. "I thought maybe you did. You've been fighting him a lot."

"Yeah," Yuta says slowly. "So have you. We're. In a feud? The BCC vs. JAS? Ring a bell?"

"Aw geez, nevermind," Eddie says, and turns to watch the side of the road.

Yuta speaks up again after a minute, his voice carefully even. "He's never hung around that much. Even when I was with—when I hung out with other people.. Danny's kind of. Intense."

"Intense how?" Eddie asks, wishing he didn't even start this. "What, about belts?"

"Yeah," Yuta says. "Or—no. Not just the belts." Eddie can feel Yuta's stupid calm eyes on him. "He wants stuff. He—tries really hard. When he wants something"

That's for damn sure. Eddie's throat feels like it's closing up as he thinks about it. It's true. The kid tries at every damn thing. He's never been ashamed of getting caught at it either, which Eddie never understood, couldn't relate to. Danny was always so—But Yuta wasn't—The two of them weren't—Eddie had thought for sure—

"You looking for him?" Yuta says finally, when Eddie doesn't say anything else.

"Yeah," Eddie says, raspy as sandpaper. "I guess I will be. I think I've been an asshole to him too."

"Oh," Yuta says, and he opens his mouth to say something else, but just then, they pull up to the airport. Blindly, Eddie hops outta the car, grabs his bag, and waves goodbye to a still talking Yuta.

He tosses his coffee in the trash. Weaves his way through TSA. Finds his stupid gate. Collapses into a chair. His stupid itchy-ass beard is annoying him now, and he wishes he'd fuckin' shaved before he left this morning, when Monkey had threatened to do the honors. He's half-thinking about getting a razor out of his bag and trying it in the bathroom when his phone buzzes.

It's a text from Yuta. No message. Just an address. Someone's apartment address.

An address in Buffalo.

[onwards to nine]

#alpha4alpha #my work #wrestling

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valloninfo · 6 months

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Pascal Louis-Jacquet & Olivier Fahrni en plein entraînememnt. Le petit village de Tartegnin, niché dans les collines suisses, s'apprête à accueillir la quatrième édition du Mondial de la Fondue du 17 au 19 novembre 2023. Parmi les participants, deux passionnés du village de Buttes se distinguent : Pascal Louis-Jacquet et Olivier Fahrni. Ces amateurs de fondue et épicuriens dans l'âme ont décidé de relever le défi de cette compétition internationale qui promet une célébration inégalée du fromage suisse par excellence. 12'000 visiteurs sont attendus ! Au fil des derniers mois, Pascal et Olivier ont minutieusement étudié le règlement de la compétition, conscient que les quelque 200 concurrents auront un défi culinaire unique à relever. Tous devront cuisiner avec le même matériel, utiliser un mélange à fondue composé d'au moins 50 % de Gruyère AOP, et accompagner leur création du même vin et du même pain que leurs adversaires. Le critère d'évaluation est tout aussi rigoureux, confié à un jury professionnel et un jury amateur chargés de départager les prétendants. Les fondues seront jugées en toute impartialité, avec un pain identique, selon cinq critères clés : le goût, l'apparence visuelle, la consistance, l'homogénéité et l'impression générale. L'objectif ultime est d'obtenir le plus grand nombre de points possible sur une échelle de 20. Le jour J, les présélections auront lieu le matin, de 11 h à 15 h, dans les caves mises à disposition par les vignerons de Tartegnin. Les concurrents dont les fondues obtiennent la meilleure note par catégorie et par cave se qualifieront pour la grande finale. L'excitation culmine lors de la finale, qui se déroule l'après-midi de 18 h à 19 h sous la cantine centrale. Les fondues des finalistes seront évaluées par le jury professionnel, et l'annonce des résultats révélera les nouveaux champions du monde de la fondue. Les lauréats de chaque catégorie, amateurs et professionnels, seront couronnés "Champion du Monde" et se verront remettre le prestigieux trophée offert par Gruyère AOP et la CIVC, accompagné d'un diplôme en reconnaissance de leur maîtrise fromagère. Les seconds de chaque catégorie auront également l'honneur de recevoir un diplôme, témoignant de leur excellence dans l'art de la fondue. Pascal Louis-Jacquet et Olivier Fahrni portent les espoirs de Val-de-Travers dans cette compétition de renommée mondiale. Nous leur souhaitons beaucoup de plaisir et tout le succès possible dans cette aventure fromagère unique où, sans prétention, ils souhaitent avant tout s'amuser !

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