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Post by Devon Ryder on Dec 18, 2022 21:19:59 GMT -5
ACT ONE: A Peek Behind the Curtain
*Nadia was walking through the halls of the arena, having just arrived in Paris that morning. The tall model looking female’s heels clicked on the concrete flooring.*
"Can you tell me where I would find Devon Ryder?"
*One of the stagehands, gaping up at the tall and well-toned woman before him, simply nodded.*
"Y-yes, I think he's in his private locker room. I could, uh, take you there if you like..."
"That or you could just cut the attempt to flirt with me and tell me where that's at? Or do you need to announce me.. actually that's a good idea. Come on.."
*She motioned for him to show her. The meek fellow simply nodded again and ushered her down the hallway to the Champions' Rooms at the end of the corridor. He counted three doors down, the door marked "PURE CHAMPION - DEVON RYDER", then timidly knocked. A moment passed before a voice - between laboured breaths, audible from beyond the door - spoke out.*
"Come."
*The stagehand slowly pushed open the door, revealing a cozy personal locker room - somewhat more akin to a tiny lounge in terms of its layout and amenities - sparsely furnished, with a television on one wall and a row of lockers on the other. A punching bag hung unused in one corner, mirrored by a Canadian flag draped off the corner of one of the lockers. The flag, once hung proudly in the background of Devon's promos, appeared somewhat neglected - a forgotten piece of a man grappling with his identity. As for this MAN himself, the Canadian-Hero-turned-Dark-Horse was lying in the centre of the room, arms crossed over his bare chest, doing sit-ups on the matted floor.*
"Uh, Mr. Ryder, sir? There's someone here to see you. This is -"
*He turned to the larger woman, now, suddenly acutely aware that he'd forgotten to ask her name.*
"Um... Ms....?"
"Ms Lawson.. Nadia.. Lawson.."
*She smiled at Devon before rolling her eyes at the man introduced her. Leaning down she whispered to the stage hand, slipping him a 50.*
"See to it that we aren't disturbed will you sir?"
*She turned back to Devon. The stagehand nodded and scrambled out of the room, shutting the door behind himself. Devon, for his part, DID return the smile - though his felt a bit curt - but he did not stop doing sit-ups or even break his rhythm to greet her.*
"Nadia... I'm... glad you're here. I wasn't... actually sure... you'd come."
"And why exactly would you doubt that?"
*She gave a soft chuckle. She hid it well but she did check him out a few times. He was toned, smart.. not like the stagehand who was here before. And was that an attempt at being witty? He allowed himself a small smirk, still not breaking his stride as he finished off the last of his set.*
"Well, often our words and promises online... don't translate... into real action."
*He exhaled sharply between each set of words, then slowly came to a stop, lowering himself to the floor with a long sigh, his breath coming in ragged pants. He then rocked back onto his shoulders and, in one smooth motion, stood up from the floor.*
"So, how was your flight? Have you been studying for your debut match?"
*As he spoke, he strode across the room to a solitary chair, over the back of which was draped a red-and-white towel made to resemble the Canadian flag. He wiped the sweat from his face and neck with it, then took a long swig from his water bottle. She watched him, listening to everything he said. She could learn a lot from him, the company's ways.. the people within it and even how to traverse from her old company to this one. Because everywhere was different.*
"Well my words are never false.. I'm not like those who make promises and then rarely keep them."
*She nodded, thinking about her flight.*
"The flight was relatively uneventful.. the ride over here however was a major mess. The driver was late picking me up, but.. c'est la vie."
*As she finished her final sentence, one of Devon's eyebrows quirked, his eyes lighting up as he turned to regard her.*
"Ah, parlez-vous Français?"
*She noted that he recognized that she spoke French.*
"Oui, je parle français. J'ai grandi à Détroit."
*This did beget another smile from the Canuck, who nodded his head knowingly.*
"J'habite à Ottawa, donc j'y suis beaucoup exposé."
*He allowed his smile to very briefly become a sheepish grin, which vanished suddenly as his entire face sunk, his eyes taking on a deep and soulful sadness with a thousand-yard stare at nothing in particular. He dropped his head for just a moment, before inhaling sharply and raising his eyes back up to meet hers.*
"Sorry about that. Desiree spoke French beautifully, and it's all... just still very fresh in my mind. I'll try not to make MY baggage YOURS."
*He flashed her another sad smile, taking another swig from his bottle.*
"So you grew up in Detroit, eh? Family cross the border often?"
*She clocked his words and nodded, listening to him, wanting to make sure she paid good attention to his words.*
"Je comprends, crois-moi. Nous avons tous des squelettes dans nos placards."
*She remembered his sheepish grin, but then his smile vanished and once again he was, sad. She wished she could take away his pain, but she knew that he would have to process that on his own.*
"Yes, we did cross the border a lot. My mother had family over there."
Devon managed another smile and nodded, paying attention to her words, trying desperately to outrun the demons of his trauma and lose himself in this new conversation, the safety of the moment. Breathe, Devon... Focus.
"Oh yeah? Whereabouts, if you don't mind me asking? I moved to London when I was quite young, about two hours from Detroit by car. We only crossed the border a handful of times - mostly for wrestling shows - but my father had business there quite often."
"Normally Windsor, like 3 times a year. Occasionally to London.."
*She paused for a moment thinking about what he had said.*
"My father loved Canada so much, he wanted to move to Windsor when I was little, but sadly, business kept him stateside."
*Devon nodded at her words, another, different kind of sadness overtaking him. This was a more existential, cosmic sort of sadness - a weariness with the world, the peculiar ennui of the severely empathetic. Devon felt quite deeply for the man, and wished he had been able to achieve his desire to move to Canada. But the Canadian Hero knew too well how this world can often dash our dreams against the rocks - even BEFORE his little Hurricane, he had been well-acquainted with that truth.*
"I'm sorry to hear that; I know the struggles of being chained into this vicious system. Is he... still with us? Could his dream perhaps be realized after retirement?"
"He is. He retired and I've been trying to convince him to move to either Windsor or London, since he loved them both so much."
*She wrapped her arms around herself. She thought about it. Her father would never leave her mother behind. She knew he still fought to stay afloat, even though her mother was almost gone mentally.*
"I want him to.. but he won't go unless my mother could be moved to a medical unit up there.."
*Devon frowned deeply, his brow creasing as he did. He softly placed a hand on her shoulder, meeting her gaze with a sympathetic look.*
"I'm so sorry, that sounds like a terrible situation. I don't really have any 'pull', I'm afraid, but if there is any way that I could help, please let me know."
*Nadia felt his hand on her shoulder and she smiled at him for a quick moment, before nodding and looking into his eyes.*
"It is.. but my family is strong. Mom was always so strong, but then the cancer took hold and it's not letting go."
*Devon nodded as his eyes met hers.*
"I admire that. I pride myself on being a fighter, too, just like MY mother. I think it runs in families."
"I have to agree with you on that."
*She nodded.*
"So what's it like here in PWS Apex?"
*Devon perked another 'brow, quizzically. He hadn't been asked to put this company into words before.*
"Interesting... it's certainly enjoyable, if you truly LOVE the sport of professional wrestling, but by that same token it can be immensely frustrating as well. Management is generally flexible and approachable, but the current calibre of talent?"
*He scoffed.*
"Well, have you seen our World Title contender?"
"Are you talking about that Mike Hawk character?"
*She chuckled.*
"Please tell me that its just a character the man plays on TV?"
*Devon laughed softly.*
"It is. For the most part. He's... still very 'extra' out-of-character, but he definitely turns it up to 11 for the cameras."
*He managed another smile, forgetting his sorrows - for the moment - to focus instead on her.*
"His name actually IS Michael Hawk, interestingly enough. Have you met anybody else on the roster yet, or am I your first?"
"You would be my first."
*She laughed softly.*
"I really hoped his character was a joke.. like something he did on screen only."
"Well, I am honoured to be your first. And on behalf of everyone, welcome to the company."
*He laughed once more and flushed slightly as the unintended implication of his word choice dawned on him abruptly, then moved forward and extended a hand to her.*
"Well, I will say that's generally true. The only piece that really carries over is his... unique sense of humour."
*She took his hand, shaking it, not using her full grip, because this was an enjoyable meeting, but enough grip to show she was a strong woman.*
"I can appreciate a unique sense of humor. And thank you for your welcome. It makes me feel welcome.."
*He smiled brightly, admiring for a moment both the strength behind her grip and the softness of her touch. She moved like a woman with expert control over her muscles - and, he had to note, her WELL-TONED muscles at that. He found himself flushing again as his thoughts came back to the present.*
"I'm glad to know it! That was exactly my goal; this is a great community, but I know it can be a bit cliquish at times."
*He pronounced the word "cleek", rather than the Americanized "click".*
"If you need ANYTHING - if you want to review some tapes, go over moves, or just get a review of your last match - come and find me. My door is always open."
*She noticed that he flushed a bit but shook it off as him having been just working out and still catching his breath. Maybe it was their shared laughter.*
"I'll keep that all in mind. And where do you stand in all of this mess? Other than being the current and reigning PURE champion? Are you into the cliques?"
*She used the same pronunciation that he did. He noted her pronunciation and quirked a 'brow again.*
"I am not, particularly. As I see it, I am a professional wrestler and an employee of this company - those are MORE than enough cliques for me. My door is open to anyone, at any time; unfortunately, my personality and my... outspoken beliefs tend to turn a lot of would-be visitors away. But whether I make friends here is irrelevant - I have enough friends outside this industry. I'm here to perform."
"That's a good way of looking at it. Friends are overrated anyways ..."
*She gave him a tiny smirk. His blue eyes sparkled mischievously as he returned the smirk, inclining his head in a very slight nod.*
"Aye, they most certainly can be. Although... I'm not entirely opposed to the idea, in theory."
*She smirked, looking into his blue eyes. She hadn't noticed til that exact moment, just how blue they were.*
"In theory.. I'm cool with befriending the RIGHT people."
*He perked a 'brow again, his eyes meeting hers.*
"And therein lies the rub; discovering the right people for ourselves. Some people will often present as kind and lovely and amiable, and perhaps they are, but then one day they admit their interests and similarities were all a front to get closer to you, and everything unravels..."
*His eyes flickered once again, a shadow of the sadness from earlier returning as his smile faltered.*
"But that's neither here nor there. These things happen, and... well, you already know that the world is rarely kind to the soft-hearted."
*She just smiled sadly and shook her head.*
“No. It isn’t. But the truly strong are those who can SUFFER what this world gives us and push THROUGH it to make themselves something better.”
*Devon Ryder grinned at her, suddenly feeling like himself again in a way he hadn’t for some time.*
“Indeed… You know, Ms. Lawson? I think this may just be the beginning of something truly beautiful…”
Tick… tick… tick…
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ACT TWO: Something Truly Beautiful
*We open on a shot of a private locker room - the same one, in fact, that Nadia Lawson has just exited. Ryder is sitting on the bench in the middle of the room, his Canadian flag gym towel draped over his neck and Pure Title by his side. He glances up at the camera with an implacable, pensive expression.*
“Ah, Christmastime. ‘Tis the season of giving, the season of love, the season of light… and, most of all, the season of telling stories. Stories like the myths around the Founding Fathers of America - Washington and the Cherry Tree, how he freed all of his slaves and was quite caring as a master. It is ALL a fabrication. George Washington detested those he kept in slavery - he saw them as lazy. Unambitious. Lacking the same entrepreneurial spirit on which he prided himself. The only reason he chose to spearhead the American Revolution was because he and his rich, white, land-owning friends were concerned about losing their FREE LABOUR!”
*Ryder pauses now, smirking a bitter and disdainful smirk into the camera.*
“But that is a story for another night. I will not waste your Christmas with a rant about the USA. I will not compare and contrast the Yuletide celebrations in your country versus mine. Instead, I’d like to speak directly to my enemy… the woman I have chosen to bestow with the ‘illustrious’ honour of being the first person to ever face me for my brand new title belt. Morgan Baker.”
*Devon pauses, his eyes locking with the camera.*
“Have you ever lost somebody, Morgan? Someone you love - TRULY love, more richly and deeply than you believed it was possible to love? It changes you. It’s true. I know everyone says that - it’s one of the oldest platitudes in the English language - but in this case, it’s correct. It’s devastating; everything you thought you knew - the PERSON that you believed yourself to be - gets shattered into millions of tiny pieces at your feet. I’ve known lesser mortals who lost themselves to the experience. In fact… it’s entirely possible that I am destined to be one.”
*A pause. A beat. Devon frowns deeply, grappling with VERY difficult emotions.
“You know, Morgan, there was a time when I would have been thrilled to step into the ring with you tonight. When the idea of testing my sheer wrestling skill against you, devoid of any bullshit hardcore ‘gimmicks’ or shenanigans, would have been a point of pride in my abilities as a competitor. There was a time when I would have relished the opportunity to PROVE to both YOU and EVERYONE else in the world that you have the skills to compete with the greatest professional wrestlers of this - or ANY - generation. When I would’ve called what’s going to happen tonight ‘shining you up’, or claimed that I was out to show your REAL greatness to the world! …But that time has long since passed. That is how I WOULD have felt, back when I understood my purpose, and I had a clear idea of who the Canadian Hero was meant to be. But right now? Right now, I don’t really know who Devon Ryder is…”
*A pause, and the Dark Horse hangs his head.*
“But I do know one thing. I am NOT. DEAD. YET. Devon Ryder is still alive, still capable of fighting, and as long as there is BREATH moving through my LUNGS, I will defend this fucking title with everything I have! As long as my heart is beating in my chest, I will NOT give up on everything that I have worked for - everything that I have EARNED - because my love life fell apart like some petulant teenager who’s never had a CRUSH before! I am better than that.”
*Devon pauses, his eyes widening and lip curling upwards as the realization of his words sets in.*
“I am better than that…”
*Devon glances over at the mirror beside his bench. When he sees himself, he inhales deeply, puffing out his chest and sitting up straighter, keeping his shoulders back. He speaks the next line to himself as much as to us.*
“I am better than that. Stronger. It has… taken me some time to realize it, but it’s true. I was not Unbreakable because of Desiree - she simply helped me see it. She would often tell me so herself; she didn’t MAKE me who I am, she simply helped to bring out what was already there. And it was in me long before I met her… so why shouldn’t it survive even after she has left? Perhaps THAT is who Devon Ryder really is. Perhaps it is the REASON I showed up for this title match tonight. Because I am not a quitter. I will not allow this pain to break me. Perhaps tonight will mark a turning point in my Hero’s Journey - the first tentative step towards recovery. Towards remembering how to be that Hero. And what is a hero, Morgan Baker… without a villain to test themselves against?”
*Devon pauses again, and a familiar self-important smirk flickers across his features. He begins to resemble the Canadian Hero once again.*
“Because you DO realize you’re the villain in this story, don’t you? Have you listened to the fan reactions - the WELCOME they have GIVEN me? Canada is not the only country that recognizes my superiority, Morgan Baker - the only PEOPLE who acknowledge the TRUTH that I am speaking! I am among comrades here; sympathetic ears and echoing voices, ALL of whom regard the United States exactly the same way as I do. The same way every civilized, first-world nation views you. With pity and CONTEMPT. I’m sure you’ve felt it; the gazes from the locals while you bumble like a tourist, taking selfies and filming Tik-Tok videos in front of all their major landmarks? No? How about the subtle shift in tone when they hear you speak in your US-American accent? Have you tried speaking Spanish to them? Oh, I do so hope you have; the response would have been glorious. Did they humour you, Morgan? String you along like a blessed little child, who stands ignorantly beaming while their parents pin their god awful macaroni art onto the fridge? I rather expect they didn’t; in fact, I would be VERY surprised if your middling attempt at their language netted you anything more than a few sympathetic glances and a condescending “awwww”. But you still tried anyway, didn’t you, Morgan? Because you’re an American - and, specifically, a white American - so that is what you DO. Even the very best of you are guilty of this, and I blame it squarely on your horrific, biased, faulty ‘education’ system; you learn, from an early age, that everybody LOOOOVES the United States of America. That every ‘lesser’ country in the WORLD is just clamoring to immigrate there, to take advantage of the ‘freedom’ and the ‘opportunity’ that only rampant, unregulated capitalism can offer.”
*A pause, and Ryder smirks, allowing his words to sink it.*
“I am sure by now that you have seen the FALLACY of this. The lie that you’ve been fed - like the lies around your Founding Fathers - to lead you where you are. I won’t insult your intelligence by continuing to patronize you, Morgan, I’ll simply say this; THAT is where you and I differ. As competitors, as wrestlers, and most of all, as PEOPLE. You believed the lie, Morgan, and you had to be disabused of that notion - be it by moving outside of your own ‘bubble’, by seeing and interacting with a more diverse assortment of human beings, or even simply seeing more of the world throughout the course of your career - it doesn’t matter. The point is, you DID believe it. You’ve BEEN on the inside. That brainwashing runs deep - the nationalistic propaganda they’ve pumped into you since grade school - and it can be very, VERY difficult to break. When those beliefs are challenged, you can get defensive. Emotional. SLOPPY. Even in the aftermath, once your brain has been deprogrammed and you realize the error of your ways, the knee-jerk reaction is still to defend your country’s honour, to react negatively to criticism from outside. Even though your beliefs are no longer deeply-held, you still can’t quite shake the effects they had on you. And THAT will be your weakness. Because it’s left a blind spot in you, Morgan. An exploitable hole in your defences, that means you’ll never TRULY reconcile the cognitive dissonance between what you have been TAUGHT and what you know is TRUE. I am not possessed of such a weakness… at least, not anymore.”
*A beat. Devon pauses, taking a long moment to stare at the ground, collecting his thoughts. When he speaks again, his words are measured. Thoughtful.*
“Because I may not know who Devon Ryder is without Desiree de la Roche, but I have ALWAYS known what I am. I have never bought into the lie the same way you did, Morgan. I’ve been an outside observer, looking in, seeing all your cult-like propaganda for exactly what it is. And I have been educated. I KNEW about our Residential Schools - long before those bodies surfaced in BC, I was taught about the horrors of Canada’s cultural genocide against the aboriginals. We may NOT be perfect - gods know, as a country, we are a LONG fucking way from that. We have a housing crisis, a TERRIBLE poverty problem, a lack of access to the fundamental human right of healthcare, and we are only NOW taking BABY STEPS towards reconciliation with the indigenous peoples whose land we STOLE from them! Canada. Is. Broken.”
*Another pause, as Devon calms himself.*
“And yet, for all our MANY faults, you STILL manage to be worse. Everything that we do wrong, it seems we learned from YOU. Residential schools? Brought to Canada by an American priest, after visiting the US to see how THEY treated their natives. Gun violence? You have NO idea how many Canadians - my own COUNTRYMEN - I hear claiming their ‘second amendment rights’ when discussing our new assault weapons ban. In case the absurdity of those words was lost on you, let me elucidate that Canada does not HAVE a second amendment, and our Charter of Rights and Freedoms provides for NO right to bear weaponry, unlike the violence you’ve baked into your DNA.”
*Another pause, here, as Devon chuckles half-heartedly to himself.*
“So, you know what? Maybe I was wrong. You see, as it turns out, America really IS exceptional… in that it's the only country that actively pollutes every other culture it comes into contact with! And I know that’s not your fault, Morgan - neither is Desiree leaving me, or the existential dread I feel around climate change and the oncoming catastrophe. But I cannot solve THOSE problems, Morgan, and no amount of wrestling skill will make that terror go away. You know what wrestling can accomplish? For just a moment - 40 blissful minutes to an hour out of every painful day - wrestling can make me feel better. I can find some brief catharsis in the gorgeous technical violence this job allows me to inflict… and tonight, I am SO sorry, but ALL of that violence will be directed towards YOU. Because I can’t hurt your COUNTRY, Morgan. I can’t put American Exceptionalism in a sleeper hold until it passes out. I cannot bodyslam my heartbreak, or suplex the free-market economy until it stops moving… but I can do those things to you. And because of where you come from, I’m going to be cheered on and lauded when I do it.”
*A beat. Ryder glares into the camera.*
“And that isn’t fair, Morgan, I agree… but it IS just basic storytelling. Every Hero needs a villain… and maybe I do know who I am, after all…”
*With that, the opening riff of the Guess Who’s “American Woman” begins to blare, heralding Ryder’s exit. He manages a half-hearted but VERY arrogant smirk into the camera lens, yanking the Canadian flag towel from around his neck and tossing it over the lens as we fade.*
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Post by Morgan Baker on Dec 18, 2022 22:22:56 GMT -5
You Called Your Shot November 8th Riot
Morgan Baker, with her hand raised in victory against Shawn Young, felt accomplished for the first time in a long time. It was major for her considering all the time she had had off. All the training that she had under Wolflair: Orlando, there is always a linger of doubt. But as they say, sometimes it’s just like riding a bike.
Even if she’s never rode a bike before.
But she would wait to hear her music but it wouldn’t come. Instead, she would hear Devon Ryder, the newly crowned PWS: Apex Pure Champion, congratulating her on her victory. She watched as he crossed the threshold of the entrance, holding on to the contract that he was given by Star and Max in one hand, and that new pretty Pure Championship on his other shoulder. She thought it was a joke at first. Ryder never acknowledged her til this moment but then she heard him say:
“I knew I wanted an underdog. Somebody unproven as yet in this company, somebody who has not been TESTED on this kind of stage with these kinds of stakes before… and that’s why I think YOU are the perfect choice.”
Morgan blinked in surprise for a moment, but when he tossed that contract on the ramp, and walked away saying it was her choice.
Who was she to deny the champ?
You know that scene in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory where Charlie finds out that the last ticket was a forgery, and he opened up the Wonka Bar and suddenly a dream became a reality? Yes, it was exactly like that.
She could hear the fans telling her to do it, some even offering pens and sharpies but Devon hooked a pen to the contract in anticipation. And without even watching where she was going, she made her way to the back, passed the signed contract off to Star Stormz, who was waiting on her and smiled.
“I’m in.” Morgan simply stated.
Star looked down, saw the signature and nodded, “Good luck Morgan.”
And following that Morgan knew what she had to do.
Home for the Holidays East London, UK She promised her mom that because she made the trip across the pond, that there would be a stop back in her childhood home and for the last couple of weeks things had been semi-normal. Her brothers, Erik and Graham, would give her a hard time, trying to get all the details of her living in the states and trying to figure out if there were any men in her life.
Morgan would just change the subject and ask them about their personal lives and that would send them out the door as fast as their feet could take them. Occasionally her mom would break it up by bringing her into the kitchen to help prepare dinner.
“Morgs, why don’t you come help me in the kitchen,” to break up her children from getting on each other's nerves, “Don’t you two have to go run the training?”
Morgan would stick her tongue out them both as they left and joining her mother in her kitchen, “I swear, don’t those two have lives and their own places?”
“They do, but we haven’t seen you in so long and after the way things were left the last time between you and Erik...” Mama Baker said as she prepared the tea.
Morgan just grunted, “Ugh you heard about that?”
Her mother gave a shrug with a knowing smile, “Graham threw him under the proverbial bus within a week. But he’s since met a nice girl that works at a local shoppe in the area. They’re getting married next summer.”
“Well that’s something. What about Graham?” Morgan asked as she straightened out one of the tea towels that were set on the island, “Is he happy?”
“Graham has always been on his own path.” her mom said as she sat the tea down in front her daughter, “Much like you. We watched your match and I must say, you have grown up so much. I almost didn’t recognize you when we picked you up from the airport.”
“Well, when you get out there on your own, it’s only a matter of time. I know you were worried about it but honestly, it’s been good for me.”
Her mother remains silent for a moment, getting comfortable on a stool. She smiles gently, “Agreed.” Morgan sits tall and in shock but before she can say anything, “Your father and I discussed it in length but you would have been stuck here. I want you to be happy, even with all the hurricanes and reptiles...”
“Those are only in the swamp lands, and I live no where close to them.” Morgan laughed at her mother’s cringing face, “Besides that Lach and Si and the rest of the group have made sure that I’m well looked after. I honestly think that I can make an amazing run with PWS: Apex if I can get on a good path. They understood this trip but it’s almost time to join back up with them and have that huge match in Barcelona at Crusade.”
Morgan’s mother reaches out and touches her face, “I just miss you, my sunshine. But your happiness is all that matters.”
Morgan leans into her mother’s touch, “Thank you mama.”
“Now,” her mom clears her throat, “What is it going to take to get us all to Barcelona to watch you in action?”
Morgan laughed, “I think I know, I’ll go make the calls...after tea.”
“Of course, my dear. Tea first.” and the ladies clink their cups and move on in their conversation.
Why Me?
“Why me? Why in the mass of people that is on the PWS: Apex roster, did Devon Ryder pick me?”
Morgan sits on a beautiful and colorful stonewall overlooking the beautiful city of Barcelona and she’s completely at peace.
“He’s said that he sees something inside me and perhaps he’s right, maybe there is something that lies beneath the young woman that is still unsure about her own place in the world. But yet, I still had to scratch my head. But then I realized something, Devon and I aren’t that much different. We like to think outside the box and push those limitations. We aren’t in any way, shape or form normal, are we Devon?”
Morgan smiles and laughs.
“No, suppose we’re not. The Canadian that attempted to change the whole idea of what Collateral Damage division was and now we have something pure come from something that has such a bloody path. But what kind of champion will you be on something that is considered Pure?”
Morgan gives a knowing look.
“We know what the Pure title means, and I can promise you just that I will stick to that. I hold too much damn respect for you to think otherwise. It’s what I’ve been training for and what I’ve been waiting for, the moment to prove just how great the other is. We’re going to put this new title on the map at Crusade, Devon. I have no doubt about that and no matter who walks out with it, one of us will carry it with high regard. I wish you luck, but you are going to have to know something...I’m not going to hold back. It’s about time I make my mark beyond just a tag title reign, dontcha think?”
With a wink, she hops off the wall and takes one last look out into the city before looking back.
“Imagine it, Pure Champion...Morgan Baker. ....has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
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