Post by Devon Ryder on Dec 16, 2021 16:26:21 GMT -5
OOC Author's Note: This promo was supposed to be posted between the November 16th and December 7th editions of Riot, but work/life stuff got in the way and I'm only getting to it now. Timestamps have been added to help better visualize when it takes place in-character, so hopefully everything still makes sense.
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Where am I...?
W-what happened...?
I remember...fighting with Lyons...then, Tyson Sykes?
He...he had a chair.
That sound...
Oh, no.
ACT 1: THE AFTERMATH
16 November, 2021
10:56 PM EDT
Immediately After Riot
*Fade in.*
*The cold, clinical pinging of the heart monitor continues as we find ourselves in the middle of a semi-private hospital room, with the camera pointing towards a large exterior window looking out onto a skyline that our more astute viewers will recognize as belonging to Windsor, Ontario Canada. Standing in front of the window is the lithe form of Desiree de La Roche, clad in simple blue jeans and a grey t-shirt, staring out into the night sky. Her back is facing the camera, but from the translucent reflection in the window we can clearly see that she's been crying, with some lingering red wetness around the corners of her eyes. Desiree stands for a long moment in silence, gazing into the starry night with a solemn frown, before inhaling sharply as she turns around. The camera turns along with her, giving us a better view of the room, and in the centre of our frame lies "The Canadian Hero", Devon Ryder, unconscious and prone in a hospital bed. Ryder's breathing is shallow but even and steady, and the heartbeat monitor we heard earlier - still beeping away over the backdrop of our scene - is hooked up to his right arm, along with an oxygen metre on his finger. The top of Ryder's head is heavily bandaged, and his left cheek just below the eye is swollen, bearing a violent purple bruise. Clearly, this is the aftermath of the assault by Tyson Sykes and Alexander Lyons after Devon's match on the last riot, when he was laid out in the ring by several chair shots to the head courtesy of The Ripper. Desiree de La Roche's resolve seems to falter for just a moment as she sees her partner in this state again, but she's able to quickly snap herself out of it as she hears footsteps entering the room. We slowly spin the camera around, keeping Desiree and Devon both in-frame, as a blue scrub-wearing doctor enters the room, looking through some notes on a clipboard as he moves. The doctor comes to a stop at the foot of Devon's bed and glances over at him, double checking a page in his notes. A pregnant pause hangs in the air for a tense moment before a heavily-Brazilian-accented voice breaks the silence.*
Desiree de La Roche:
"How is he, doctor?"
*The doctor turns his attention to Ms. de La Roche, frowning a professional yet sympathetic frown.*
Dr. Andrews:
"Well, everything looks promising, but I'm afraid it's too soon to tell. Concussions can be...unpredictable, even minor ones like Mr. Ryder's. You said this is his first concussion?"
*Desiree nods, seeming to collect herself a little more in that moment, in response to being asked a question.*
"Yes. Devon has always wrestled very safely."
*Doctor Andrews nods, sighing softly - not in frustration, likely just relieving stress.*
”I understand. Well, in that case he should be up and running in about a week with no lingering effects, but I can't make any guarantees. Especially considering what he does for a living, as well as the delay in flying him here from Tennessee."
*He pauses, glancing back at Devon’s unconscious body.*
“Why did you refuse treatment in Nashville, if you don’t mind my asking?”
*Desiree purses her lips as she glances at Devon as well, then back to Doctor Andrews.*
“We do not believe in being charged for essential medical care. I thought my Devon would appreciate coming back to consciousness in a civilized society."
*Doctor Andrews frowns, his brow furrowing which creases lines across the length of his bald forehead, but he says nothing. He simply nods, lifting another page on his chart and double-checking something before he lets it fall back down.*
“I see. Well, once Mr. Ryder wakes up, we’ll keep him here for observation. It shouldn’t be more than 24 hours; we’ll have a better handle on his condition by then, and whether any post-concussive syndrome is to be expected. But before he fell asleep he was responsive, which is usually a good sign. Provided that continues, based on his chart I think he’ll be alright. Just make sure he gets plenty of rest for at least the next seven days, and try to keep him out of the ring for a week or two just to play it safe.”
*Desiree smiles a soft, sad smile.*
“I will certainly try, but Devon can be as stubborn as I am sometimes.”
*The doctor nods.*
“Hahaha, I know how that can be. Just give it your best shot, and I’ll write a note to PWS management as well, informing them of the situation. Goodnight, Ms. de La Roche, I’ll be around if you have any questions.”
*He reaches out to shake her hand, which she accepts with surprising firmness.*
“Thank you, Dr. Andrews. You’ve been incredibly helpful.”
*The doctor nods again before turning around and exiting the room. As he leaves we note the second bed in the semi-private room is empty, allowing Desiree and Devon to spend this vulnerable moment alone. As the doctor leaves, Desiree’s stony countenance cracks, and she sheds a tear again while looking towards the prone form of her beloved. She takes a seat beside him and takes one of his hands in hers, reaching forward to gently stroke his hair as she whispers to him softly.*
“Get well soon, my beloved. I will be right here waiting when you do.”
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ACT 2: GIVING THANKS
I can hear that sound again. I think I’m...fading, in and out.
I remember...a helicopter. Was...was I...airlifted out of Nashville? Oh, my angel…
Desiree’s voice. Speaking to a doctor. I need t-to tell her...I’m okay.
I heard him mention post-concussive syndrome. Gods, I hope it’s not that bad...
I just...need to wake up now. I can fight this, if I’m...conscious…
“Get well soon, my beloved.”
Desiree…?
“I will be right here waiting when you do.”
Desiree, I’m fine. I just...
Oh, no...
No, this is all wrong.
Come on, just open your eyes, Devon.
OPEN.
YOUR.
FUCKING.
EYES!
16 November, 2021
11:45 PM EDT
*Fade in.*
*That same sound greets my ears as consciousness finally returns. That monotonous, unceasing reminder of the sorry state I’m in right now. I block it out. Focus on other sounds around the room; the slow, methodic hum of the hospital’s air conditioning unit, the squeaky wheels of an IV cart moving past my door and down the hallway beyond. I tally the sensations, testing all my senses as they each return. I feel the soft, cotton blankets on my skin. A sheen of old, cooled sweat matting my hair and down my neck and shoulders. I feel the pinch of an oxygen meter on my right index finger. The rustle of the sheets beneath my palm as I flex my tired muscles, massagining sensation back into my fingers against the rough surface, pilled from overwashing. But there’s something else, as well. On my left. A hand, clasping my own, the thumb running slowly over the back of my bruised knuckles in a calm and soothing motion. Another hand, along my thigh. Fingertips. Just barely brushing, teasing the surface...just like she does to calm me down. Desiree. I’m sorry, meu amor, I should have been here with you sooner. I let myself come back, fully in the present moment, and that’s when I can hear her singing…*
“Shoot me down, I won’t fall, I am titanium…”
*Our song. Our mantra. I suppose I should have known. We have always taken comfort in our love in times of crisis, seeking safety in what is familiar.*
“Shoot me down, I won’t fall…”
*I let my eyes drift open, squinting against the harsh light of the fluorescent tubes above me. I need to let her know I’m here. I just need to find the words…*
Devon Ryder:
“I am titanium...”
*She smiles. That wonderful, gorgeous smile. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.*
“Devon...?”
*Her voice seems hopeful, but the weariness is written in her eyes. This isn’t the first time I’ve come back tonight. I will try to make sure that it’s the last.*
“Hello again, my love. What a wonderful sight to wake up to.”
*It seems to take everything I have, the muscles in my face scream in protest, but I manage to smile at her. I hope it seems more reassuring than sad.*
“Though, of course, I wish it were in better circumstances.”
*She laughs, clasping my hand in both of hers. Even as her face brightens, the corners of her eyes are wet, and I can see her bottom lip quiver in the smile. Despite her pain, her worry, she puts on a brave face for my benefit.*
“Yes, amor, I agree. I’m glad to see you so alert.”
*The statement hurts, but I understand. My mind has always been my greatest asset, it is why she fell in love with me, so to see me out of control...it must have been heartbreaking for her. It breaks MY heart even THINKING about it. I take her hands in mine, wincing as I lean forward in the bed to trap her perfect, pouty lips in a kiss that is as much to bring me back to the moment as it is to reassure her that I’m here. Her eyes shut, and we lose ourselves in our passion for a long and rapturous moment. As she pulls away, I feel my breath escaping. A beat. We lock eyes, back in reality again.*
“Eu te amo, Desi...”
“Eu te amo, Devon.”
*We hold like this for a while. Staring into each other’s eyes, feeling our heartbeats joining as one through the tips of our entwined fingers...the closeness of our palms. We spend a moment just...existing; here, together, in the aftermath...before her façade cracks, and the tears begin to fall. I pull her close to me, wrapping her in my arms and cradling her head against my chest.*
“Shhh, Desi, it’s alright...I’m here now, fully and completely. I promise.”
*I feel her arms slide around my waist, as her body heaves with silent sobs against my chest. I run a hand gently through her curls, letting my thumb massage her forehead as I have so many nights before, because I know it calms her down. My poor darling. She has always been my rock - the brilliant blazing light to guide me back to shore - but now it’s my turn to be that for her. She has had enough strength for the two of us already. I sit upright - a Herculean feat, my muscles BEG me not to do it, but I persevere. She needs to know that I’m alright. She needs to know that WE’RE alright.*
“I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose;
Fire away, fire away...”
*She looks up at me, drowning me in her big, beautiful chocolate eyes. The mists begin to clear inside my head, and I’m finally feeling like myself again.*
“Ricochet, you take your aim;
Fire away, fire away…”
*I wipe the tears from Desi’s eyes gently with the thumb of one hand. She leans into my touch and I cradle her cheek for just a moment, her eyes falling closed in the closeness.*
“Shoot me down, but I won’t fall…”
*Her voice joins mine. I never was much of a singer, but my beloved has the voice of an angel. A whole damn choir of them.*
“I am titanium.”
*She spins elegantly away from me, keeping my hand clutched loosely in her fingers, as she snatches up her phone from the table beside me and holds it to her lips like it’s a microphone. She moves her hips in time with the rhythm in our minds, pantomiming a performance to an audience of one.*
“Shoot me down, but I won’t fall…”
*She rears her head back now, her loose curls bouncing with the force as she forgets herself for just a moment, and belts the final line with not a yell, but a little louder than is probably appropriate given our surroundings.*
“I AM TITAAAAAANIIIIIIUM!”
*We pause after that, her mocha-coloured cheeks flushing a light pink as our eyes lock sheepishly together. We wait tensely, breath baited in the deafening silence, for some kind of reprimand from nearby staff...but after a long few moments it seems we’re in the clear. I release my breath with an embarrassed laugh, and she joins in. Before long we’re both giggling like schoolchildren and she collapses in my lap again, throwing her arms around my neck with that infectious, gorgeous grin.*
“There’s that smile I love so much.”
*She flushes again, crinkling her nose in that adorable way she does whenever I give her a compliment.*
“Awww, babe, it’s you. You always know how to make my bad feelings go away, I can’t feel sad when I’m with you.”
*Now it’s my turn to smile. I must be fully myself again, because just one sentence from her makes my heart melt.*
“Well, I promise you will never have to. Not again, at least.”
*She nods, leaning in to kiss me again, and every nerve in my body lights up like a Christmas tree. I slide an arm around her waist and hold her there, my heart outside my body.*
“Eu te amo, Desiree. Eu te amo muito.”
*She keeps her lips against mine as she whispers her reply.*
“Eu te amo mais.”
*I shut my eyes again, voluntarily this time, and just listen to her breathing in the stillness of the night. I couldn’t ask for a better partner in this life, and I am so very thankful that I came back to her again.*
*Fade out.*
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ACT 3: COMES THE DAWN
17 November, 2021
10:00 AM EDT
*Fade in. We open on a daylight shot of the same hospital we’ve just visited, though now it’s clearly morning as sunlight streams in through the windows. The beeping of the heart monitor has ceased, and the sounds of bustling business fill the spacious foyer in which we now find ourselves. We open facing the front desk, and Devon Ryder stands before us - no longer strapped into a hospital bed, but standing upright, clad in his street clothes from the previous Riot (plus a Canadian flag facemask). By his side, as ever, is Desiree de La Roche, looking far more kempt and presentable in the morning’s light, with a big smile adorning her features as she leans against her lover, one arm slung around his waist. She’s masked as well. It seems we’ve joined the pair mid-conversation, as across from them - holding Devon’s full attention - is Dr. Andrews, the man who met with Desiree the previous evening.*
“Now, I know I said this in the room, Mr. Ryder-”
“Devon, please.”
*The Doctor smiles.*
“Sure, Devon. I know I said this in the room, but I just wanted to touch base before you left; everything looks good now, all your tests check out, but if you feel ANY lingering effects - slow cognition, periods of confusion or disorientation, slurring words, even trouble sleeping…”
*Devon smiles, shaking his head and laughing softly.*
“I promise, you’ll be the first to know. Provided I’m still in the area, of course.”
“Well, yes. Obviously if you’re back home or out-of-town again you can go to your nearest Emergency Room instead. The point is, get it checked. I know how stubborn you can be.”
*Devon laughs again, nodding.*
“Of course, Doc, I promise you don’t need to worry. I have Desiree to keep me honest, and I don’t think EITHER of us has any desire to let me lose my mind by failing to treat post-concussion syndrome.”
*Dr. Andrews nods as well.*
“That’s good. I trust you’ll hold him to that, Ms. De la Roche?”
“Absolutely. Anyone who knows us will tell you I’m the only one Devon ever really listens to.”
*The trio laugh again, and Dr. Andrews directs Devon’s attention to some paperwork on the front reception desk.*
“I’ll just need you to sign here and we can finalize your dischargement, Devon.”
“Sure, no problem.”
*He turns to Desiree as she checks her phone, before softly pecking him on the lips.*
“Our Uber is here, so I’ll go put the bags inside while you deal with this.”
“Of course, meu amor. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
*She kisses him again before turning, taking hold of two suitcases - one of which she slings over her shoulder and the other she wheels by its in-built handle - and heading out the front door, stopping just short of a black Kia with an Uber sticker in the window and the driver standing by the front door, phone in hand. She walks around to the trunk of the vehicle and the driver pops it open, allowing her to place the bags within. Once the trunk is slammed shut, she turns to rest against it and addresses the camera, which has followed her closely through the entire process.*
“These last several hours have been some of the worst of my life. Seeing Devon, my beloved, laid out by Tyson Sykes and Alexander Lyons after his match for the simple crime of being a better wrestler than they are...it was not easy to deal with. But I always knew he would pull through. Devon is a fighter in his spirit, and we always talk about the value of never giving up, of staying positive even through hardships. It is why we have each other. Our relationship is based on trust, communication, and - above all else - equality. But we know that no couple can always give an equal 50 percent at all times; sometimes one can only give 30, or maybe 20 or even 10. Then it is the other partner’s burden to help them through by giving the other 70, 80, 90 percent themselves. It is not an easy task, but for the ones we love it’s something we can easily agree to do. Last night was the first time I have ever felt like Devon was asking me to give 100 percent to this relationship myself...but I was ready, and I was not going to fail him. I know he would do the same for me, if our roles were reversed. So I gave him everything I had. I put on my brave face, I remembered all of the strength and love and kindness that he gives to me - that he BRINGS OUT in me - and I got him here. And then, I waited. I watched my brilliant love struggle with his own mind, fight through sleep and wake a dozen times without knowing where he was, watched the doctors do their tests and hook him up to their machines...and all the time, never knowing if he’d ever be the man I love again.”
*Desiree pauses here, inhaling sharply as the memories come back. She releases the breath slowly, and her gaze locks with the camera.*
“But at the end of the day, he came back. MY Devon came back. And I am so, so grateful that he did.”
*Desiree smiles briefly at the camera, before her gaze becomes downcast, the smile evaporating into a tight and pensive frown.*
“In this moment, my thoughts turn to Audrey Russow, who even now must be going through a similar ordeal with her own beloved, Daniel. I know how difficult this must be for you, Audrey. I do not know if you will watch this, but I hope that you do, because you need to know that you are not alone. I’m here for whatever you may need of me, even if it is just a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear. I know better than most people what you must be going through. How you must be feeling right now, seeing Daniel in that state. I saw what happened at the end of his match, watching the replay while Devon was in recovery, and it looked like it was awful. I’ve heard his concussion is much worse than Devon’s, and of course I hope he’ll be okay. I KNOW he will. Just remember to stay strong, to trust in your love and the medical system and whatever gods or goddesses you worship to deliver him back to you unharmed. I know that it will not be easy, that you may have to give more than you have ever given before, but it will be worth it. To see the man you love again. To talk with him, and kiss him, and feel his arms around you and know he is still here. There is no feeling in the world that can compare with that. Devon likes to tell me - when my mind is being silly, and I can’t help but focus on all of my anxieties - that every storm looks endless when we’re stuck in the middle of it. But in the end, even the darkest skies will clear. Keep holding on, Audrey, and remember that your storm is ending. Things may seem hopeless now, but even this hopelessness, too, shall pass.”
*Here, Desiree pauses again, her expression changing once more to a furious, fiery glare as she stares down the lens of the camera.*
“But as for you, Tyson Sykes and Alexander Lyons...YOUR storm is just beginning.”
*She takes a breath as if to continue, but is interrupted by the sound of gentle applause from just off-screen. The camera turns, along with Desiree’s gaze, to see Devon Ryder standing at the foot of the curb, leaning on a signpost in front of the hospital and slowly clapping his hands. The Canadian Hero wears a proud grin across his face and this expression does not change as he strides on-camera to stand next to his soulmate.*
“Damn, meu amor, you’ve got a hell of a promo on you. And here I was labouring under the assumption that YOU ‘didn’t want to get involved’ in the wrestling business.”
*Desiree’s cheeks flush lightly, and she crinkles her nose again before Devon places a kiss squarely upon it.*
“You know I’m only teasing you, my love. Honestly, though, I think it was a beautiful speech. Do you mind if I take it from here?”
*She shakes her head and motions to the camera as if to say “go ahead”. Devon nods, turning his attention to the camera, and as soon as he does, his grin immediately vanishes and gives way to a look of pure determination.*
“But Desiree is absolutely right, ‘Conquer and Destroy’, or whatever it is you two call yourselves when Father Jonathan isn’t around to control your every move; you have just made the single biggest mistake of your entire wrestling careers. And considering you both willingly aligned yourselves with a man who unironically refers to himself as ‘The Lost Cause’, I think that’s quite an achievement.”
*Devon pauses briefly, allowing himself a brief smirk at his remark, an expression which Desiree shares, before continuing his tirade.*
“These next few weeks could have been so easy for the two of you. All you had to do was gracefully accept your loss and refocus on the Commonwealth. Or, I suppose, on this triple-threat qualifier for the right to face the Commonwealth come Crusade, but I think we both know that one is a foregone conclusion. I mean no offense to El Landerson or Ella Singleton, of course, they’re fierce competitors in their own right...but they couldn’t hold a candle to your sheer in-ring ferocity. Credit where it’s due, boys, you’re both tremendous in-ring talents, especially when you want something...and I KNOW you want those Tag Team titles. Your ‘Dear Leader’ may pretend that he has no desire for material possessions, but you two have made it abundantly clear you do not share that mindset. So all you had to do was focus on that goal. ALL YOU HAD TO DO...was leave the past alone. But you just couldn’t do it, could you? You just HAD to poke the Canadian Grizzly. Well congratulations, boys…I’m awake.”
*Ryder pauses again, his smirk having long been replaced by that piercing, determined glare again.*
“Now, look. To be entirely honest, on the one hand, I truly do understand why you did it. Especially you, Tyson. You’re American, after all; your country AND its people have never been very good at graciously accepting defeat. And I do understand that taking losses can be difficult...but you had ample time to reflect and course-correct after the fact. You even alluded to it on Riot a few nights ago, before your brutal and, frankly, unnecessary assault on both myself and Bella Madison. You mentioned something about ‘remembering who you are’, and refocusing on your ‘mission’. Well, you may have succeeded in that first one, Tyson, but you absolutely failed at the second. Because if your mission was to cripple me...well, here I stand. If your mission was to ‘teach me’ some kind of twisted lesson...all I’ve learned is what a fragile and insecure coward you are. And if your ‘mission’ was to go to Crusade and capture the PWS: Apex Tag Team championships...well, the Commonwealth put you in your place ONCE already, so I think we already know how THAT one is going to pan out, don’t we?”
*Ryder pauses again, his self-satisfied and superior smirk returning. Desiree grins with a similar emotion behind it and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.*
“But I have even worse news, Tyson; for you AND your partner Alexander. Because facing the Commonwealth? Winning the Tag Team titles? I’m afraid those have become the least of your concerns. You may be worried about Nick Madison next week, or your triple-threat qualifying match...but you SHOULD be worrying about ME. Because ANTITHESIS cannot protect you from the wrath that you’ve unleashed upon yourselves. I told you my grandfather was a soldier, you KNOW that fighting is in my blood...and yet still you chose to commit an act of war. Just like your imperialist countries of origin, you simply couldn’t help yourselves. As the United States did in Vietnam, you chose to pick on the smaller, less-aggressive force to ‘prove your superiority’ and inflate your own ego. And just LIKE the US in Vietnam, you’re about to be absolutely annihilated for it. You should both be familiar with the cycle of violence by now, gentlemen. You should already know that conflict only begets more conflict. We’ve seen it many times before; the United States in Vietnam; Britain against the Ashanti; even more recently with the US in Afghanistan…so you boys should have been very aware that this plan would not end well for you.”
*Ryder pauses again, his eyes boring holes into the camera lens as Desiree softly squeezes his shoulder to reassure him.*
“And you should have expected retaliation. I may be busy with Cleo Phillips at Crusade, but did you expect to get away with this long-term? It’s in our very nature, gentlemen. Written into the laws of the universe itself. Isaac Newton said it best: ‘for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ For every pull, there is a push. For every flight, there is a landing. For every unprotected chair shot to the FOREHEAD… there is a broken ankle, a dislocated shoulder, a fractured skull...and a promising wrestling career cut short in its prime.”
*Devon Ryder pauses once more, visibly angry, his smirk having vanished yet again during his diatribe. Desiree rubs his back and leans up to kiss him on the cheek, her other hand softly caressing his forehead with her fingertips. Slowly, yet surely, he calms down again, and the smirk creeps back across his face, as his eyes lock with the camera and glare holes into the lens. Desiree visibly shivers in response.*
“But remember you brought it all on yourselves, boys. Remember that it’s only natural. We’ve done this dance for a hundred thousand years, the human race; the age-old story of good versus evil, yin versus yang, love versus hatred...and Heroes versus Villains. I said you made a mistake last night, but it occurs to me you still may not believe that. So let me spell it out for you, as clearly and succinctly as I can; the mistake you made is the same one every would-be villain makes when they try and fail to eliminate their Hero...you didn’t stick around to make sure I was dead.”
*Here, Ryder pauses one final time, his smirk widening into an arrogant, wolfish grin before he continues.*
“And soon enough, you’re going to truly wish you had.”
*With that, it seems he’s finished, and Ryder pivots on his heel and walks around to the Uber’s door, with Desiree doing the same on the other side. The opening riff of the Guess Who’s “American Woman” starts up once again to play them off as the pair climb into the black SUV and shut the doors, peeling off into the Southern Ontario sun.*
*Fade out.*
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...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
Where am I...?
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
W-what happened...?
...BEEP...BEEP...
I remember...fighting with Lyons...then, Tyson Sykes?
...BEEP...
He...he had a chair.
...BEEP...
That sound...
...BEEP...
Oh, no.
...BEEP...
...BEEP...
...BEEP...
...BEEP...
...BEEP...
ACT 1: THE AFTERMATH
16 November, 2021
10:56 PM EDT
Immediately After Riot
*Fade in.*
*The cold, clinical pinging of the heart monitor continues as we find ourselves in the middle of a semi-private hospital room, with the camera pointing towards a large exterior window looking out onto a skyline that our more astute viewers will recognize as belonging to Windsor, Ontario Canada. Standing in front of the window is the lithe form of Desiree de La Roche, clad in simple blue jeans and a grey t-shirt, staring out into the night sky. Her back is facing the camera, but from the translucent reflection in the window we can clearly see that she's been crying, with some lingering red wetness around the corners of her eyes. Desiree stands for a long moment in silence, gazing into the starry night with a solemn frown, before inhaling sharply as she turns around. The camera turns along with her, giving us a better view of the room, and in the centre of our frame lies "The Canadian Hero", Devon Ryder, unconscious and prone in a hospital bed. Ryder's breathing is shallow but even and steady, and the heartbeat monitor we heard earlier - still beeping away over the backdrop of our scene - is hooked up to his right arm, along with an oxygen metre on his finger. The top of Ryder's head is heavily bandaged, and his left cheek just below the eye is swollen, bearing a violent purple bruise. Clearly, this is the aftermath of the assault by Tyson Sykes and Alexander Lyons after Devon's match on the last riot, when he was laid out in the ring by several chair shots to the head courtesy of The Ripper. Desiree de La Roche's resolve seems to falter for just a moment as she sees her partner in this state again, but she's able to quickly snap herself out of it as she hears footsteps entering the room. We slowly spin the camera around, keeping Desiree and Devon both in-frame, as a blue scrub-wearing doctor enters the room, looking through some notes on a clipboard as he moves. The doctor comes to a stop at the foot of Devon's bed and glances over at him, double checking a page in his notes. A pregnant pause hangs in the air for a tense moment before a heavily-Brazilian-accented voice breaks the silence.*
Desiree de La Roche:
"How is he, doctor?"
*The doctor turns his attention to Ms. de La Roche, frowning a professional yet sympathetic frown.*
Dr. Andrews:
"Well, everything looks promising, but I'm afraid it's too soon to tell. Concussions can be...unpredictable, even minor ones like Mr. Ryder's. You said this is his first concussion?"
*Desiree nods, seeming to collect herself a little more in that moment, in response to being asked a question.*
"Yes. Devon has always wrestled very safely."
*Doctor Andrews nods, sighing softly - not in frustration, likely just relieving stress.*
”I understand. Well, in that case he should be up and running in about a week with no lingering effects, but I can't make any guarantees. Especially considering what he does for a living, as well as the delay in flying him here from Tennessee."
*He pauses, glancing back at Devon’s unconscious body.*
“Why did you refuse treatment in Nashville, if you don’t mind my asking?”
*Desiree purses her lips as she glances at Devon as well, then back to Doctor Andrews.*
“We do not believe in being charged for essential medical care. I thought my Devon would appreciate coming back to consciousness in a civilized society."
*Doctor Andrews frowns, his brow furrowing which creases lines across the length of his bald forehead, but he says nothing. He simply nods, lifting another page on his chart and double-checking something before he lets it fall back down.*
“I see. Well, once Mr. Ryder wakes up, we’ll keep him here for observation. It shouldn’t be more than 24 hours; we’ll have a better handle on his condition by then, and whether any post-concussive syndrome is to be expected. But before he fell asleep he was responsive, which is usually a good sign. Provided that continues, based on his chart I think he’ll be alright. Just make sure he gets plenty of rest for at least the next seven days, and try to keep him out of the ring for a week or two just to play it safe.”
*Desiree smiles a soft, sad smile.*
“I will certainly try, but Devon can be as stubborn as I am sometimes.”
*The doctor nods.*
“Hahaha, I know how that can be. Just give it your best shot, and I’ll write a note to PWS management as well, informing them of the situation. Goodnight, Ms. de La Roche, I’ll be around if you have any questions.”
*He reaches out to shake her hand, which she accepts with surprising firmness.*
“Thank you, Dr. Andrews. You’ve been incredibly helpful.”
*The doctor nods again before turning around and exiting the room. As he leaves we note the second bed in the semi-private room is empty, allowing Desiree and Devon to spend this vulnerable moment alone. As the doctor leaves, Desiree’s stony countenance cracks, and she sheds a tear again while looking towards the prone form of her beloved. She takes a seat beside him and takes one of his hands in hers, reaching forward to gently stroke his hair as she whispers to him softly.*
“Get well soon, my beloved. I will be right here waiting when you do.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ACT 2: GIVING THANKS
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
I can hear that sound again. I think I’m...fading, in and out.
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
I remember...a helicopter. Was...was I...airlifted out of Nashville? Oh, my angel…
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
Desiree’s voice. Speaking to a doctor. I need t-to tell her...I’m okay.
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
I heard him mention post-concussive syndrome. Gods, I hope it’s not that bad...
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
I just...need to wake up now. I can fight this, if I’m...conscious…
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
“Get well soon, my beloved.”
Desiree…?
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
“I will be right here waiting when you do.”
Desiree, I’m fine. I just...
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
Oh, no...
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
No, this is all wrong.
...BEEP...BEEP...
Come on, just open your eyes, Devon.
...BEEP....
OPEN.
...BEEP...
YOUR.
...BEEP...
FUCKING.
...BEEP...
EYES!
...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...
16 November, 2021
11:45 PM EDT
*Fade in.*
*That same sound greets my ears as consciousness finally returns. That monotonous, unceasing reminder of the sorry state I’m in right now. I block it out. Focus on other sounds around the room; the slow, methodic hum of the hospital’s air conditioning unit, the squeaky wheels of an IV cart moving past my door and down the hallway beyond. I tally the sensations, testing all my senses as they each return. I feel the soft, cotton blankets on my skin. A sheen of old, cooled sweat matting my hair and down my neck and shoulders. I feel the pinch of an oxygen meter on my right index finger. The rustle of the sheets beneath my palm as I flex my tired muscles, massagining sensation back into my fingers against the rough surface, pilled from overwashing. But there’s something else, as well. On my left. A hand, clasping my own, the thumb running slowly over the back of my bruised knuckles in a calm and soothing motion. Another hand, along my thigh. Fingertips. Just barely brushing, teasing the surface...just like she does to calm me down. Desiree. I’m sorry, meu amor, I should have been here with you sooner. I let myself come back, fully in the present moment, and that’s when I can hear her singing…*
“Shoot me down, I won’t fall, I am titanium…”
*Our song. Our mantra. I suppose I should have known. We have always taken comfort in our love in times of crisis, seeking safety in what is familiar.*
“Shoot me down, I won’t fall…”
*I let my eyes drift open, squinting against the harsh light of the fluorescent tubes above me. I need to let her know I’m here. I just need to find the words…*
Devon Ryder:
“I am titanium...”
*She smiles. That wonderful, gorgeous smile. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.*
“Devon...?”
*Her voice seems hopeful, but the weariness is written in her eyes. This isn’t the first time I’ve come back tonight. I will try to make sure that it’s the last.*
“Hello again, my love. What a wonderful sight to wake up to.”
*It seems to take everything I have, the muscles in my face scream in protest, but I manage to smile at her. I hope it seems more reassuring than sad.*
“Though, of course, I wish it were in better circumstances.”
*She laughs, clasping my hand in both of hers. Even as her face brightens, the corners of her eyes are wet, and I can see her bottom lip quiver in the smile. Despite her pain, her worry, she puts on a brave face for my benefit.*
“Yes, amor, I agree. I’m glad to see you so alert.”
*The statement hurts, but I understand. My mind has always been my greatest asset, it is why she fell in love with me, so to see me out of control...it must have been heartbreaking for her. It breaks MY heart even THINKING about it. I take her hands in mine, wincing as I lean forward in the bed to trap her perfect, pouty lips in a kiss that is as much to bring me back to the moment as it is to reassure her that I’m here. Her eyes shut, and we lose ourselves in our passion for a long and rapturous moment. As she pulls away, I feel my breath escaping. A beat. We lock eyes, back in reality again.*
“Eu te amo, Desi...”
“Eu te amo, Devon.”
*We hold like this for a while. Staring into each other’s eyes, feeling our heartbeats joining as one through the tips of our entwined fingers...the closeness of our palms. We spend a moment just...existing; here, together, in the aftermath...before her façade cracks, and the tears begin to fall. I pull her close to me, wrapping her in my arms and cradling her head against my chest.*
“Shhh, Desi, it’s alright...I’m here now, fully and completely. I promise.”
*I feel her arms slide around my waist, as her body heaves with silent sobs against my chest. I run a hand gently through her curls, letting my thumb massage her forehead as I have so many nights before, because I know it calms her down. My poor darling. She has always been my rock - the brilliant blazing light to guide me back to shore - but now it’s my turn to be that for her. She has had enough strength for the two of us already. I sit upright - a Herculean feat, my muscles BEG me not to do it, but I persevere. She needs to know that I’m alright. She needs to know that WE’RE alright.*
“I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose;
Fire away, fire away...”
*She looks up at me, drowning me in her big, beautiful chocolate eyes. The mists begin to clear inside my head, and I’m finally feeling like myself again.*
“Ricochet, you take your aim;
Fire away, fire away…”
*I wipe the tears from Desi’s eyes gently with the thumb of one hand. She leans into my touch and I cradle her cheek for just a moment, her eyes falling closed in the closeness.*
“Shoot me down, but I won’t fall…”
*Her voice joins mine. I never was much of a singer, but my beloved has the voice of an angel. A whole damn choir of them.*
“I am titanium.”
*She spins elegantly away from me, keeping my hand clutched loosely in her fingers, as she snatches up her phone from the table beside me and holds it to her lips like it’s a microphone. She moves her hips in time with the rhythm in our minds, pantomiming a performance to an audience of one.*
“Shoot me down, but I won’t fall…”
*She rears her head back now, her loose curls bouncing with the force as she forgets herself for just a moment, and belts the final line with not a yell, but a little louder than is probably appropriate given our surroundings.*
“I AM TITAAAAAANIIIIIIUM!”
*We pause after that, her mocha-coloured cheeks flushing a light pink as our eyes lock sheepishly together. We wait tensely, breath baited in the deafening silence, for some kind of reprimand from nearby staff...but after a long few moments it seems we’re in the clear. I release my breath with an embarrassed laugh, and she joins in. Before long we’re both giggling like schoolchildren and she collapses in my lap again, throwing her arms around my neck with that infectious, gorgeous grin.*
“There’s that smile I love so much.”
*She flushes again, crinkling her nose in that adorable way she does whenever I give her a compliment.*
“Awww, babe, it’s you. You always know how to make my bad feelings go away, I can’t feel sad when I’m with you.”
*Now it’s my turn to smile. I must be fully myself again, because just one sentence from her makes my heart melt.*
“Well, I promise you will never have to. Not again, at least.”
*She nods, leaning in to kiss me again, and every nerve in my body lights up like a Christmas tree. I slide an arm around her waist and hold her there, my heart outside my body.*
“Eu te amo, Desiree. Eu te amo muito.”
*She keeps her lips against mine as she whispers her reply.*
“Eu te amo mais.”
*I shut my eyes again, voluntarily this time, and just listen to her breathing in the stillness of the night. I couldn’t ask for a better partner in this life, and I am so very thankful that I came back to her again.*
*Fade out.*
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ACT 3: COMES THE DAWN
17 November, 2021
10:00 AM EDT
*Fade in. We open on a daylight shot of the same hospital we’ve just visited, though now it’s clearly morning as sunlight streams in through the windows. The beeping of the heart monitor has ceased, and the sounds of bustling business fill the spacious foyer in which we now find ourselves. We open facing the front desk, and Devon Ryder stands before us - no longer strapped into a hospital bed, but standing upright, clad in his street clothes from the previous Riot (plus a Canadian flag facemask). By his side, as ever, is Desiree de La Roche, looking far more kempt and presentable in the morning’s light, with a big smile adorning her features as she leans against her lover, one arm slung around his waist. She’s masked as well. It seems we’ve joined the pair mid-conversation, as across from them - holding Devon’s full attention - is Dr. Andrews, the man who met with Desiree the previous evening.*
“Now, I know I said this in the room, Mr. Ryder-”
“Devon, please.”
*The Doctor smiles.*
“Sure, Devon. I know I said this in the room, but I just wanted to touch base before you left; everything looks good now, all your tests check out, but if you feel ANY lingering effects - slow cognition, periods of confusion or disorientation, slurring words, even trouble sleeping…”
*Devon smiles, shaking his head and laughing softly.*
“I promise, you’ll be the first to know. Provided I’m still in the area, of course.”
“Well, yes. Obviously if you’re back home or out-of-town again you can go to your nearest Emergency Room instead. The point is, get it checked. I know how stubborn you can be.”
*Devon laughs again, nodding.*
“Of course, Doc, I promise you don’t need to worry. I have Desiree to keep me honest, and I don’t think EITHER of us has any desire to let me lose my mind by failing to treat post-concussion syndrome.”
*Dr. Andrews nods as well.*
“That’s good. I trust you’ll hold him to that, Ms. De la Roche?”
“Absolutely. Anyone who knows us will tell you I’m the only one Devon ever really listens to.”
*The trio laugh again, and Dr. Andrews directs Devon’s attention to some paperwork on the front reception desk.*
“I’ll just need you to sign here and we can finalize your dischargement, Devon.”
“Sure, no problem.”
*He turns to Desiree as she checks her phone, before softly pecking him on the lips.*
“Our Uber is here, so I’ll go put the bags inside while you deal with this.”
“Of course, meu amor. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
*She kisses him again before turning, taking hold of two suitcases - one of which she slings over her shoulder and the other she wheels by its in-built handle - and heading out the front door, stopping just short of a black Kia with an Uber sticker in the window and the driver standing by the front door, phone in hand. She walks around to the trunk of the vehicle and the driver pops it open, allowing her to place the bags within. Once the trunk is slammed shut, she turns to rest against it and addresses the camera, which has followed her closely through the entire process.*
“These last several hours have been some of the worst of my life. Seeing Devon, my beloved, laid out by Tyson Sykes and Alexander Lyons after his match for the simple crime of being a better wrestler than they are...it was not easy to deal with. But I always knew he would pull through. Devon is a fighter in his spirit, and we always talk about the value of never giving up, of staying positive even through hardships. It is why we have each other. Our relationship is based on trust, communication, and - above all else - equality. But we know that no couple can always give an equal 50 percent at all times; sometimes one can only give 30, or maybe 20 or even 10. Then it is the other partner’s burden to help them through by giving the other 70, 80, 90 percent themselves. It is not an easy task, but for the ones we love it’s something we can easily agree to do. Last night was the first time I have ever felt like Devon was asking me to give 100 percent to this relationship myself...but I was ready, and I was not going to fail him. I know he would do the same for me, if our roles were reversed. So I gave him everything I had. I put on my brave face, I remembered all of the strength and love and kindness that he gives to me - that he BRINGS OUT in me - and I got him here. And then, I waited. I watched my brilliant love struggle with his own mind, fight through sleep and wake a dozen times without knowing where he was, watched the doctors do their tests and hook him up to their machines...and all the time, never knowing if he’d ever be the man I love again.”
*Desiree pauses here, inhaling sharply as the memories come back. She releases the breath slowly, and her gaze locks with the camera.*
“But at the end of the day, he came back. MY Devon came back. And I am so, so grateful that he did.”
*Desiree smiles briefly at the camera, before her gaze becomes downcast, the smile evaporating into a tight and pensive frown.*
“In this moment, my thoughts turn to Audrey Russow, who even now must be going through a similar ordeal with her own beloved, Daniel. I know how difficult this must be for you, Audrey. I do not know if you will watch this, but I hope that you do, because you need to know that you are not alone. I’m here for whatever you may need of me, even if it is just a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear. I know better than most people what you must be going through. How you must be feeling right now, seeing Daniel in that state. I saw what happened at the end of his match, watching the replay while Devon was in recovery, and it looked like it was awful. I’ve heard his concussion is much worse than Devon’s, and of course I hope he’ll be okay. I KNOW he will. Just remember to stay strong, to trust in your love and the medical system and whatever gods or goddesses you worship to deliver him back to you unharmed. I know that it will not be easy, that you may have to give more than you have ever given before, but it will be worth it. To see the man you love again. To talk with him, and kiss him, and feel his arms around you and know he is still here. There is no feeling in the world that can compare with that. Devon likes to tell me - when my mind is being silly, and I can’t help but focus on all of my anxieties - that every storm looks endless when we’re stuck in the middle of it. But in the end, even the darkest skies will clear. Keep holding on, Audrey, and remember that your storm is ending. Things may seem hopeless now, but even this hopelessness, too, shall pass.”
*Here, Desiree pauses again, her expression changing once more to a furious, fiery glare as she stares down the lens of the camera.*
“But as for you, Tyson Sykes and Alexander Lyons...YOUR storm is just beginning.”
*She takes a breath as if to continue, but is interrupted by the sound of gentle applause from just off-screen. The camera turns, along with Desiree’s gaze, to see Devon Ryder standing at the foot of the curb, leaning on a signpost in front of the hospital and slowly clapping his hands. The Canadian Hero wears a proud grin across his face and this expression does not change as he strides on-camera to stand next to his soulmate.*
“Damn, meu amor, you’ve got a hell of a promo on you. And here I was labouring under the assumption that YOU ‘didn’t want to get involved’ in the wrestling business.”
*Desiree’s cheeks flush lightly, and she crinkles her nose again before Devon places a kiss squarely upon it.*
“You know I’m only teasing you, my love. Honestly, though, I think it was a beautiful speech. Do you mind if I take it from here?”
*She shakes her head and motions to the camera as if to say “go ahead”. Devon nods, turning his attention to the camera, and as soon as he does, his grin immediately vanishes and gives way to a look of pure determination.*
“But Desiree is absolutely right, ‘Conquer and Destroy’, or whatever it is you two call yourselves when Father Jonathan isn’t around to control your every move; you have just made the single biggest mistake of your entire wrestling careers. And considering you both willingly aligned yourselves with a man who unironically refers to himself as ‘The Lost Cause’, I think that’s quite an achievement.”
*Devon pauses briefly, allowing himself a brief smirk at his remark, an expression which Desiree shares, before continuing his tirade.*
“These next few weeks could have been so easy for the two of you. All you had to do was gracefully accept your loss and refocus on the Commonwealth. Or, I suppose, on this triple-threat qualifier for the right to face the Commonwealth come Crusade, but I think we both know that one is a foregone conclusion. I mean no offense to El Landerson or Ella Singleton, of course, they’re fierce competitors in their own right...but they couldn’t hold a candle to your sheer in-ring ferocity. Credit where it’s due, boys, you’re both tremendous in-ring talents, especially when you want something...and I KNOW you want those Tag Team titles. Your ‘Dear Leader’ may pretend that he has no desire for material possessions, but you two have made it abundantly clear you do not share that mindset. So all you had to do was focus on that goal. ALL YOU HAD TO DO...was leave the past alone. But you just couldn’t do it, could you? You just HAD to poke the Canadian Grizzly. Well congratulations, boys…I’m awake.”
*Ryder pauses again, his smirk having long been replaced by that piercing, determined glare again.*
“Now, look. To be entirely honest, on the one hand, I truly do understand why you did it. Especially you, Tyson. You’re American, after all; your country AND its people have never been very good at graciously accepting defeat. And I do understand that taking losses can be difficult...but you had ample time to reflect and course-correct after the fact. You even alluded to it on Riot a few nights ago, before your brutal and, frankly, unnecessary assault on both myself and Bella Madison. You mentioned something about ‘remembering who you are’, and refocusing on your ‘mission’. Well, you may have succeeded in that first one, Tyson, but you absolutely failed at the second. Because if your mission was to cripple me...well, here I stand. If your mission was to ‘teach me’ some kind of twisted lesson...all I’ve learned is what a fragile and insecure coward you are. And if your ‘mission’ was to go to Crusade and capture the PWS: Apex Tag Team championships...well, the Commonwealth put you in your place ONCE already, so I think we already know how THAT one is going to pan out, don’t we?”
*Ryder pauses again, his self-satisfied and superior smirk returning. Desiree grins with a similar emotion behind it and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.*
“But I have even worse news, Tyson; for you AND your partner Alexander. Because facing the Commonwealth? Winning the Tag Team titles? I’m afraid those have become the least of your concerns. You may be worried about Nick Madison next week, or your triple-threat qualifying match...but you SHOULD be worrying about ME. Because ANTITHESIS cannot protect you from the wrath that you’ve unleashed upon yourselves. I told you my grandfather was a soldier, you KNOW that fighting is in my blood...and yet still you chose to commit an act of war. Just like your imperialist countries of origin, you simply couldn’t help yourselves. As the United States did in Vietnam, you chose to pick on the smaller, less-aggressive force to ‘prove your superiority’ and inflate your own ego. And just LIKE the US in Vietnam, you’re about to be absolutely annihilated for it. You should both be familiar with the cycle of violence by now, gentlemen. You should already know that conflict only begets more conflict. We’ve seen it many times before; the United States in Vietnam; Britain against the Ashanti; even more recently with the US in Afghanistan…so you boys should have been very aware that this plan would not end well for you.”
*Ryder pauses again, his eyes boring holes into the camera lens as Desiree softly squeezes his shoulder to reassure him.*
“And you should have expected retaliation. I may be busy with Cleo Phillips at Crusade, but did you expect to get away with this long-term? It’s in our very nature, gentlemen. Written into the laws of the universe itself. Isaac Newton said it best: ‘for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ For every pull, there is a push. For every flight, there is a landing. For every unprotected chair shot to the FOREHEAD… there is a broken ankle, a dislocated shoulder, a fractured skull...and a promising wrestling career cut short in its prime.”
*Devon Ryder pauses once more, visibly angry, his smirk having vanished yet again during his diatribe. Desiree rubs his back and leans up to kiss him on the cheek, her other hand softly caressing his forehead with her fingertips. Slowly, yet surely, he calms down again, and the smirk creeps back across his face, as his eyes lock with the camera and glare holes into the lens. Desiree visibly shivers in response.*
“But remember you brought it all on yourselves, boys. Remember that it’s only natural. We’ve done this dance for a hundred thousand years, the human race; the age-old story of good versus evil, yin versus yang, love versus hatred...and Heroes versus Villains. I said you made a mistake last night, but it occurs to me you still may not believe that. So let me spell it out for you, as clearly and succinctly as I can; the mistake you made is the same one every would-be villain makes when they try and fail to eliminate their Hero...you didn’t stick around to make sure I was dead.”
*Here, Ryder pauses one final time, his smirk widening into an arrogant, wolfish grin before he continues.*
“And soon enough, you’re going to truly wish you had.”
*With that, it seems he’s finished, and Ryder pivots on his heel and walks around to the Uber’s door, with Desiree doing the same on the other side. The opening riff of the Guess Who’s “American Woman” starts up once again to play them off as the pair climb into the black SUV and shut the doors, peeling off into the Southern Ontario sun.*
*Fade out.*