AN: EXAMS ARE REASON FOR LATE UPDATES
----
Two days after the show, Vince Maston found himself standing outside an old apartment building on the quieter side of Harborview.
The place smelled of damp brick and stale cigarettes; a far cry from the luxurious penthouse he was used to. Still, he was undeterred. He rang the bell, and, after a few moments, the door opened slightly.
Eddie Prince stood at the entrance, scruffy and messy, and there was no twinkle of cockiness in eye. "Vince?" he said flatly and unenthusiastically.
Vince smiled politely and nodded, "Can I come in?"
Eddie did not answer but stood to the side. Vince stepped inside - and immediately regretted breathing out of his nose. The odor reeked of old pizza, cheap beer, and sweat. Trash was strewn around like confetti after bad party. There was an uneaten soggy half sandwich next to an empty bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him.
On the couch, there sat a hefty man with unkempt hair and an undesirable ripped undershirt, scratching at his patchy beard, and eyes glued to the TV, and the highlight reel of the last broadcast of ACW playing on the screen.
The man waved lazily. "Yo."
"Uh… hi," Vince said hesitantly.
Eddie made a vague gesture. "This is Larry. He's my roommate."
Larry acknowledged him with a slow nod and turned the TV up to drown out their conversation, saturating the small apartment with the brash voice of the ACW commentator. Vince's eyebrow twitched, but decided to pretend he hadn't seen and let it slide.
Eddie opened the door to the hallway and gestured for Vince to follow. "C'mon," he said. "We can talk in my room."
They wove around some beer cans and clothes strewn across the floor before stepping into Eddie's room. To Vince's surprise, the bedroom was spotless in comparison to the rest of the house. The bed was made, and there were posters of old rock bands and classic wrestlers adorning the walls; a few dumbbells sat near the corner of the room.
Vince figured he would try and lighten the mood a bit, so he picked one of the dumbbells up and curled it just for fun. "Not bad."
Eddie leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "Not bad yourself—for a guy who doesn't wrestle."
Vince smirked, put the dumbbell down, and felt his cheeks warm slightly. "I've been into working out a bit lately. It comes with being surrounded by brutes and even women who could just crush you... literally."
Eddie laughed to himself. "Nice place, huh?" he asked while making an exaggerated gesture towards the entire room. "I keep this one clean. It's Larry that makes the rest of the house a dump," he chuckled.
The two laughed awkwardly and suddenly fell silent again, the thick air returning.
Vince scanned the walls and furniture, uncertain of how to even start. He took a slow breath. "Eddie, when I bought IRW from Lance, I wanted to shake it up a little bit. I wanted to experiment." Vince laughed lightly. "Wrestling in this world is…well, boring. Two half-naked men wear each other out for two hours week after week, day after day. It gets stale so quickly. I wanted to add flavor."
Eddie never fleetingly shifted his eyes from the dumbbell yet again. Vince kept his voice even and thoughtful.
"I brought this up because I figured there would be some backlash. And I was ready for that. The hard part, to be honest with you, is even still, after wanting to explore a vision, to even have the people I admire most—other professional wrestlers—struggle with it."
We had Eddie's attention for all of five seconds—the eyes drifted down, the goofy grin returned, his eyes flicked up. Vince smiled faintly, "You're not the first person I told that to," he continued, "Maya had the same issue."
Eddie blinked; it was clear he wasn't expecting the name. "Maya?"
Vince nodded. "At first she couldn't take the hate. The booing, the crowd against her, it was tough. The night after her big show, she called me crying. Said she wasn't cut out for it."
Eddie frowned. "So you went to her house and gave her a pep talk like you're doing now?"
Vince chuckled softly. "Exactly that."
Eddie blinked, a bit put off by the honesty. He rubbed the nape of his neck. "It's tough, man. You are out there and people are yelling at you, calling you names, and hoping you break your neck- it's very... meshes with your mind. After Mason's arm..."
He lost his train of thought, an edge of guilt in his voice. "That incident still sticks with me. I thought I could at least win the belt and it would make it all worth it. And I did. For a while, it was fine. I didn't care that they booed me."
He sighed deeply, his shoulders drooping. "Then that old man came out. Hogan Hornet. When he feigned towards me and held my belt high, the crowd laughed. They laughed." His hands clenched into fists. "That's not in your 'script' Vince. That's not what was supposed to happen."
Vince remained silent, arms crossed, impassive expression. He allowed Eddie to unburden himself, finally, after weeks of bottling it up. It wasn't until Eddie all but fell into his chair, a deep breath escaping, that Vince finally spoke.
"You're right. It wasn't in the script."
Eddie's eyes flicked back up to Vince, narrowing slightly.
"But maybe it should've been." Vince's tone softened even more. "You said it yourself. It made them laugh, it made them react. That's what we want. Whether it's cheers or boos, it doesn't matter, Eddie— it's noise. It's noise. It means they care. You're not being ignored. You made them feel something."
Eddie stilled now, and his glare diminished. Vince took a few slow strides to the door. "Jeers and cheers. That's the new normal. And you've got to face it. That's not something I can fix for you. It's something you'll have to overcome."
He hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. "But if this is about Hogan Hornet…" Vince turned his body a full 90-degrees to face Eddie and felt his tone become cooler, heavier. "Then settle it with him. In the ring. No script."
Eddie's eyes momentarily widened. "You mean—?"
Vince nodded. "Exactly what I mean."
For the first time that day, Eddie looked genuinely interested. The anger faded a little, replaced by something else—curiosity or perhaps even anticipation.
Vince gave him a knowing smile. "Show them what happens when Eddie Prince fights without rules."
He turned toward the door and buttoned his jacket.
"Think about it," he said and stepped out.
As Vince made his way through the living room, Larry looked across from his perch on the couch, scratching his hairy chest. "Yo, boss man. You want a beer?"
Vince forced a courteous smile. "No, thank you."
Larry shrugged, turned up the TV a little louder, and ACW's logo glowed brightly in the corner of the screen.
Vince's composure only broke for a brief moment—the odor and view of half-empty beer bottles, the noise from the television, the sloppy haze of Larry and his ilk—and he gagged under his breath. But he straightened and forced a calm nod before leaving.
Outside, the crisp Harborview air hit his face. He took a deep breath, letting the scent of rain and asphalt wash the staleness off him.
He smiled faintly to himself, a glint of determination in his eyes.