Knock Knock

“Door’s open!” William Beaven rang out, not leaving the focus of his paperwork. He had way too much to coordinate lately and not enough time to do it all in. Thems the breaks of carrying on in your father’s footsteps.

The camera shot focused on a pair of black sneakers with jeans. As the shot panned upward, it caught sight of a black sportcoat with a white dress shirt underneath. And above that? A clean-shaven face. Long black hair falling out towards the shoulders. The fans weren’t quite sure how to take to him just yet, but he was here tonight.

William Beaven? Sonny Silver.

Sonny Silver? Willam Beaven.

“Oh. You.” Beaven managed to utter out, coming face-to-face with the man that, for the span of 2005, terrorized the fWo and generally caused havoc for anybody that crossed his path. A man that spent two years in PRIME doing that very same thing, being a nuisance, destroying public and PRIME property, ending careers and leaving a path of destruction and terror in his wake.

“Me.”

“Charming, Sonny. Have a seat, would you? I’d like to keep this to the point and not have to reach for my really good stash of Vicodin so I can zone out.”

Shrugging, the Silver Lining did as he was told and pulled up a chair. Watching the furrowed eyebrow of William as he put both hands on the desk, Sonny couldn’t help but snicker under his breath. Beaven immediately caught it.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well,” he began. “From this side of the desk, you look like a Corporate Ken doll. And from the sound of your whiny, nasally voice, you’re just as… uh… how should I put this nicely as possible… you’re nutsackularly challenged.”

“You know, if you want to just do stand-up, I can easily kibosh your contract right here and now and you can apply for a job at the Laugh Factory. Can I continue?”

Sonny waved a hand deridingly, allowing Beaven to proceed.

“Mr. Silver, I’m many things, but stupid is not one of them. I’m perfectly aware of who you are, what you’ve done, and how many migraines you’ve caused other promoters. You’ve had time between Meltdown and now to go over the terms of your new contract. You sign, you start tonight. Any questions?”

“Yeah, one little insignificant, minute, unimportant, infinitesimal detail, sir.” Sonny flipped through the documents until he jabbed a finger into a page somewhere in the back. “What’s this horseshit about some tutelage program?”

Beaven smiled.

“I can certainly fill that one. You, Sonny, as many people as you’ve pissed off and as many atrocities as you’ve committed… you’re a second generation wrestler and you’ve been involved in the business for at least twenty years. Right now, fWo’s in the middle of an upswing and we’ve got some great young talent that are all still learning the ropes. And with somebody of your vast knowledge…”

“You want me to play Mr. Mom for a bunch of whiny little malcontents who couldn’t draw a picture, let alone an audience?” Sonny scoffed. “In the words of the great Winston Churchill… fuck off.”

“It’s part of the terms and conditions for this contract, Sonny. Sign it or you don’t get in, it’s that simple. We need a man of your vast expertise to help develop our younger stars, but you need us a hell of a lot more.”

“Whatever, Beaven, I’m done.” Silver got up and turned on his heel, ready to walk out and look elsewhere.

“Think about your gym and your financial situ…”

“YOU KNOW NOTHING!” He shouted back, now fuming and ready to leap across the desk to strangle William. If he wasn’t getting a job, he certainly had nothing to lose. Beaven put up both hands defensively and tried his best to get Sonny to calm down.

“I’m not unprepared, Sonny.” Beaven took hold of the contract once again. “There had to be a reason you tried to come back, despite the fact you were nearly killed in a riot almost four years ago and publically bashed the fWo for years to come. Sure, you may have some one-off appearances in PRIME, here or there for low-budget feds but how long will those last? Do you think they’ll sign you back, knowing what you’ve done? And think about your personal life for one second. I’m offering you a golden opportunity. You won’t be banned from competing for the fWo Championship and the slate will be wiped clean.” He held out the contract and waved it in Sonny’s direction. “Think about it.”

Letting each word sink into him, Sonny folded his arms and didn’t take his eyes off William. The fWo owner thought for sure that Silver was going to strangle him with his own bare hands, rather than sign the contract. His fears may have been realized when he approached the desk with an aura and intent to kill. He flinched a little bit…

…And heard the fast scribbling of a pen.

“NEVER,” Sonny tossed the pen and contract in front of the desk. “EVER mention a word of… this ‘situation’ to this roster or anyone else or I walk.”

“Fine.” William stated coldly, taking the contract and tucking it away. “You have a meeting with Ivy tomorrow and she’ll let you know more about the assignment. On Meltdown, we’re gonna have you work with one of our developmental guys, Cade Miller. He’s a can’t-miss prospect, but he needs some guidance and I think you can do that, right?

Grumbling under his breath, Sonny balled up a fist and managed to utter a word through his clinched teeth.

“Yes.”

He looked like he’d been forced to admit he enjoyed the Jonas Brothers, but he’d forced the word out before turning on his heel and walking out of the office. Beaven simply shook his head and snorted.

“Delightful fellow."