Post by Deleted on Jun 16, 2017 0:04:29 GMT -5
Chicago, Illinois
“Logan, you need more to do, man.” Drake Vanderhart, co-owner of Victory Combat Systems, alongside Logan Traeger, made his way into his business partner’s office, seeing Logan putting pen to paper on finances in the middle of the day. “Something different, more fun even.” He approached and took a seat across from Logan at the desk, a singular expression of amusement in the form of a laugh following.
Logan remained unphased by the personal critiques on how he spent his time, yet acknowledged the concern as he should. “The practical work is fun. I like training and the people aspect, but this shit sucks. Fumbling through paperwork… profit, bills, bullshit.” He took a deep breath, hinting at his own fatigue from it. “But, has to be done, or my mind won't stop.”
“That's the problem, you think too much.” Drake shook his head and leaned forward to pull the paper out from beneath Logan’s ballpoint tip, examining the numbers. “So what exactly are you worried about? We have enough to maintain, and that's been good enough for us.”
Logan's reaction was surely enough to produce more questions to anyone else, but Drake knew how he thought, which was a claim very few could make as it pertained to Mr. Traeger. “I know, you want to expand. It'll happen, in time. We just need to find the right place. We go through this every six months, the prices are too high or facilities too damaged to be worth it.”
“Yeah, and we are at capacity now. There's a waiting list, and I don't want us to look impossible. Is it too much to ask that we expand without crippling ourselves in loans or draining personal earnings?” Logan tossed the pen down and rubbed his eyes vigorously for a few seconds, officially spent on numbers. Drake looked at the paper once more, then tossed it back onto the desk.
“Market ourselves right, it all falls into place. If we wanna do this without investors or stealing from our own savings, then maybe you should take less time coming in here.”
A suggestive shrug would follow, Logan responding accordingly. “You really want me to get out more.”
“If it helps, just do it for our business. Finally get in that ring, market yourself. It's free exposure, you get a paycheck, still collect from here, and you don't have to worry about investors or your own fears.” Logan shot Drake a contentious glance, but knew he was right. Logan was aware of his own itch to do more, begin wrestling in particular.
“That isn't a fear, it's an awareness, and you aren't wrong. I'd be able to do something I've always wanted to do, plus, get this place where we want it. Problem is finding a starting point.” Logan ran his hand over his face, the smooth follicles of his beard refusing to misshape from the touch. Drake, however, already had a plan, as he grabbed Logan’s phone and fumbled through it a few minutes before handing it back.
“There… Twitter. Access to the world, follow some people and get your name out. If you get half the attention from your looks on there as you do walking the street, you'll be just fine. Now, go home, and I'm gonna go see my wife.” Drake stood and made his way back to the door. “Oh, and find you a woman too… might clear that obsessive shit from your head, let you enjoy life a bit.” Logan’s subsequent middle finger provoked a laugh from his business partner as he exited.
What seemed like forever had only been a few minutes. Logan scoured the social media app for wrestlers, both indie and national, following them in hopes of one returning the favor. This could very well work if he could sell himself to a company. And then, as if it were meant to be, the black and red hair caught his eye. “Just Sadie,” with her eyes piercing his soul, happened to be taking on clients. After bringing himself to cease his admiration of her exquisite beauty long enough, he finally took a step in the proper direction. Nervously, he watched as the “+Follow” changed beneath his thumb, thus opening a new line of communication he intended to not squander.
Hollywood, California
“That’s a lotta bags.” The taxi driver had a smile and cordial attitude that wasn’t lost on Sadie as he helped her load her luggage into the trunk of his vehicle. He’d seen enough in his day that he didn’t even stare at her red and black hair, tattoos and piercings, or “unique” style of dress. “Headed to the airport, I assume?”
“No, to my office.” With a little huff she hoisted the largest of the bags off of the concrete herself. She didn’t have to look at the driver to know there was a look on his face. “It’s a long story.”
She caught his nod from the corner of her eye. “Lotta those around here. I won’t pry. Where can I take ya then?”
“North Alexandria, please.” The smallest of the bags was slung over her shoulder as she slid into the backseat. The driver was even kind enough to close the door for her. It was a pleasant distraction from life’s recent events, as was his jovial small talk about nothing in particular. Some of the “big” names he’d had in his cab, people he had met, the cookies his wife had packed in his lunch.
By the time they pulled up at the curb outside the office building, she had managed to put a good portion of the now-recent-past behind her. Gone was the Laughlin residence and the short life that had been lived there. Gone was the slightly bitter taste of promises unfulfilled.
She wasn’t a child, and she wouldn’t waste her time mourning something that turned out not to be what she had thought it was. Success and happiness were the best forms of revenge, right? Well, it was time to find some success. No, it was time to make some success. Few would ever have guessed by looking at her that Sadie had a Business degree.
With specializations in Brand Management and Finance, along with her knowledge of a few niche businesses, she had everything she needed to build herself a living as an agent or manager. Now all she needed were some clients. Strangely enough, even that hadn’t started off with too much difficulty.
Leaving her bags at the door, she dropped into the high backed office chair behind the sparsely decorated desk. The office wasn’t much, yet, but it was hers and hers alone. She ran a fingernail along the top of the manila envelope that had been slid under the door by the postman. Inside was the small file folder she had been waiting on, with Oleander MacAvoy printed neatly across the front.
“Alright, Miss MacAvoy,” a smile turned her red-painted lips upward. “Let’s see what we can do for you.”
Before she could turn back the front of the file to look within, her phone rumbled on the polished wooden surface of the desk. Her brows rose curiously as she tapped the screen and swiped in the pattern to unlock the device. Beneath the flashing green indicator light was a single push notification: Logan Traeger has followed you.
“Logan, you need more to do, man.” Drake Vanderhart, co-owner of Victory Combat Systems, alongside Logan Traeger, made his way into his business partner’s office, seeing Logan putting pen to paper on finances in the middle of the day. “Something different, more fun even.” He approached and took a seat across from Logan at the desk, a singular expression of amusement in the form of a laugh following.
Logan remained unphased by the personal critiques on how he spent his time, yet acknowledged the concern as he should. “The practical work is fun. I like training and the people aspect, but this shit sucks. Fumbling through paperwork… profit, bills, bullshit.” He took a deep breath, hinting at his own fatigue from it. “But, has to be done, or my mind won't stop.”
“That's the problem, you think too much.” Drake shook his head and leaned forward to pull the paper out from beneath Logan’s ballpoint tip, examining the numbers. “So what exactly are you worried about? We have enough to maintain, and that's been good enough for us.”
Logan's reaction was surely enough to produce more questions to anyone else, but Drake knew how he thought, which was a claim very few could make as it pertained to Mr. Traeger. “I know, you want to expand. It'll happen, in time. We just need to find the right place. We go through this every six months, the prices are too high or facilities too damaged to be worth it.”
“Yeah, and we are at capacity now. There's a waiting list, and I don't want us to look impossible. Is it too much to ask that we expand without crippling ourselves in loans or draining personal earnings?” Logan tossed the pen down and rubbed his eyes vigorously for a few seconds, officially spent on numbers. Drake looked at the paper once more, then tossed it back onto the desk.
“Market ourselves right, it all falls into place. If we wanna do this without investors or stealing from our own savings, then maybe you should take less time coming in here.”
A suggestive shrug would follow, Logan responding accordingly. “You really want me to get out more.”
“If it helps, just do it for our business. Finally get in that ring, market yourself. It's free exposure, you get a paycheck, still collect from here, and you don't have to worry about investors or your own fears.” Logan shot Drake a contentious glance, but knew he was right. Logan was aware of his own itch to do more, begin wrestling in particular.
“That isn't a fear, it's an awareness, and you aren't wrong. I'd be able to do something I've always wanted to do, plus, get this place where we want it. Problem is finding a starting point.” Logan ran his hand over his face, the smooth follicles of his beard refusing to misshape from the touch. Drake, however, already had a plan, as he grabbed Logan’s phone and fumbled through it a few minutes before handing it back.
“There… Twitter. Access to the world, follow some people and get your name out. If you get half the attention from your looks on there as you do walking the street, you'll be just fine. Now, go home, and I'm gonna go see my wife.” Drake stood and made his way back to the door. “Oh, and find you a woman too… might clear that obsessive shit from your head, let you enjoy life a bit.” Logan’s subsequent middle finger provoked a laugh from his business partner as he exited.
What seemed like forever had only been a few minutes. Logan scoured the social media app for wrestlers, both indie and national, following them in hopes of one returning the favor. This could very well work if he could sell himself to a company. And then, as if it were meant to be, the black and red hair caught his eye. “Just Sadie,” with her eyes piercing his soul, happened to be taking on clients. After bringing himself to cease his admiration of her exquisite beauty long enough, he finally took a step in the proper direction. Nervously, he watched as the “+Follow” changed beneath his thumb, thus opening a new line of communication he intended to not squander.
Hollywood, California
“That’s a lotta bags.” The taxi driver had a smile and cordial attitude that wasn’t lost on Sadie as he helped her load her luggage into the trunk of his vehicle. He’d seen enough in his day that he didn’t even stare at her red and black hair, tattoos and piercings, or “unique” style of dress. “Headed to the airport, I assume?”
“No, to my office.” With a little huff she hoisted the largest of the bags off of the concrete herself. She didn’t have to look at the driver to know there was a look on his face. “It’s a long story.”
She caught his nod from the corner of her eye. “Lotta those around here. I won’t pry. Where can I take ya then?”
“North Alexandria, please.” The smallest of the bags was slung over her shoulder as she slid into the backseat. The driver was even kind enough to close the door for her. It was a pleasant distraction from life’s recent events, as was his jovial small talk about nothing in particular. Some of the “big” names he’d had in his cab, people he had met, the cookies his wife had packed in his lunch.
By the time they pulled up at the curb outside the office building, she had managed to put a good portion of the now-recent-past behind her. Gone was the Laughlin residence and the short life that had been lived there. Gone was the slightly bitter taste of promises unfulfilled.
She wasn’t a child, and she wouldn’t waste her time mourning something that turned out not to be what she had thought it was. Success and happiness were the best forms of revenge, right? Well, it was time to find some success. No, it was time to make some success. Few would ever have guessed by looking at her that Sadie had a Business degree.
With specializations in Brand Management and Finance, along with her knowledge of a few niche businesses, she had everything she needed to build herself a living as an agent or manager. Now all she needed were some clients. Strangely enough, even that hadn’t started off with too much difficulty.
Leaving her bags at the door, she dropped into the high backed office chair behind the sparsely decorated desk. The office wasn’t much, yet, but it was hers and hers alone. She ran a fingernail along the top of the manila envelope that had been slid under the door by the postman. Inside was the small file folder she had been waiting on, with Oleander MacAvoy printed neatly across the front.
“Alright, Miss MacAvoy,” a smile turned her red-painted lips upward. “Let’s see what we can do for you.”
Before she could turn back the front of the file to look within, her phone rumbled on the polished wooden surface of the desk. Her brows rose curiously as she tapped the screen and swiped in the pattern to unlock the device. Beneath the flashing green indicator light was a single push notification: Logan Traeger has followed you.