I'm not strictly adhering to canon of any period, because I don't want to end up with dated character dynamics when they inevitably change on actual programming, and because a lot of things (brand extension, etc) are needlessly complicated for the story I want to tell and the characters I want to focus on. I mean, is it me, or is there a serious dearth wrestling fics out there that features any actual wrestling?

Fair warning, this story will contain slash down the road, probably later rather than sooner.

To Thine Own Self...
Alhazred - madarab20AThotmailDOTcom – alhazredDOTlivejournalDOTcom
Non-original characters, storylines and concepts © WWE, this is a not-for-profit project.

I. At the Gate
May 13th, 7:17pm

The anxiety was thick enough to cut with a knife, and all manner of other metaphors that were obscure and less easily recalled. It started with getting on the plane and traveling on his own. It wasn't so much the 'on his own' part that bothered Kerwood, it was the logistics involved. Back in Ohio, it was easy and comforting to have the same ring to look forward to every day.

Now, though...actually scheduled for a televised event (even if his match was dark,) it was a different story. He couldn't really blame the company for its no-frills policy when it came to carting its athletes around...they saved a fortune on plane fare (by not paying it) and hotel expenses (by paying very little.)

Being no-name dark match filler, Kerwood wasn't even afforded a complimentary room at a two-star twenty minutes away from the arena by cab. The incessant planning necessary to make the traveling work right scared him to death. In his mind's eye, he could see so many little things he could botch and probably end up being fired over. Buying the wrong ticket, balancing his checkbook wrong and being unable to afford a ticket...he thought he would feel better once the cab he'd hailed brought him to the arena, and he felt anything but.

Paying the driver and getting out, throwing his gear bag over his shoulder, he realized he needed to find the back entrance to the place. This, like so many other things, turned out to be much less difficult than he figured it would be. It felt bizarre and awkward seeing the fans gathering at the front doors, about to go inside; a gaggle of people who were not from Ohio that couldn't care less about him.

And he knew they couldn't care less, but that didn't stop Kerwood from feeling like everyone's eyes were on him, even as he gave the crowd a wide berth. He practically crossed the street as he made his way around the building, thinking his bag was like a glowing neon sign that said "I am worth paying attention to in lieu of anyone more interesting."

It would've been infinitely easier if there had been someone more interesting walking by; being invisible was one of the better states of being when doing something for the first time. Kerwood remembered feeling this exact same way for his first few days after getting to OVW, and he really hoped he could handle the transition to something completely different one more time. Hell, he'd settle for just getting through it without crawling into a corner and crying from homesickness.

Funny thing; it wasn't even a big transition this time. He was going from one wrestling promotion to another, not from his boring every-day life and into a wrestling promotion for the first time. He tried not to think about the inherent paradox his need to feel invisible caused with the fact that he was going to 'work' in a place where an arena full of people would be watching him, even if most of them wouldn't be paying attention.

Much like everything he worried about, Kerwood discovered that it wasn't so hard to find the back entrance. The WWE production trucks were nicely lined out near it, the stage crew still mulling about, pulling cables to and fro. There was a pair of guys wheeling a camera into the arena.

The atmosphere was a little strange, too. It wasn't totally dark out, and the weather was nice. There were even birds fluttering overhead, making the little cement pit that was the arena's perimeter into a nicely Spring-like area.

The contrast of where Kerwood stood versus what he could see of the Baltimore cityscape was pretty intense. Maybe it was the fact that he'd grown up in a small town, but he could see the grime of the city even at the end of his vision, where the harbor began way down the street. And there was plenty of it behind him from the route his cab had taken from the airport, too. The dull gray of the sky didn't help, he couldn't imagine it was ever blue above a place like this.

It must be something one could get used to, he thought. People did live in the cities, after all.

Pushing his pop-philosophy thoughts aside, Kerwood forced his feet to move again. He turned sharply and headed into the building, through the wide-open loading dock.

He made it three feet inside before his lack of attention to his surroundings led to surprise. "Hey. Kid."

Practically spinning on his heels, Kerwood came face to face with a fairly large man who looked like he would feel more at him as bouncer at a nightclub in a bad part of town. He was wearing a WWE T-shirt, though. "Yeah?"

Looking at Kerwood like he was stupid, the guy added, "Got a reason for being here?"

Blinking a couple of times, Kerwood wondered why the bag over his shoulder didn't make it obvious. Maybe this was why the bigger stars came to events already in costume sometimes. Or at least, they always said they did in Ohio. The same way 'they' said getting driven back-first onto a pile of thumbtacks was more of a preparation for the rigors of the industry than it was a hazing ritual. "Uh...yeah. I'm on the card. You know, wrestling."

The wanna-be security guard warmed up a little after hearing this, but not totally. "Cool. Got ID?"

"Uh," Kerwood let his bag drop to the ground, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and fishing out his driver's license. All the while, he assured himself he could probably take the guy down if need be; he had a height advantage, and was probably good at his job. But still. Thinking he had no right to get in the ring tonight if he couldn't even out-fight door security, Kerwood handed over the card.

His accoster took it in one hand, bringing the clipboard his other hand held up high enough to read, flipping through the pages as best he could with his thumb. Eventually, his eyes went from the little plastic card to one of those sheets of paper and back a few times, until he gave it back. "Looks alright. Go right ahead, Mister Walkerton."

"Thanks."

Not bothering to re-organize his wallet, Kerwood threw his license in with the cash, satisfied with the simple fact that it wouldn't bend, and shoved it back into his pocket even as he yanked his bag off the ground and started walking again.

The first time he rounded a corner was the first time of the night that Kerwood would feel like he'd had a heart attack; he bumped into someone large walking around in the opposite direction. Whoever it was had even more height over his seemingly unimpressive six-foot-three than the doorman did, and probably at least an extra hundred pounds.

It was so sudden that he didn't even realize it had happened until the man had slipped by him as though he wasn't even there, a quick spot of black swishing out of his vision. "Ah, sorry!"

Turning abruptly, Kerwood caught sight of the back of a heavy leather trench coat and a funny-looking Stetson hat, a growled "Mmmm" coming from the owner as he simply rushed along. Body language suggested apathy rather than superiority as the motivation for such a simple response, and Kerwood was glad for that.

He was a twig, and he knew he was a twig. He was pretty confident that he could handle someone at his own skill level if they had the weight advantage; that was why God invented crazy aerial maneuvers. He wasn't at all delusional about how little effort an experienced heavyweight would need to break him in half, though.

He really hoped his opponent would be another cruiserweight. Maybe even one of the hacks who'd somehow managed to fail up through OVW instead of having to do that usual "put in effort" thing. At least one of the guys he'd floored in farm country had to have made it into the big-time at some point.

Really, the only reason Kerwood hoped for this was to snag himself an easy victory for his first actual WWE match, and he wondered if it made him a bad person. He decided it didn't matter, though. He wasn't stepping on kittens, after all. Surely life being a little unfair in his favor wouldn't get him more than a few years in Purgatory.

Not that he believed in such things.

The day took a turn for the weird when he found a dead end at the end of the corridor, having never taken any of the doors out of it. The 1st Mariner wasn't the largest arena in the world, Kerwood wasn't expecting to find himself lost. Now, here he was.

The little corner of the building wasn't empty, though. Kerwood almost missed the other man, leaning against the wall as if he was happy to have found solitude. He didn't recognize him, and the fact that he had an open make-up kit seemed more than a little strange.

At first glance, he wondered if it might've been Ric Flair, but it wasn't even close. The strange man looked up from his mirror, letting the eyeliner in his hand drop a few inches. "Well now, and here I thought I'd have some privacy."

The tone in his voice gave Kerwood the creeps. "Uh, well. I was just looking for the locker rooms."

"Oh, right, yeah," the man chuckled, going back to his makeup job. "Been around these places so much I forget not everyone has." He blinked into his mirror, eyes never going to Kerwood, but he waved his eyeliner off to the side. "Go back and turn right. Should find the dressing rooms where no one'll bother you."

"Thanks," Kerwood blinked. He walked away as quickly as he could without breaking into a run when the man winked at him.