"A Canadian Who Doesn't Like Maple Syrup", And Other Walking Contradictions

ASCENSION NIGHT TWO.

“Get me a towel, Mic, I can’t seem to get this shit off!”

There have been lots of rubber matches in the pantheon of wrestling history. There have also been lots of lumberjack matches.

However, this may be the first time that the winner of a lumberjack rubber match, triumphant, victorious, basking in the golden glow of success…is also covered in maple syrup.

“Too much of this shit at home, can’t get away from it here, when does it end?” He laments as he wipes himself down. Luc Labelle is an anomaly, a Canadian that can’t stand maple syrup. He may never feel clean again.

Still, the stickiness of the moment doesn’t detract from the beauty of it. Steve Lemieux, a barnacle attached to the back of Luc Labelle’s mind ever since the first round of the Almasy Invitational, has been defeated. Expunged. On to bigger and better things.

“Alright Mic, who’s next?”

His older brother begins to look through his notes. Luc has to admit that as naive and eccentric as Michel can be, he’s an almost evangelically dedicated assistant.

“Uhhhh…alright, says here that you’re booked on ReVival 75, so a quick turnaround. We’ll get you into recovery quickly, I already booked a sauna for you tomorrow.”

“Private?”

“Well, I’ve been needing some relaxation, you know? My shoulder has been tight, and m-”

Luc shoots him down with a glance.

“Okay. Yes, private.”

“Perfect. Who’s the opponent?”

“Kenny Freeman.”

Labelle still isn’t great at remembering the names of his fellow competitors, but he starts flipping through his mental rolodex. Freeman? Freeman…

“That’s the one that comes out to that Bleachers song?”

Michel shakes his head. “Nope, that’s Quinn Fleetwood. Try again, you got it.”

“Shit, okay…one of those red dudes, right?”

“He’s a member of The Red Army, yes.”

“Shit.”

Luc Labelle remembers what happened last time he faced a member of The Red Army. He gave Rose a hell of a fight, but ultimately, he came up short. Michel can damn near read Luc’s mind.

“Listen, Dr. Zeke won’t be there to screw you over this time. It’ll just be you and Kenny in there, no old man swinging some dumbass cane.”

Luc pushes past some random staffers, not terribly convinced by Michel’s reassurance. “I don’t know, man. You know how I feel about bullshit, and they’re pretty big bullshitters.”

“Yeah, but you helped them with their bullshit against Lemieux.”

“That’s different! That was REVENGE bullshit! They bullshit for the sake of bullshitting!”

“I think we’re saying Bullshit too much”. Michel stops at a vending machine and buys a soda, Luc looking at him disapprovingly.

“Come on, man, it’s cutting season.”

Michel scoffs at him. “Brother, you’re the athlete here. You can have your chicken and broccoli, I’ll stick with this.”

They walk down the hallway, sharing a quiet punctuated by Michel taking frequent sips. Suddenly, Luc’s older brother gets an idea.

“Why don’t you try talking to Alexei Ruslan?”

Luc is obviously drawing a blank, and Michel rolls his eyes and fills him in. “He’s The Red Army’s manager. Maybe you could cut a deal, you know? You helped them, maybe they could help you.”

Luc shakes his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t beg, and I’d be showing my cards.”

“I disagree. I think it’d make you look strong. Lots of people try to stay out of The Red Army’s way, but being on their radar isn’t the worst thing in the world. Makes you more important. Besides, what happens if he says no? They’ll just cheat, like they would have done anyways. If they say yes, then hey, you get a fair match. What’s the downside?”

God, I hate it when he’s right.

“Alright. I’ll go talk to him, just show me the way.”

—

Michel leads his younger brother through the confusing annals of the Lucas Oil Stadium, zero hesitation on his part.

“Jesus Christ, Mic,” Luc asks, bewildered. “You been here before or something?”

“No,” he answers, “But I studied the stadium map.”

“Are you kidding me?” Luc chuckles.

“Come on, man, it’s my job! I’m not trying to be some kind of nepo assistant over here!”

Finally, they reach their destination. An alabaster white door with a hammer and sickle sticker plastered right in the middle of it.

The Red Army locker room. Luc inhales deeply, steadying himself. Bargaining isn’t really his strong suit. Beating a human being up within the confines of a wrestling ring is just so much easier than speaking to one on the outside.

He knocks three times and waits for the answer.

Out steps a confused, vaguely annoyed Alexei Ruslan, who closes the door behind himself, protecting the inside of the locker room from external eyes. One eyebrow raises. He does not greet Luc, nor his brother.

“Hello, I’m Luc Labelle. May I speak to you inside for a moment?”

Alexei crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, staring at Labelle. He snorts. “I know who you are, Labelle. I know who everyone is. What makes you think you have the right to walk into the Red Army locker room?”

“I’d much rather avoid the risk of anybody overhearing. Lots of eavesdroppers in PRIME, from what I hear.”

Far be it for Ruslan not to admit to nefarious, Troyist forces who might be listening. He snorts and nods, but eyes Michel carefully. “All right, fine. But leave that big lunk outside. This is just between the two of us, and it had better be important!”

Alexei opens the door to the locker room and strides in, letting Labelle shut the door behind him. Michel, excluded, tries not to look sad about it. Inside is a timewarp into the halcyon days of Soviet Russia. Banners on the walls, a bust of Lenin, a Soviet march playing from an old radio, and a desk far too large for any normal human being. Ivan isn’t here, however, it’s just Alexei as he turns and leans against the desk. “I’m listening.”

Labelle might as well cut to the chase. “So, as you may have seen, Kenny Freeman has been booked to face me at the next ReVival. From what I understand, you’re the guy to go to if I wanna talk to The Red Army. No disrespect, but I know what you guys are about, and I came here to ask if it’d be possible to keep The Red Army backstage during my match with him.”

Ruslan swishes his mustache back and forth curiously and lifts an eyebrow. “You think you know what The Red Army is about, son?” He snorts again.

This motherfucker snorts a lot. Is he sick? Should I start socially distancing myself from him?

“I mean, I didn’t wanna say it, but I’d rather avoid the interference and the shit like that.”

Alexei narrows his eyes. “You mean the bourgeois capitalist chains that prevent true, communist competition from occurring?!”

An awkward pause. There is no doubt Alexei has more to say.

“Listen to me, and listen to me well. The rules put forth that prevent the collective effort of The Red Army, or try to brand them as ‘cheating’ is just the tip of the iceberg in the imperialist control perpetrated by Lindsay Troy and her cronies! And if you think, for one moment, that anyone in The Red Army is going to change their doctrine because you think it is in your best interest? Well, I have a bridge from Magnitogorsk that I can sell you!” There’s a fire and a fury in his eyes. He’s not a competitor, but he’s certainly not intimidated by Labelle in the slightest.

The Montrealer needs to choose his words very carefully here. He’s tough, but he knows that he does NOT want The Red Army against him. “This has nothing to do with PRIME, I’m certainly not someone that’s interested in representing management whatsoever. However, I did help Ivan Stanislav out in that Almasy match against Lemieux, and I’d appreciate the favour getting repaid.”

“We didn’t ask for your help, and Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav certainly didn’t need any assistance handling that buffoon!” Alexei barks. “Typical young person: you do something unilaterally, and then you want repayment after the fact!”

“Listen, you’re probably right about Stanislav, Lemieux certainly isn’t on his level. But with those idiots that Lemieux has buzzing around him all the time, you never know. I made sure they couldn’t deny The Red Army of their rightful victory.”

Ruslan’s jaw unclenches and his stare softens a bit. He has to concede. “You did… I will admit that. But I still don’t know what you’re getting at, exactly? Ivan has his match with Fred Dick soon. ”

“The point is that right after that, I faced Rose, and while the match I had with her wasn’t overly dirty, she did get the win by grabbing the tights. I thought that was unfair after what I did, so I think it’s better for you if you assure me that nothing like that will happen against Freeman.”

Alexei twists his face curiously as if trying to remember. “First off. I recall that match perfectly and Rose won it fair and square. Secondly, you can think what you want, but I hope I’m not detecting a threat. Am I?”

Plausible deniability is the name of the game. “Not right now, you’re not.”

Alexei stares at Luc. He shifts his jaw in his mouth, and his eyelid twitches. He exhales.

“Listen. I do not forget that yes, you came to Ivan’s aid, even if unnecessary, and it was appreciated. I promise nothing. Any request of the sort needs to go not through me, but Starshy Praporshchik Stanislav. I will let him know what you asked, and we’ll see what we can do. Deal?”

Labelle could try to convince him further, but Double L decides to quit while he’s ahead. He nods, and is quickly ushered out of the locker room. Michel is seated on the floor, back to the cement wall, playing on his own.

“What the fuck are you doing, Mic?”

Michel quickly stands up and gathers himself. “I may or may not have been playing Retro Bowl. Anyways, what did he say?”

“He said he’ll think about it, and he’ll check with Ivan Stansliav.”

“STANISLAV. Pronounce it right, it could be dangerous not to. But uh, yeah, that’s kind of the worst answer you could have gotten, because now we have to prepare for either possibility.”

Luc shrugs. “Sure, but if he had said yes, it would have been the same thing. He could have always lied. As a matter of fact, I’m surprised he didn’t just say yes to keep my guard down.”

“You’re not wrong.” An alarm on Michel’s phone goes off. “Okay, this means we need to get back to the locker room. Time for your anabolic nap.”

“Jesus, Mic, I’m not a fucking toddler!”

“Alright Luc, if you want to be small and weak against Kenny Freeman, be my guest!”

Luc stops arguing. “No, no, it’s chill. Let’s get back there.” He doesn’t think the naps really do anything, but shit, he’s not going to pass up an opportunity to get some rest. They head back to the locker room.

—

MONTREAL. ST-HENRI NEIGHBOURHOOD. 

The nice thing about PRIME paychecks is that between every show, Luc gets to live like he’s unemployed, but WITHOUT worrying about money. Dahlia Duquette, Luc’s kinda sorta maybe non-official live-in “I don’t pay rent but I buy everything else” partner/situationship is currently at work, and he’s in her apartment complex.

It’s 5 PM, which means that Luc is in the apartment gym. It’s dirty, the TV is stuck on French talk shows meant for old people all day, and nobody wipes down the seats, but those are all secondary characteristics. The primary characteristic is that it’s free.

Technically, the gym is only open to residents, but the doorman sees Labelle so frequently that he just allows him in. Luc and Dahlia like to dance around the fact that they see each other a little too much for two people that “aren’t dating”, so he tells her that he pays the doorman off. The doorman probably wishes it was true.

He finishes up his set on the adductor machine, and quickly makes his way over to the stationary bike. There’s only one, and the yoga-practicing elderly woman from apartment 26B has been eyeing it for a few minutes. No mercy from Luc Labelle, she has to wait her turn.

He closes his eyes while pedalling as fast as he can, trying to visualize what he could do to Kenny Freeman, trying to remember Michel’s scouting report. Labelle has a decent size advantage, but a discernible speed disadvantage.

How can I crowd him? Can I shoot for a takedown and keep him in the corner all match? Could I fake the collar-and-elbow tie-up, headbutt him, and just keep him grounded the whole way through? What should I do?

His gameplans always seemed to work when he was an MMA fighter. In PRIME, something unexpected always seems to throw a wrench in his strategies. Still, he keeps the habit going. Too much of a perfectionist to give it up.

What do I do if he tries to go high? Can I bait him into a strike exchange? He probably couldn’t handle me in one of those, right? Could I gr-

His thinking is cut short by the sound of the gym door opening. Dahlia’s back from work. She walks up to the stationary bike and sets a chocolate protein shake down in the cupholder. Luc stops pedalling and immediately cracks it open and downs it, before even saying hello.

Once he’s done, he finally greets her. “Hey, how was work? I’d hug you, but I’m all sweaty and I’m not sure th-”

She cuts him off by hugging him.

“Work was good, actually! They put that interview with you on the Instagram page, and they told me that they’re thinking of sending me to the next Supercard as a correspondent!”

“Congrats!” Luc isn’t always comfortable sounding peppy and congratulatory, but he’s working on it. “You get any articles for over the weekend?”

Dahlia throws her hands up, relieved. “No, thank GOD. Needed a weekend off like crazy. You almost done here?”

“Why, you wanna use the bike?” Luc jokes.

The old lady in the back doesn’t seem to get the joke. “I’ve been waiting for that bike! I don’t even buy green bananas anymore at my age, I don’t have time to wait!”

A little overdramatic, but hey. “Very sorry ma’am, I’ll be done with it in a few minutes, I promise.”

The old woman grumbles, and Luc turns back to Dahlia. “Like I just told her, I’ll be up in a sec.”

“Alright,” Dahlia smiles. “Don’t take too long, I’ve been waiting to see you all day, and I dOn’T hAvE tImE tO wAiT.” She mockingly looks in the old woman’s direction.

Luc looks apologetically in her direction. He doesn’t need her snitching on him and his non-resident status to the doorman. “I’ll be quick,” he tells Dahlia.

She goes upstairs, and Luc pedals as fast as he can, upping the tension on the bike, trying to really fire his quads.

He has to fly to Miami in just a couple of days. Originally, Luc joined PRIME to get away from this city. He doesn’t want to admit it, but these days, it’s been getting harder and harder to leave.

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he tries not to think about the fact that he’ll ever have to come downstairs again.