The Deputy Commissioner’s Office

[DC Howard Black]

The office door is unlocked, and inside is a simple wooden desk with a laptop computer on it. Beside the computer sits a framed photo of Howard’s son, Joey, taken for his high school yearbook, a framed picture of Howard Black shaking hands with the President of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, and one of those drinking birds. On the walls are a few more framed photos – highlights from Howard’s wrestling career – and some UNL memorabilia, such as a Cornhuskers flag and the last season’s schedule signed by the players. A bookshelf sits in the corner, filled with more memorabilia and various books on sports medicine and business. There is a potted fern on the ground.

The Deputy Commissioner sits behind his desk, wearing a brown jacket over his trademark red flannel shirt. He seems deep in work at something.

//This thread is for anyone who would like to interact with Eastern Conference Deputy Commissioner Howard Black. I’m more than happy to translate any interactions to segments for the show. I am also more than happy to DM any deeper plans. Cheers!

[darkwitchkaitlyn]

Soft knocking can be heard at the door to the office, as Kaitlyn Fletcher stands in the hallway outside. Attired in a black t-shirt with denim jeans and black leather boots, she lightly taps her feet against the blue nylon carpet before placing her right hand atop the cold steel of the door handle. Exhaling, she pulls it downward and pushes the door open before taking a glance around the room. Noticing the pictures on the wall as she stands in the doorway, she smiles to herself, realizing that Howard has a connection to Nebraska, specifically the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. The alma mater of her parents and her eldest brother, Zac, giving her a homely feeling as her parents house at similar pictures from their own college days. With measured steps, she wanders into the office, pulling the door closed behind her before making her way to the oaken chair positioned on the other side of the table to the person who has given her an opportunity in the sport. .Sitting down, she awaits for him to finish whatever he is working on, not wanting to interrupt him while he is busy. She notices him look in her direction as if to acknowledge her arrival, and gives him a friendly smile.

“Hi, Mr. Black.” She remarks, her voice calm and sweet.

Resting her hands on the table and pushing her back against the soft wood of the chair’s back, she awaits his reply.

[DC Howard Black]

The commissioner's eyes raise from his computer, and he removes his hands from the keyboard before folding them before himself and giving a polite smile. "Well if it isn't our resident Arch Witch," he remarks before gesturing towards the chair, "Please, sit. What can I do for you?"

[darkwitchkaitlyn]

Kaitlyn looks across at him, slightly intimidated by his presence. She knew she came here to talk to him, but finds herself unable to recall exactly what she wished to talk about, such are the nerves running through her body. It’s one thing to see him from a distance and another to witness him up close and personal.

“I just wanted to say thank you for taking a chance on me.” she finally manages to push out, her words remaining sweet in nature but with a bit of a stutter caused by her anxiety. “I promise I won’t let you down.”

Her eyes widen as her smile causes dimples to appear in her cheeks. She truly wants to do the best she can for Howard, even more so now that she has seen that he has a connection to her home state of Nebraska, though that is something that also makes her even more nervous than she already is. In her mind, it puts an added expectation onto her not to fail,

“I do want to ask you something, if that’s okay…” her statement trails off at the end, as her eyes remain fixated on Howard.

[DC Howard Black]

The commissioner raises an eyebrow inquisitively, his hands come to rest folded in his lap as he reclines back in his office chair. "That's what I'm here for," he replies.

[darkwitchkaitlyn]

“What is something you would suggest to somebody trying to learn more about this sport?” she asks, her tone light hearted. “Like, what are some things I should know?”

[DC Howard Black]

A small smile creeps across Howard's lips, thin and bemused.  Instinctively, he lets out a small laugh as he reaches across his desk for a pen, lifting it and twiddling it in his fingers.  His eyes leave hers immediately as he looks down at nothing in particular.

"Well the first bit of advice for anyone in this industry is to find another," he remarks dryly, "There's more honest livings: house painter, doctor, ranch hand, teacher, et cetera."

He continues twiddling the pen, the small smile widening a little as if at his own incredulity.  "There's a lotta work less taxing on your body and soul.  Lotta less work that involves chasin' rainbows at the cost of hurtin' others.  I'll tell ya, Ms. Fletcher, everyone doing this is a damned a fool.  Myself included.  It'll suck the marrow out'a your bones and come back for seconds, then suck the blood out'a your heart when it can't get that."

He pauses his twiddling only to tap the pen down on the desk, opposite end to click the ballpoint into writing position -- then he resumes the twiddling, his free hand coming up to cup the side of his face as his eyes return to hers.  "But," he continues, his tone almost pedantic, "If you insist -- stay out'a 'the life'.  Keep away from the drugs and the booze and the chatterin'.  Focus on your craft.  Take care'a yourself and your body.  Ignore the talk, even in the locker room.  Study tape, be a student, keep workin' and figure out what works for you.  There's a lotta good hands in this conference, and a lot I'd trust.  'I built you a fine ship, Rose', and all that jazz.  Lis and Slayer are your best bets.  Commissioner Spencer's a good egg, and DC Holmes should be kept a yard stick away from your ear at all times."

He pauses his twiddling, clicking the pen closed before setting it back down.  "You're young and you're green," he intones with a quiet seriousness, "And this biz is full of flytraps.  It's dog-eat-dog, and you're someone at the trough takin' a portion that could give 'em double.  Apologies if this is a bit ominous, but I've seen a lotta folks go through the meatgrinder and I appreciate the ones who ask for advice or caution -- gives you a leg up and is a step in the right direction to not fall face first into the pits."

[Spencer Adams (Owner)]

"Little starstruck? Caught up in the lights and the spectacle of it still?"

Commissioner Adams voice cuts through the room, his presence going previously unnoticed along with the part in the door where he stands, leaned up against the frame.

"I won't argue with the man. Asked him to fill this role for a reason. As for you, you made the league. Take a breath and maybe treat Kaitlyn a little more like the scouts did, yeah? I saw the tape. Dorothy might not be in Kansas anymore, but you know how to throw a punch. I'll tell you the same thing I told the other rookies. Play the part you wanna be. You deserve this spot just the same as the others. Welcome to the association."

[Luis Carrillo]

Luis Carrillo looked from his phone to the door to his watch to his client.

“Sorry. Don’t know why they’re taking so long,” he apologized.

From his spot in the corner of the reception area The Frumious Benderstretch shrugged. The big masked man was disinterested in the cause of the hold-up. His focus was on the objects in his hands: a blindingly bright whittling blade and the nub of wood he was carving away at.

“Seems like they’ve been in there a week,” Luis protested, “I know Kaitlyn Fletcher is a rook, but how much talking up does she need?”

Another shift in shoulders from Big Frum as he delicately shaved away a sliver of cedar into the wastebasket placed between his splayed size sixteen shitkickers.

“And the last person she should be looking to be her wrestling rabbi is Howard Black. The man walked away from this business at thirty something years old. One of the best wrestlers in the world, and he took a powder why?”

“He gaive his wurd.”

The agent was surprised at the response, not for the rationale itself but because the normally taciturn Frumious even bothered to answer a question clearly meant to be rhetorical, “Ok, well, I’d argue that was a mistake in judgment. Especially if his plan was to come back as ‘Office’ a couple of years from hanging up his boots.”

Shrug Number Three from The Atlas of Agony.

“And to attack me during as part of an official announcement during the most important day in NPWA history, its inaugural Draft Day; to call me out in such an unwarranted and unprovoked manner, that's just more proof to the metaphorical pudding that Howard Black is a man who is ill prepared to lead this conference, and more importantly provide you with the opportunities you deserve.”

“Bedder him den Homes,” Frumious countered as he held up the tiny figurine he was working free from the wood to examine.

“Small favors and cold comforts,” Carrillo rose from his chair and moved to closer study the intricately fashioned fetish Benderstretch had formed: a grappler immortalized in the classic catch crouch.

The result of his client’s labors turned Luis Carrillo philosophical. It was always there in him, underneath the bombast. He was as much an advocate for the sport as the people who hired him to navigate it, so it didn’t require much of a push for him to pay homage to Benderstretch’s tiny handcrafted idol.

“How do you make a wrestler? Start with your building block and take away everything that isn't a wrestler,” Luis gave Big Frum’s bicep a conspiratorial pat, “Not that simple is it?”

A negatory shake of the head from Frumious.

“Think they know that?” The agent nodded in the direction where the NPWA brass were chinwagging.

“We see. Got no exkooses now,” The Primordial Powerhouse folded up his knife and put in the pocket of his overalls. The statuette stayed out; concealed and protected within the curled fingers of his well-worn southpaw.

“No they do not,” Luis agreed before checking his watch again, “Certainly no excuse for castigating a man who’s only crime was zealously representing his client.”

Frumious said nothing. His posture remained unchanged. His expression underneath his mask gave nothing away. Luis Carrillo sighed.

“We give them five more minutes with the ingenue du jour, then we’ll crash their tea party.”

[The Delivery Girl]

Pulling and straining, The Delivery Girl muscles a large dolly full of boxes past the building’s doors and surges through the reception area. Out of her peripheral, she spots Luis Carrillo and his monstrous man-beast-thing presumably waiting to have a chatty-chat with the little Lost Boy in charge of the Eastern Conference.

“Mr. Carrillo! Mr. Benderstench! Howdy!” She says in her Georiga peach accent as she keeps moving, offering a passing nod of respect to the pair.

The receptionist looks up from whatever TikTok video she’s watching and gives the Amazon attired delivery specialist a permissible nod. Picking up the pace, TDG pushes the cart to the opened door where Deputy Commissioner Howard Black, NPWA owner Spencer Adams, and rookie blue chipper Kaitlyn Fletcher are having their pow-wow.

“Special delivery for Mr. Black and the LEASTERN Conference.” The Delivery Girl jolts the dolly forward a tad, causing the boxes to spill out onto the floor.

”Your delivery of L’s has arrived, sir. Only the first shipment. More to come, as you ordered for your conference.” TDG explains, her lips twisting into a Natalie Dormer’esque smirk.

She picks up a box and speed passes it hard to Howard. It topples side over side across his desk knocking things over before landing in his lap. “And one for you also, sugar.” She blurts and hard-tosses another box like a basketball to Kaitlyn Fletcher.

TBCB anyone really.

[DC Howard Black]

((So sorry to be so delayed!  Real life's been hectic this past month.  Allow me to continue.))

The room was suddenly claustrophobic -- the arrival of the Commissioner, the looming presence beyond the doorway, the spilled delivery box, and, of course, Kaitlyn Fletcher with whom he'd been speaking.  His head snapped around, looking wildly back and forth between the now gathered crowd.

"What the hel-" he muttered, but the words seemed to catch in his throat from the chaos.  The drinking bird lay broken on the floor having been knocked from the desk.

He raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before picking the box up from his desk.  He shoves it forward at The Delivery Girl.

"We're going to have to decline this delivery," he said sharply, "On account of its condition.  Tell Andre he owes me a goddamn desk toy."

[Luis Carrillo]

"Hold off stamping 'Return to Sender' on those Ls, Lost Boy," Luis Carrillo advised as he insinuated his way into Howard Black's office, "At least not before I get my explanation."

The agent paused momentarily to straighten his tie and cuffs.  As he did in loped his client.  But while Carrillo had made a beeline to stand opposite the Deputy Commissioner with only his desk between them, the Frumious Benderstetch paused at the doorway and stepped back into corner.  His eyes darted behind the mask, glancing at each occupant before turning his attention on the pictures and accolades on display in the room.

Luis's focus remained solely on the source of his consternation, "A-hem.  Mister Black, I don't believe we have officially met.  My name is Luis Carrillo.  I represent your twelfth round draft pick, the Wideawake Nightmare, the Torture Racketeer, the Savage Reflection from Beyond the Looking Glass: the Frumious Benderstretch!"

Carrillo gestured towards Frum with all the aplomb of a "Price is Right" showcase model.  The big man acknowledged the hard sell with a cursory glance before resuming his study of the office's decor.  

"I say we have not officially met, sir, because you seem to feel you know me or at least how I do business.  In fact, you have gone so far as to say, during NPWA Draft Day no less, that you, and I quote, 'sure as hell' don't like me."

Luis tutted and shook his head in bitter disappointment.

"Please sir, enlighten me as to why.  What have I done in my capacity as my client's advocate that would warrant such a shocking public condemnation?  What have I done to make one of NPWA's Triumvirate openly disparage my character?  I, and Frumious, await your reasoning with baited breath."

Upon hearing his name Benderstretch once more looked to Luis; then Howard.

[DC Howard Black]

“Frankly,” Howard remarks as he raises an eyebrow, his eyes darting between Carrillo and Benderstretch, “I been to a lotta state fairs to know a carny when I see one, Mr. Carrillo. You can have the Nordstrom Rack suit and the Jacob & Co. cuffs – that don’t mean jack. Now gimme a little honor among thieves.”

[Luis Carrillo]

"I'm neither a carny nor a thief, Mister Black; just a man who believes in his client and has no issues expressing it with both vigor and vim," Luis countered with a smirk as he again adjusted his cufflinks, "I apologize my showmanship offends your Midewestern sensibilities; but just imagine how much this sport would suffer if every wrestler in it was cast from the same, ah, subdued mold as yourself?  Imagine how boring, how mind-numbingly tedious, it would be."


Carrillo gave a shudder at the prospect.