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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:26:00 GMT
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:26:09 GMT
MAJOR CHANGE to F1 Climaxxx; FWA World Championship match confirmed for Back in Town
Shake Meltzer
15 January 2023
Following the conclusion of Fallout 025, FWA management has confirmed that at the Back in Town Pay-Per-View on February 12th at the Ball Arena in Denver, Colorado, Chris Peacock will be challenging the new FWA World Heavyweight Champion Devin Golden and this will represent the official cash in of Peacock’s Golden Opportunity contract. The two have faced off in one-on-one competition once before, at Back in Business last July, where Peacock emerged victorious.
A consequence of this match being created is that FWA management have come to a mutual agreement with Peacock for the New York City native to relinquish his spot in the F1 Climaxxx, after he secured qualification into the semi finals on Meltdown XXV earlier this week. Peacock’s spot in the tournament is to be taken by the individual who finished third in Pool B of the F1 Climaxxx, tied on points with Peacock (and only missing out due to his head-to-head record with Peacock), ‘The Exile’ Cyrus Truth.
Therefore, the confirmed F1 Climaxxx Semi Final matches to take place on Fight Night: The Final Four on January 27th in Athens are;Pool A Winner Alyster Black
vs.
Pool B Runner-Up Cyrus Truth
Pool B Winner Bryan Baxter
vs.
Pool A Runner-Up Michelle von Horrowitz Whilst it was envisioned that Fight Night: The Final Four was always going to be a limited card, FWA Brand Coordinator Jon Russnow has confirmed that there will be another two matches taking place on this show featuring other FWA talent. Whilst details at the moment are limited, it has been confirmed that ahead of their FWA World Championship match at Back in Town, Devin Golden and Chris Peacock will each captain a team of five in a Ten Man Tag Team Match!Current Card for Back in Town
Sunday February 12th, 2023
*subject to change*
FWA World Championship
Devin Golden © vs. Chris Peacock
FWA World Tag Team Championships
The Connection [Gerald Grayson and Michelle von Horrowitz] © vs. The Undisputed Alliance [Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage]
FWA North American Championship
Bryan Baxter © vs. Lizzie Rose
FWA Television Championship
Vampyra © vs. Shawn Summers
F1 Climaxxx - Final
Alyster Black OR Cyrus Truth vs. Bryan Baxter OR Michelle von Horrowitz
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:29:40 GMT
FWA Awards 2022: Results! BEST NON-MOD CONTRIBUTOR... {runner up}GIP was voted as the winner in this category by 2 people [Man and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 3 people [Jimmy, SS, and Dubb]. {winner}COMEBACK KID was voted as the winner in this category by 10 people [Gip, Oz, TigerPrincess, OMB, rawr, Jimmy, SS, Dubb, SJW, and Tig] and the runner-up in this category by 1 person [TGO]. BEST RETURN... {runner up}CHRIS KENNEDY was voted as the winner in this category by 5 people [CBK, OMB, Tommy, Dubb, and Tig] and the runner-up in this category by 1 person [TGO]. {winner}TOMMY BEDLAM was voted as the winner in this category by 6 people [TigerPrincess, SS, Hemm, Man, SJW, and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 6 people [Gip, Oz, OMB, rawr, Jimmy, and Dubb]. BEST MOMENT... {runner up}DANNY TONER'S WORLD TITLE WIN was voted as the winner in this category by 5 people [Gip, Tommy, Dubb, SJW, and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 5 people [Oz, rawr, Jimmy, SS, and Man]. {winner}NOVA DIAMOND'S CASH-IN was voted as the winner in this category by 6 people [Oz, rawr, SS, Hemm, Man, and Tig] and the runner-up in this category by 0 people. ROOKIE OF THE YEAR... {runner up}TIGERPRINCESS (as Vampyra and Princess Nova was voted as the winner in this category by 4 people [Man, Dubb, rawr, and TigerPrincess] and the runner-up in this category by 7 people [Gip, Oz, Tommy, Jimmy, SJW, Tig, and TGO]. {winner}DUBB (as Jeremy Best and Bryan Baxter] was voted as the winner in this category by 10 people [Oz, CBK, OMB, Tommy, Hemm, Jimmy, SS, SJW, Tig, and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 3 people [TigerPrincess, rawr, Man]. BEST TITLE REIGN… {runner up}CHRIS CROWE'S NORTH AMERICAN TITLE REIGN was voted as the winner in this category by 3 people [Gip, CBK, and OMB] and the runner-up in this category by 5 people [Tommy, rawr, Jimmy, SS, and Tig]. {winner}ALYSTER BLACK'S X TITLE REIGN was voted as the winner in this category by 10 people [Oz, TigerPrincess, Tommy, Jimmy, SS, Hemm, Man, Dubb, SJW and Tig] and the runner-up in this category by 3 people [Gip, OMB, and TGO]. BEST SHOW… {runner up}THE 17TH ANNIVERSARY SHOW was voted as the winner in this category by 3 people [Man, Tig, and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 3 people [Gip, Tommy, and SS]. {winner}BACK IN BUSINESS: NIGHT TWO was voted as the winner in this category by 7 people [Gip, Oz, CBK, OMB, rawr, Dubb, and SJW] and the runner-up in this category by 2 people [Man and TGO]. BEST STORYLINE… {runner up}DEVIN GOLDEN'S SOLIPSISTIC BREAKDOWN OF EFEDDING was voted as the winner in this category by 3 people [Oz, rawr, and Hemm] and the runner-up in this category by 4 people [Gip, Tig, Man, and SS]. {winner}FALLOUT SECEDE FROM THE UNION was voted as the winner in this category by 8 people [Gip, OMB, Tommy, SS, Man, Dubb, Tig, and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 1 person [Oz]. BEST FEUD… {runner up}FALLOUT vs. MELTDOWN was voted as the winner in this category by 5 people [OMB, Tommy, Hemm, Tig, and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 1 person [Gip]. {winner}MIKE PARR vs. SHAWN SUMMERS was voted as the winner in this category by 6 people [CBK, rawr, SS, Man, Dubb, and SJW] and the runner-up in this category by 3 people [Jimmy, Tig, and TGO]. BEST MATCH… {runner up}TEAM FALLOUT vs. TEAM MELTDOWN (The 17th Anniversary Show, written by Man) was voted as the winner in this category by 3 people [Tommy, SJW, and Hemm] and the runner-up in this category by 4 people [rawr, Jimmy, Dubb, and TGO]. {winner}THOMAS WEST vs. DANNY TONER (Back in Business: Night Two, written by dijo) was voted as the winner in this category by 7 people [Gip, Oz, CBK, OMB, rawr, SS, and Man] and the runner-up in this category by 1 person [TigerPrincess]. MOST IMPROVED… {runner up}GIP (as Reagan Cole) was voted as the winner in this category by 6 people [Oz, TigerPrincess, Jimmy, SS, SJW, and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 4 people [OMB, Man, Dubb, and Tig]. {winner}TOMMY (as Tommy Bedlam) was voted as the winner in this category by 6 people [Gip, CBK, Hemm, Man, Dubb, and Tig] and the runner-up in this category by 5 people [Gip, rawr, SS, SJW, and TGO]. BEST TAG TEAM… {runner up}MOOT (Cornelius Aurelius Caesar and Stu Grimes) was voted as the winner in this category by 3 people [OMB, Jimmy, and Dubb] and the runner-up in this category by 2 people [rawr and Tig]. {winner}THE CONNECTION (Gerald Grayson and Michelle von Horrowitz) was voted as the winner in this category by 8 people [Oz, CBK, TigerPrincess, rawr, Man, SJW, Tig, and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 2 people [Jimmy and Dubb]. BEST CHARACTER… {runner up}SHAWN SUMMERS was voted as the winner in this category by 4 people [OMB, rawr, Tig, and TGO] and the runner-up in this category by 2 people [TigerPrincess and SJW]. {winner}ALYSTER BLACK was voted as the winner in this category by 8 people [Gip, Oz, TigerPrincess, Tommy, SS, Jimmy, Hemm, and SJW] and the runner-up in this category by 2 people [Man and Dubb]. BEST PROMO… {runner up}Alyster Black’s ‘THE OROBORUS ANOMALY’ at Lights Out was voted as the winner in this category by 4 people [Hemm, Dubb, SJW, and Tig] and the runner-up in this category by 4 people [TigerPrincess, OMB, Jimmy, and SS]. {winner}Danny Toner’s ‘UNTITLED’ at Back in Business was voted as the winner in this category by 5 people [Gip, OMB, rawr, Jimmy, and Man] and the runner-up in this category by 2 people [Oz and SJW]. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:30:34 GMT
FIGHT NIGHT: “THE FINAL FOUR.”
Live from Spyros Louis Olympic Stadium in Athens, Greece.
Friday 27th January, 2023.
 The first of the two F1 Climaxxx Semi Final matches to take place will be the opening contest on the night and it will see the winner of Pool B, the FWA North American Champion, Big Bryan Baxter, take on one half of the FWA World Tag Team Champions and the runner-up in Pool A, Michelle von Horrowitz. Not only is this a Champion vs. Champion affair, but the F1 Climaxxx journeys of both of these competitors have been marred by the involvement of their associates in their matches. Bill Scorpane has been instrumental in Baxter’s success and unbeaten record in the Climaxxx, whilst MvH has utilised the remainder of Cthulhu’s Nephews when she has deemed appropriate. This one will be a match where the goings on outside of the ring promise to be just as engaging as those inside of it.  Despite the reluctant protests of Shawn Summers, due to him wanting to challenge for the Television Championship under his terms, it was confirmed on Meltdown XXV that he will be facing Vampyra at Back in Town on February 12th with a chance to reclaim the title that he lost at Lights Out. However he will find himself teaming with Vampyra in Athens and there is a large incentive for the two of them to put their differences aside and work together. This is as Jon Russnow has decreed that should their opponents win this match, both Jason Randall and Darius Wright will be added to the Television Championship match at Back in Town. Wright overcame Randall in a fiery affair on Fallout 025 and then continued his assault on ‘The Wildcard’ after the bell rang before both disappeared suddenly. Neither have been seen or heard from since, therefore it is anyone’s guess whether they will even be at Fight Night. The conclusion of Fallout 025 will live long in the memory, not only because of the hellacious Winter Wasteland match between Devin Golden and Alyster Black, where ‘The Rotten Gold’ won his fifth FWA World Championship. After the match, Chris Peacock was close to cashing in his Golden Opportunity contract on Golden but changed his mind at the last moment, instead opting to challenge Golden at the Back in Town Pay-Per-View. On this special edition of Fight Night, both men will lead a team into battle for bragging rights. Looking at the teams, Golden will feel that he is at an advantage due to his previous working relationships with Lizzie Rose (who will bring her tagalong Joe Burr) and Reagan Cole, as well as having former Executive Excellence member Kayden Knox in his corner. What Peacock’s team may lack in familiarity they more than make up for in ability, with Tommy Bedlam, Kleio De Santos, XYZ and Bellatrix Bordeaux all bringing vital, albeit unorthodox, skills to the table.
Mod Note #1: Due to intentional handler conflicts, promos WILL NOT be required for Joe Burr and XYZ for this match.
Mod Note #2: There is a 1,000 word limit PER CHARACTER for this match. Therefore, should you choose to promo individually, your promo cannot exceed this length. This includes text in titles, headings and images. Should a team choose to do a singular, joint promo, the word limit for this promo will be 4,000 words. The main event for this show is something of a dream match for many FWA fans, as Alyster Black and Cyrus Truth will go one-on-one. Cyrus Truth did initially miss out on qualification for the Semi Final, however due to Chris Peacock challenging for the FWA World Championship at Back in Town, Truth has been awarded a lifeline in the tournament and will be motivated to face either Baxter or von Horrowitz in the Final at the Pay-Per-View. The man standing in his way is the former FWA World Champion, Alyster Black, who will be hoping to bounce back in the biggest way following his defeat to Devin Golden on Fallout 025. ‘Black Jesus’ will not find sympathy from ‘The Exile’ and he will need to prepare himself for another epic affair against another bonafide legend of the business.
The deadlines for this show is:
Sunday 22nd January, 2023 at 23:59 Pacific Time.
Monday 23rd January, 2023 at 03:00(am) Eastern.
Monday 23rd January, 2023 at 08:00(am) UK.
Monday 23rd January, 2023 at 11:00(am) Turkey.
Monday 23rd January, 2023 at 19:00 Melbourne.
There will be no extensions. Good luckl! |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:32:16 GMT
Originally posted by Rosie. [ATTACH type="full" alt="1674139015190.png"]35517[/ATTACH] Book XI: Spirit of ChampionsTheatre of Dionysus
Athens, Greece
January 19th, 2023
On the slope of the Acropolis stands the historic Theatre of Dionysus. For its time, the theatre was home to plays and orchestras, providing sound and entertainment for a golden age which has since been lost to time. Despite great efforts made to restore the once great theatre, it will never fully capture the same experience as it was in ancient Greece. Though, there is some magic there as the sun beats down, casting shadows from the partially crumbled walls. The half bowl of seats rise around the stage, encircling. The stage. Looking up from it, a picture comes to mind of the ghosts of thousands of Athenians looking down from above. A tour is going on, with a mix of behind the scenes FWA staff, and other interested tourists, gasping, taking photos of the historic site. Several walk in the stone seating area carefully, trying not to put it in ruin. Near the base of the bowl, two familiar ladies stand out. FWA Television Champion, Vampyra, and her friend and travel buddy, Kimmy. With their mutual friend back to her various travels back home in Canada and in Japan, the final leg of this arduous European tour will end just how it started in London, with the two of them.
With the presence of several FWA staff members, Vampyra keeps her signature mask on with a basic colour design of black and white. She has a light black spring jacket on with blue tight jeans, the temperature a touch warmer than most places she has been to at this time of the year, though a crisp breeze is through the air from the coastal city and from their elevation high upon the city. Likely for promotional material, she has her FWA Television Championship on her shoulder. Kimmy has her usual combination of a green jacket and a red vest combination. A dark blue beanie branded with the FWA logo rests on her head. She is hyper as always.
“Mate, wow!!!” She shouts before excitedly shaking Vampyra’s arm. “This place is sick! Imagine having a match here!”
The FWA Television Champion rolls her eyes and shows a small smile. “It would be dangerous then.”
“Fair, but seriously, this city has LOADS of historic sights. I’m geeking out!”
"Why would you be ‘geeking out,’ Kimmy?” Vampyra asks.
“Outside of my arts and creative classes, I rocked history. I just like learning about the past and this city has loads of it. Ancient Greece, Athens! The birthplace of democracy. The home of thinkers like Plato, Socrates, who may or may not be real, and Aristotle. In fact, Socrates we don’t know… was famous for his teaching method. Rather than telling students what to think, he engaged in dialogue with them, asking questions to get them to defend their views and exploring them.”
“Must be riveting…” Vampyra says somewhat sarcastically.
“History is the shit!” Kimmy proclaims. “I can talk someone’s ear off about ancient history, or the protestant reformation, or the World Wars. Seriously, I could go on for hours about the stuff that all parties did in the war. From Winston Chirchill’s leadership, the internment of Japanese people in America and Canada, the German’s atrocities and how horrible they were, Stalin, the war crimes committed by the Japanese-”
“Internment of Japanese people? And what war crimes?” Vampyra blinks, her education not covering those materials as much as you would think.
“Maybe you forgot?”
“I was a straight A student, Kimmy.” Vampyra clarifies. “I would have remembered learning about it in school.”
“Should have known.” Kimmy responds and playfully pats her on the shoulder. “Probably needed to keep your grades high so your parents would let you wrestle-”
A chill goes down Vampyra’s spine. Upon realising she may have struck a nerve unexpectedly, Kimmy tries to lighten the mood.
“-I’ll talk about that stuff another time, hehe” Kimmy chuckles. “But come on, loosen up! We should just be enjoying some of these sights. Most importantly, you finally got that F1 win!”
Kimmy shouts before excitedly shaking Vampyra’s arm again. “I TOLD YOU that you were going to get that win! I told you!”
Gently, Vampyra moves her friend’s hands off her arm and motions for her to relax. “Easy…” She sighs, “I wish I would have gotten in the mix for the semi-finals… But that was a long-time coming…”
Vampyra shakes her head and exhales. “It has been challenging to ignore the outside noise of others. That does not include my own doubts. So I suppose it is a good thing that the F1 Tournament is behind me. I can reset myself. Focus on being the champion I can be. I am also looking forward to going home soon.”
“Tell me about it, I think you earned a bit of time home!” Kimmy pats her back. “Get some rest, hang upside down like a bat, do whatever you do.”
Snickering at Kimmy’s joke, Vampyra covers her mouth. “Haha, very funny.” And looks at her. Over the past few weeks, this girl she barely knew beforehand has been one of the few people keeping her wits about her. She’s helped her creatively work on some ambitious video ideas which she likely would never do in her home country. She’s come to a realisation. The European tour is almost over, and, what then? “It will be a shame when we part ways, I’ll miss you, Kimmy. You are a good friend.”
“Actually, about that…” Kimmy has a wide grin on her face. “I got an interview tomorrow morning with FWA’s video department!”
Vampyra’s eyes widen. Wait, really? She thinks. She doesn’t say a word so Kimmy explains.
“They know I’ve been working with you on those videos and they like what they see. So they offered me an interview to work with video production. Part of it will probably just be me continuing to work on stuff with you, but more than likely will just be editing shows together and making video packages. Most importantly, that means I get to go on the road with you!”
Showing a smile, Vampyra shares her friend’s joy. “That is amazing, Kimmy! I am sure you will get the position.”
“Hey, champ, mind taking a picture for social media?” One person shouts from the side. He has his phone in his hands and a sweater/polo shirt combination with a fade haircut and beard.
Kimmy politely steps to the side as Vampyra adjusts her title belt on her shoulder and politely obliges. She first poses with her free hand on her hip, showing a polite grin, before a second has her put her hand up in her CJW stable’s signature gesture. The FWA Television Champion is surprisingly comfortable in posing for photographs, being involved in it since she was a teen. After the photographer is satisfied, he puts away his phone.
“Awesome, thanks Vampyra. Good luck in your match this week.”
“Thank you.” Vampyra gives polite smile and nod as he leaves.
“What match do you have this week?” Kimmy asks. “I haven’t been able to check the card line-up.”
The FWA Television Champion sighs. She sits down on one of the seats. She’s been dreading this.
“I am… forced to team with Shawn Summers.” There is a strong level of disdain in her voice. “They have us facing Jason Randall and Darius Wright.”
“Shawn!?” Kimmy’s voice raises, surprised and outraged. “The same guy who bashed your leg in with a fucking bat?! That two-faced lying bitch?!”
Vampyra grunts in frustration. “Why is American match-making so… strange?! Back in Japan we have units we team with and usually we do not get mixed with members from other units unless we are on good terms or share a common foe.”
She rests her cheek on her open hand, placing her FWA Television Championship on her lap. “Does FWA management just want to create drama? Teaming enemies together. Darius Wright also attacked Jason Randall after his match. It would make much more sense for Randall and myself to team against Wright and Summers. Even if Jason made it clear he wants my title, at least I can more than likely co-exist with him from bell to bell.”
“It’s a thing I’ve seen a fair bit in US wrestling. It's a borderline trope at this point.” Kimmy’s voice drips with sarcasm. “Oh no! Two people are teaming who DO NOT GET ALONG!? HOW ON EARTH CAN THEY CO-EXIST!?”
Both of them share a laugh. Some of the unease Vampyra had from the F1 Tournament is starting to go away, but with her first defence coming soon, and this match, she likely can’t laugh away all of the stress.
“That may explain the match decision from FWA. Although, it is still… shit! Shawn Summers was the reason I have been wearing a knee brace the past two matches. I’m still healing from it. I am also facing him at Back in Town and I just wish to settle things with him there and move on. That man has been making a fuss about losing the championship since Lights Out. He’s continually complained about not wanting the FWA Television Championship while, at the same time, attacking Phillip Jackson and myself. He now is saying he wants to trash the championship and he is above it?” She clenches her hand into a fist. “If he doesn’t want it, then he could just pull out of the match! If he wanted to move onto other things, then why did he spend the past two months complaining about his loss? If he wants to move onto other things, then do it! Stay out of my life! If he wanted something else, why did he refuse to compete in the F1 tournament? He could have got himself a World Championship match!”
“And what’s keeping him from just decking you and leaving?” Kimmy asks.
“The only saving grace is the stipulation.” Vampyra turns to her friend. “FWA management says if Jason Randall and Darius Wright win, then they will be added to the championship match. So, if Shawn Summers truly believes he can beat me, he would be wise to stay in line. But nothing is certain.”
“And? How do you feel about that?” Kimmy presses Vampyra for more answers.
“-It does make some sense. Traditionally, in Japan, apart from a tournament win, defeating a champion in non-title action is a way to set yourself in line with a championship match. But I don’t know if Jason Randall and Darius Wright truly… deserve it yet?”
“They’re both former champions,” Kimmy clarifies. “Jason Randall won the X-Championship and Darius Wright hit it big in an upstart promotion before.”
“I know, I know!” Vampyra says quickly, some of her stress is coming back. She takes a deep breath before continuing on. “Randall fought Tommy Bedlam at Lights Out. The man lost his match and got his head shoved in a toilet.”
Both ladies shudder at the thought.
“Yeah, that was gross! Uhhg, and I don’t think Jason practises good hygiene.” Kimmy quips.
“And Jason Randall has been mostly losing since I arrived here. He only beat that clown person who everyone seems to beat up. What makes him think he should be fighting for a championship? When I went to him, face to face, and he placed his hands on my championship, I only thought, ‘Not yet.’ Even before I got my championship match, I at least won my first three matches and one of which was to receive the opportunity.”
“Inconsistency was probably his biggest thing in 2022.” Kimmy explains. “It seemed like whenever he’d get some wins, he’d get some losses shortly after. You didn’t have the best F1 Tournament-”
Vampyra glances over towards Kimmy. “Too soon…” Her voice is tense, so Kimmy corrects herself.
“But you were entering it with only a handful of matches outside of Japan. You never even faced someone above 200 pounds in your career and you were pretty consistent in-ring wise. While Jason was on the outside of the tournament, bitching about not being booked, and Shawn Summers felt ‘too good’ for it, you were testing yourself.”
“Thank you,” Vampyra sits up, putting her championship belt back on her shoulder, “But I hope to not fall to his habits. The man did everything he could to brutalise Summers, so for that, I thank him for the entertainment. It was something Summers deserved. But I do not feel as though he is yet ready for the responsibilities as champion again. This is no X Championship. The rule-set is different. Alyster Black was able to defeat me because he has shown himself to work beyond those rules. It is almost a shame his World Championship reign ended so soon. Outside of one exception, he has shown that his mindless violence does not always result in wins. After he loses, then what else does he have?”
The Dark Huntress’ back is towards her friend as she looks up at the steep seating of the Theatre of Dionysus. “He spent time complaining like Shawn Summers has. He wishes for more opportunities and what happens when he fails them? The rut he is in will only go deeper. If he wishes for a championship, he must find his way out or his bitterness will continue to consume him.”
Kimmy quips, “Between Summers, him, and Darius, we have three dudes constantly on PMS.”
The video editor folds her arms, “Say, Darius is pretty new here like you.”
“He is. But I have heard quite a bit about him from Cali.” Vampyra turns around to face Kimmy. “The man was a World Champion in an upstart promotion before, one which Cali later worked at. He beat some arrogant asshole named Toogood. That man was so full of himself that he makes Summers appear modest. He won their championship and then immediately became drunk with power.”
“Didn’t he refuse to show the championship belt visibly until he was defending it? Like, he covered it with a cloth of all things.” Kimmy asks.
“I think Cali mentioned that. Strange man.” Vampyra looks at Kimmy, “I suppose you know about his old home.”
“I’ve watched the guy in Europe and there. Big MMA style guy and a big ruthless meathead. I know the guy got a little off his rocker when he finally won a title, but that was some time ago. Darius stumbled a bit in his debut, but the guy’s just… I don’t know, more focused since then? Like, what read do you have on him?”
Taking a few moments to find the right words, the FWA Television Champion remains calm, “I sensed a dark cloud over him. The shadow tells of a man who suffered. He hides something under the surface. An exterior of anger and rage covers a fragile spirit of sorrow and loss. When I faced hardship, it hurt, but I did not run. Upon losing a championship, he ran away and he ran for years. I was quick to learn upon diving into the deep end that FWA is a different beast. Your past experiences can help you, but you learn again. Two former Television Champions against him. A tag partner who he tried to injure. Something tells me that I can prey on that.”
“I don’t think you’d want him to pretty much pull ‘a you’ and win a title super soon after debuting, although I think you did a bit more before winning the title.” Kimmy chuckles.
“Tell me.” Vampyra rolls her eyes. “These past few months have been a sprint. Backstreet Boy to a World Champion. Defeating a Grand Slam Champion to fighting a former two time world champion. Triumph and sorrow in a single night. Genuinely, if I did not have you or even Cali to talk to, I would have not done as well as I did.”
“It’s been a blast. Glad to have a friend. I hope you’ll get your anxiety sorted a bit more soon. I wouldn’t want the champ to have another panic attack.” Kimmy smiles before sticking her tongue out. Making light of the topic.
“I plan on meeting with my doctor upon my return to Japan after Back in Town. I will be home for a week or two and will be able to team with my MAYHEM partners again there. I think we will have much to discuss.”
“Have you tried meditating?” Kimmy questions her friend who is perplexed by the specific question.
“I-uhh, did that a lot before.” Vampyra stutters a response.
“Cali told me.” Kimmy winks. “She said you often did that before matches. Got you in the zone. Have you been doing that here?”
Vampyra shakes her head. “I have been neglecting that recently.” She explains. “I arrived later than normal to the Austin and New Orleans shows so I did not have time and otherwise I have not had much room for privacy and quiet during this tour. So I just… forgot.”
She looks down, a tad sheepish.
“Maybe you should start it again? My therapist said that it can help when I’m stressed.” Kimmy pats her on the shoulder. “But hey, remember. We all have our hurdles, even if we’d like to hide it. Doesn’t mean you’re weak. Just manage the problem as best you can. Remember what this means to you.”
Vampyra looks towards Kimmy and gives a polite grin, nodding her head. Kimmy looks over to see the tour guide gathering people together.
“Oop, looks like we’re done here. I can’t WAIT to get to the top of the hill!”
Vampyra rolls her eyes and pats Kimmy on the back. “Easy there, history genius.”
“Oh, I’m so going to give you facts about these places, and don’t even get me started on comparing Eastern and Western Philosophy. I’ll be here all day!”
After having discussed and vented to her friend, Vampyra has cleared her head a touch. The FWA Television Champion meets up with the rest of the group to continue their tour.
Five Hours Later:
After a long day of sightseeing and engaging in PR, Vampyra has retired for the evening to her hotel room. The sky is a deep orange on the outside with a view of the city. I suppose a champion has earned the right for a decent suite? The bed is freshly made, not a single crease to be seen. On a table across from the bed, under a television, rests Vampyra’s FWA Television Championship belt. Above, a painting hangs showing a scene which would likely reflect a meeting of the Ecclesia, popular assembly in ancient Athens. A man raises his hand high giving a fiery speech to his fellow citizens. The FWA Television Champion has a cup of freshly brewed tea in her hands, steam coming from it. She has a pair of dark leggings on and a white shirt, but curiously, she has her mask on. She dims the lights next to her bed and places the cup down on her bedside table next to a prescription bottle. Going onto her bed, she sits down, trying to fold her legs. She mutters to herself in her native language.
“That was an interesting day. Having Kimmy talk your ear off about the history of Ancient Greece and philosophers. If I hear about this Socrates guy one more time and how he is different from philosophers from China, I will go mad!” She groans before trying to settle herself. “But now, it’s alone time. Do you remember how to do this, Katsuki?” She moves her legs to be cross-legged and takes a long deep breath. “Calm your spirit. Calm her spirit.”
Closing her eyes, Vampyra takes a long deep breath through her nose, holding it just as long. Then…
Exhale through the mouth.
Again.
A long breath in, holding it for five seconds. Then out.
Breathe in…
And out.
The FWA Television Champion breathes in and out slowly and deliberately, slowing down her mind and heart rate. It keeps going until it becomes almost automatic. The world fades around her and her mind… begins to drift.
And her eyes open.
In a different place.
The walls of the room are an egg shell white with an ornate design across the middle of the wall with gold etchings. This room seems out of time. She looks to see three men in togas seated next to her at a dining table. The first man has a dark beard and wild, thinning hair. Seated next to him is a large muscular African-American man. His head is as shiny as a new coin, bald, and has a thick beard. Next to Vampyra is a man with slicked back blonde hair and a punch-able smug on his face. Vampyra looks confused and sees herself in a toga of her own with a golden ribbon around her waist. Across the kitchen is an older man. In his own toga, he has a thick beard, mostly white and grey. His hairline has receded and he is finishing some final touches on dinner. Turning around, he asks the blonde man.
“You don't come to see me as often as you ought.” His voice is hoarse. “If I were still able to go and see you I would not ask you to come to me. But at my age I can hardly get to the city, and therefore you should come oftener to the scene of Television.”
The man in blonde has a dismissive look on his face. “I have paid my time. I was a champion. I made my legacy. Dare I say I set a standard as a champion.”
“And yet, you return? Why would you return if you have paid your time?” The older gentleman walks over and takes a seat across from the four guests at his table. “You have every opportunity to leave and yet you stubbornly refuse so. Do you have something more to give?”
“Perhaps the standard shall be raised or destroyed by my hand? Only I know.” He glances towards Vampyra at the table next to him and she glares at him, showing a level of resentment. “Dare I say it is in my interests to create my own truth.”
“And what is that, if I may ask?” The old man taps on the table. “As concerning being a champion, what is it?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” The man has a snarky response. “The best.”
“That is all? The champion by definition is meant to be the best of the competition. There has to be more.” The old man gets up from his seat and moves closer to him. “What does it mean to be the best?”
“The best is the one who wins in the end.” The blonde haired man responds plainly.
“So? The victory shant be a means in itself.” He presses him more as he takes another step closer. “There has to be more to it, what is the heart of a champion? What is their spirit? Their traits?”
“Like that matters.” He dismissively responds. “You’re asking me who the champion is and it’s always the one who wins. You beat anyone who faced you. A champion is the one who wins in the end. The one who refuses to accept defeat-”
“Despite everything saying otherwise…” Vampyra mutters under her breath.
“-And achieve it. With it, you get everything, the money, the fame, the power, the recognition! You’re no longer eating at a shit kiddie table like this one, you have steak! You drink wine, and champagne. You wear the finest attires. People look up to you whether they want to or not! You only settle for the best. Who needs inferior people? You’re superior. Better than anyone else. Skies the limit!”
The old man walks closer to the man with blonde hair. He leans closer. “If that is the case, what happens when a champion loses?” He slams his fist on the table, causing a jump from the four guests at the table. “Everyone meets their defeat sooner or later! Adversity will come! What happens then?”
“Then they’re no longer the champion.” The man with blonde hair leans back in his chair and nonchalantly puts his feet on the table. “Champions win, losers lose. Simple.” He scoffs at the old man and ignores him.
The old man gives a cold chuckle and turns his attention towards the large African American male. “I suppose you have your own thoughts.” He leans towards him. “What is the meaning of a champion?”
Keeping his strong presence, the man has a permanent scowl on his face. “Drive. A champ needs to be motivated.”
“But what motivations?” The old man raises his voice. “What is a champion aiming to do?!”
“Beat the rest!” He shouts back. “You need to drive to be better, faster, stronger! You need to rise above the broken heap of all who defy you. Too good? Nah, be too good for them! One by one, by one, they step up, and you crush them! Feel the darkness in you and let it consume them!”
“Someone is a bit over-the-top dramatic…” Vampyra mutters to herself again. Only the old man picks it up. He glances at her, but refocuses back on the man he’s questioning.
“Quite the passion.” Looking at his guest, the old man continues. “But this appears to be a more violent take on you colleague’s view. Be the winner. But what good does crushing the competition do? There must be a reason!”
“Then nobody will take your place!” The African-American man shouts. His intensity is like no other, albeit a touch over the top. “You need to stay on top! Every little fool who wishes to take your spot becomes just another victim! It’s how you survive! It’s how you thrive! EVERYONE PAYS THE PRICE!”
All three guests reel back and blink, feeling uncomfortable.
“You care about that position at the top, do you? For all that effort, what happens when you are on top? What to do once you protected your spot?”
Calming down a touch, he shows a grin. “You enjoy it for yourself. You fight hard for your crown, so why should any of these weak people get to see it?”
“And how do you do that?” He asks again.
“Cover it up.”
Upon the response, all three guests can’t help but catch a grin. The blonde haired man and Vampyra have a hard time containing their laughter.
“Cover it up?” The old man asks. “Shouldn’t a champion be idolised?”
“The champ does what he wants! AIN’T NOBODY SHOULD LAY EYES ON HIS PRIZE UNLESS HE LETS YOU!” The black man stands up and stares at the old man to try and intimidate him. “What do you have to say about it!? HUH!?”
“Calm down young man!” The old man stands his ground. “I may have seen better days, but I’d bend you over my knee… I am merely helping you defend your beliefs. So I have another question. What does a champion do in defeat? May your answer be better than your colleague’s.”
Feeling a touch embarrassed from his display of anger, he slowly sits back down.
“Reassess.” He says, his volume going back to a more fitting level for inside, but some tension remains. “Go away and think.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
“And what if it takes too long? What will people remember of you if years have passed?” The old man, who is acting as a teacher to his guests, has a calm voice now.
“I’ll build a new one. No matter how long it takes…” The African-American male’s voice trails off. His intensity has faded, Subdued.
Looking at the man with a more wild look, the Old man moves towards him. “You have been quiet. Might you have your own thoughts? Same question, what does being a champion mean?”
“Blood…” The wild man says. His voice is gravelly. “...and guts.”
“Explain.”
“What else is there to say?” He responds.
“What is meant by blood?” The old man asks. His face shows dread. “Who’s blood?”
“Everyone. Mine, who I face, it makes no difference. All I care about is brutalising people.”
“So you brutalise people, why?” He questions him further.
“Why not make people scared of you? Be a champ through fear.”
“And what does that fear lead you to?”
“A win… Eventually.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t won much, if anything recently.”
“And how can one expect to be a champion if he does not win?”
The wild man blinks. “If you put it that way, I guess they won’t.”
As the old man takes a long walk around the table, there is a cutting silence in the room. Standing next to the wild man, he leans close to his face. “Something tells me that you are not truly ready to grasp the concept of a champion. Not now, anyways. What is needed is an effort to explore the underlying beliefs that shape your views and opinions. You need to recognise the complexity of them. So, despite your history… You are not ready yet to have this conversation. You need to learn. That is because-”
“-The unexamined life is not worth living.”
The old man is interrupted by the voice of Vampyra who speaks up. The old man has a surprisingly warm smile on his face. He strokes his long beard and moves closer to the young masked lady.
“That indeed is true.” The old man moves a chair and sits it across from Vampyra, back facing her. He takes a seat. “You have not spoken with the group, and yet you clearly have thoughts of your own, young lady. Tell me. To you, what is the meaning of a champion?”
What is it indeed? A question she has been grappling with for a couple weeks now. What does it really mean to be a champion?
“It is complex. It can mean something different to each person. Whether just a win, a desire, or destruction.” She takes a look at the three individuals sitting at the table with her. “Each has their own perspective. But every true champion faces something. They face challenges. Some externally and some within. But they fight in spite of their challenges. Whether insurmountable foes, the limits of your own body, or the darkness within their own mind, a true champion does not live in comfort.”
The old man’s mouth opens. He appears ready to speak, but Vampyra continues further.
“So they may be rewarded, and maybe a time will come to enjoy the fruits of their labour. But their work is never over. They must continue to fight and do battle. Sometimes they may have an advantage. Other times they fight underneath, but when there is an even playing field, that is when skill may shine as you strive for victory.”
“But doesn’t it mean more to come out from underneath?” The older gentleman gets a question through.
“Yes. It is harder to obtain. It is at times unlikely, but it is a true sign of your skill and heart. However, failure under those circumstances can lead to excuses.” She glares at the man with blonde hair, “Though some create them regardless.” Before she gives her attention again to the old man. “But when there is a gap, there is a sign that there is work to be done to bridge it.” She raises one hand, “Whether you raise yourself up,” before raising her other, “Or remove an unfair advantage.”
“Stop talking about losing.” The man in blonde scoffs. “Champions don’t lose!”
“And when you lose again, you won’t be champ!” The black man shouts.
“And I’m going to stop losing soon and rise above you…” The wild man mutters.
“Oh?” Vampyra stands up from her chair and stands so that each person in the room is visible. “Is it not realistic that eventually one loses? But that does not always put an end to a champion. Let alone should it kill a champion’s spirit. What happens when one refuses to step forth to face a challenge?”
She takes a step towards the man with blonde hair. “What happens when the only mission is to prey on the weak? Do you accept victory in any circumstance? You fade. You become stagnant. You wish to move forward? For your spirit, you must show it! Do not fall backwards and feed on those less-fortunate.”
The FWA Television Champion moves to the African-American male. “And what happens when you run? You take a blow and leave for too long? You become forgotten. A distant memory. You forget what brought you to being champion before. You must rebuild from the ground up and especially in a new place, you learn all over again. It is not a process everyone can do quickly. And-”
Vampyra takes a long glance at the wild man in the third chair. “What happens when you never learn? Each loss becomes a learning opportunity. And if you lose and lose and lose and gain nothing, then are you even worthy of being champion? Or are you doomed to suffer in the rut you created? No matter what blood is shed or bodies stepped on, you will never escape until you learn.”
Seeing this display, the old man strokes his beard, humming, impressed. He does not say a word yet and merely observes as Vampyra acknowledges him. “You ask what the meaning of a champion is? We can discuss different meanings, but to me, I find its qualities must run deep. Beyond the crown one wears, or foes vanquished. It is a spirit. One I hope to have. But I am young. I have much to learn about myself and those who challenge me.”
“Know your enemies, know yourself, and you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.” The old man smiles at the young champion, “For, in the end, you will truly come out on as champion.”
Vampyra
Opens her eyes.
She looks around her hotel room in a daze. She mutters to herself in Japanese.
“I must have day-dreamed. That is what happens when Kimmy decides to try to explain her entire philosophy class she took in her school in one day.”
Rubbing her eyes, Vampyra takes a deep breath in. She puts her knees up to her chest and looks around the room. A small smile appears on her face.
“But that was nice. I needed it.”
Glancing across the room, she takes a long look at the FWA Television Championship. She entered the tour of Europe with one goal in mind. During it, she had an irresistible offer which she took and was best described as a learning experience. But, after the Final Four in Athens, she will hop on the plane with the one thing she wanted to get. The most important thing. She’s a champion.
“These past three months have been life changing. I still don’t know what will be next. But they can’t take away this moment. Not Summers. Not Wright. Not Randall. I will do what I can to end this with Summers on my terms. But even in defeat, I will be a greater champion than he ever will be.”
Getting up from her bed, Vampyra goes over to the night stand and picks up her championship belt, taking every moment she can to enjoy it. She hasn’t had much time to do it. Sit in and soak in the experience. She struggled. But she made it through everything. Just one more night. A battle in Athens. Survive a match where even her own partner is gunning for her, then the next stop: Colorado. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:32:32 GMT
Originally posted by Dubb. “G’damn…”
He awoke in an unfamiliar location. It was dark and he was wet. He could hear the sound of police sirens in the distance. Dazed and confused, he rolled over into a puddle of water. The ground was as hard as a rock. Most nights he ended up on another couch of a so-called “friend” but this was definitely not that. Thunder rolled in the distance as he felt more water dropping down onto his face.
Were those little pricks pulling another prank on him? How many times did he have to tell them the whole putting someone’s sleeping hand in water doesn’t actually make you piss your pants? Now they’re just throwing water on him? He needed to get up and kick someone's ass.
He struggled to open his eyes and found himself staring up at the dark clouds of the night sky as the rain dropped down onto his face. So it wasn’t some rundown apartment he was in after all.
Passing out in a literal gutter? This was a new low, even for him.
The pain in his head was radiating all the way from his forehead to the back of his head. The throbbing was certainly the familiar pain of the hangover he experienced on most mornings. The taste of the whiskey and cheap beer still lingering in his mouth certainly was enough evidence of that, if waking up in an alley on the sidewalk next to a Chinese restaurant’s dumpster wasn’t enough evidence to begin with.
But that wasn’t the only pain he was experiencing.
His attention turned to the stinging coming from his right hand. Through his own mental fog and the darkness of night, he examined his knuckles… blood? Was it his own? Perhaps he had fallen when he stumbled into the alley and passed out, perhaps skinning his knuckles as he fell to the sidewalk.
He sat up on the ground, scooting back against the sidewalk to lean his back up against the brick wall of the Chinese restaurant. He tilted his head back, rubbing his knuckles in an attempt to ease the pain.
How did he get here? What had happened last night?
There was a flash. First of lightning in the sky but also a memory flashing in his head. He pictured himself… his first driving repeatedly into the face of his boss. Over… and over… and over…
He looked down at his fist again. Was that his blood or… someone else’s?
Panic began to set in. That couldn’t have been what happened. It was just a dream. Because, yeah, there’s no denying he had thought about what it would be like to bash his boss’s face into a bloody pulp. But he would never ACTUALLY do that. He NEEDED that job.
Hoping that perhaps it was just that… a memory of a drunken dream… he got back up to his feet with the assistance of the wall. He needed to get somewhere warm and dry and sleep off that damn hangover. Taking in his surroundings, he finally realized what street he was on. He was only a couple blocks from Jessica’s apartment.
Wait… no, fuck, he remembered. That’s what started this whole mess. More was coming back to him. He couldn’t go to her apartment. She had kicked him out. So what now? He had used up all the possible favors from Dusty… Skeeter… Shawn… Billy Joe…
He stumbled down the sidewalk, slowly making his way toward the main road. How he had fallen so far? How had he gone from living what he thought was his dream… to this nightmare?
Well, he thought, at least it can’t get any worse than this.
But as the police sirens grew closer, he realized he was wrong. Terribly wrong. The police car stopped right in front of the alley as he reached the road. He was confused but stopped in his tracks as the police officer whipped open his door and rushed over, grabbing his wrist.
“Easy, man! What the fuck is goin’ on?”
“Are you Bryan Baxter?”
“Who’s askin’?”
“I am. Answer the question.”
“Yeah, that’s me - what’s the big idea?”
The officer grabbed the handcuffs off his belt, slapping them across Bryan’s right wrist first, causing him to wince in pain as he yanked his arm back and then cuffed the left arm.
“You’re under the arrest for your assault on Mr. Justin Sanderson. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning…”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Big Bryan Baxter
in
Not a Dreamer
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
“Jesus Christ, Baxter,” a frustrated Mr. Scorpane lashed out to Bryan Baxter as they entered Scorpane’s luxury suite inside the Sukru Saracoglu Stadium in Istanbul during the events of Fallout 025. “What the Hell was that? I thought we both said that this rematch wasn’t gonna happen?” Scorpane walked over to the refrigerated cooler and grabbed a bottle of vodka out and proceeded to pour it over a glass of ice.
“Do you really gotta that in front of me?” the recovered alcoholic Bryan responded with a grimace as he watched his agent take a sip of the vodka.
“Just because you’ve become a stick in the mud doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself. Besides, after that shit you just pulled, I need a few of these.”
Baxter took a seat on the couch, throwing a towel over his head so he didn’t have to watch Scorpane partaking without him. “Look, it’s no big deal.”
“NO BIG DEAL?” Mr. Scorpane said as he slammed the bottle of vodka down on the nearby table. “After all this work we’ve put in to getting you to this point… it’s a pretty big fuckin’ deal! Don’t give me that shit!”
“We? Who’s this we you speak of?”
“Don’t sass me, boy,” he said as he picked the glass back up. “You know I’m just as responsible for gettin’ you to this point as you are. And we’re THIS close to walkin’ out of this tournament with an FWA title shot… and you’re tryin’ to flush it all down the drain like one of your massive shits.”
Baxter shook his head through the towel, still not wanting to look up at his agent. “I don’t think I ever asked for your help?”
Scorpane nearly choked on his next sip of vodka and spit it out. “Ahhh- HA! Now that’s a REAL rich comment, right there! Pretty sure you askin’ me for help is how this entire relationship started in the first place!”
“Really? That’s a bit of a cheap shot, dude.”
Mr. Scorpane chuckled as he polished off the rest of the glass and placed it back on the table. “It’s a fair comment and you know it. And besides, I haven’t seen you complain. Don’t act like you haven’t enjoyed this success.”
Baxter reached up and removed the towel, tossing it down on the couch. He hated that he was absolutely right. Of course, he has enjoyed it. Racking up win after win over the past several months. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.
He wanted more.
Winning was becoming an addiction.
Something he’d do anything to get more of.
As usual, Scorpane had a point. And he knew that Baxter’s silence told the entire story. He grinned as he pulled out a cigar and lit it up. “That’s what I thought! But now look at what you’ve gone and done… you’ve agreed to this stupid little rematch with Rosie when your focus should be on closing out the Climaxxx! And all for what? Because you wanna impress Jeremy Best?”
“I owe Jeremy everything. He owes me nothing. I wanted to make things right, okay?”
Irritation once again setting in on Scorpane’s face, he walked over, knelt down in front of the seated Baxter, and puffed on his cigar. “No… you OWE ME everything!”
Baxter coughed on the smoke as he clenched his fist at first but would show restraint to not knock Scorpane right in his puffy face and shove that cigar into his eye socket. Scorpane noticed the tightened fist as it slowly relaxed back into a palm. He stood up and grinned again. “Just what I thought… again.”
“My boy, you’re a lucky man. You’re on your way to the top of the FWA. You have the North American championship. You’re about to win the F1. You have the best goddamn agent in professional wrestling. What more could you need!? This is the dream, isn’t it?”
Was it?
Bryan and dreams have not had the best relationship over the years...
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
“So, Bryan…”
Bryan was taken off guard. It was the voice of Jeremy Best. Was he actually talking to him?
Most of the regular talents in Elite Wrestling Federation wouldn’t be caught dead talking to the “enhancement talent” like Big Byran Baxter. Baxter was used to it and didn’t mind because at least he was getting a paycheck out of it. Meanwhile, Jeremy Best was a relative newcomer to EWF but his personality, charm, and friendly disposition had quickly earned himself a fan favorite. Here Bryan was just unlacing his boots after another jobbing effort, ready to grab his money and hit up a nearby bar and hopefully find some local girl to impress by being a “professional wrestler.”
“Bryan?” Jeremy repeated himself as he walked over. “I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t misremember your name. It’s Bryan, right?”
Bryan realized that he was in fact talking to him. “Oh… uh, yeah… no, that’s me.”
“Oh, well hi there!”
Jeremy took a seat next to Bryan on the bench. “Did you… uh… need something?” Bryan said with confusion.
“Nope, just thought I’d come over and chat! I saw your match tonight… you sure have some hard punches!”
“Heh, thanks, man. I’ve… uhh, been workin’ on them, I guess?”
Jeremy chuckled, “no, I mean it! I think you have a lot of potential.”
Bryan shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t used to people taking interest in him or his wrestling. “Eh…”
“Oh come on! Surely you have dreams, right? Of makin’ it to the big time… like… maybe even the FWA one day?”
Baxter removed his left boot, reached up, and wiped his nose with his arm before he shrugged his shoulders. Jeremy’s seemed completely overwhelmed at the thought that Baxter seemed devoid of any type of aspirations within wrestling. “Really? Nothing?”
“Look, Jeremy, you seem like a nice guy… and the people here locally seem to love ya, no doubt. But what are the odds of any of us really makin’ it big?”
Despite the big downer energy from Baxter, Jeremy remained positive and chipper. “Aw, I dunno, Bryan. Crazier things have happened. I mean, look at me! I don’t look like what most people think a professional wrestler should look like, right? No one would’ve thought I’d probably even be right here! But here I am! Why stop here?”
“So what’s your dream? You really think one day you’ll be wrestling with the ‘big boys?’”
“One day I plan on wrestlin’ right alongside my hero, Krash!”
“Yeah, okay,” Bryan scoffed.
“Hey, I always say you can’t do it if you don’t dream it.”
Baxter couldn’t help but laugh. Jeremy put his hands on his shoulders, playfully. “What’s so funny? I mean it!”
“Well,” Baxter started, “that’s exactly the opposite of something my old man always said to me. Don’t be a dreamer. Be a doer.”
“Aw, that’s… kinda sad,” Jeremy said, his smile fading. “Everyone should have dreams.”
“Nah… it’s fine. It keeps me grounded. Helps prevent disappointment. I know what my capabilities are and I just stick to my lane and do what I need to do.”
“Where’s the fun in that?!”
“Who said anything about fun? This is work.”
“Wooooaaahhhhhh, now just hold on one minute now mister!” Jeremy’s jaw had nearly hit the floor. “Wrestling is many things… but it ain’t work! C’mon now! Are you tellin’ me you don’t enjoy any bit of this?”
Bryan wanted to say that he did. Growing up, he loved wrestling. As a kid, he wanted to be a wrestler. His dad pushed him towards other sports like baseball and football. But Bryan’s heart was never in it no matter how hard his dad tried. In high school, Bryan started attending local indy shows and really thought that he could get into it.
Once upon a time, Bryan did have a dream.
But that dream was just that.
His father would have nothing of it. He refused to pay to get Bryan into any of the local wrestling schools and eventually Bryan would just give up the dream. Instead he would be spending his days working odd jobs for his dad’s construction firm. He only landed these jobber roles because they put out some ads for former high school athletes who wanted to make some money and he figured, why not?
“I mean, sure, I like wrestling and all…”
“See! You’re just comin’ at it from the wrong perspective! You want it to be a job…”
“I mean that IS what I’m doin’, ain’t it?”
“But it could be SO much more! Dream a little!”
“I dunno… I don’t handle rejection real well. And this is comin’ from a guy who has been rejected A LOT.”
“Don’t you worry, I’ll be right by your side! Hey! There’s an idea!” Jeremy perked up, standing up from the bench.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m great! Because I was just thinkin’ the other day how much fun it’d be to do some tag team work. I’m always lookin’ for a new friend, y’know! How about I go to the big guy and pitch us teamin’ up?”
“Uhhh.. I really don’t think he’ll go for that…”
“Oh no, this is perfect! The guy you wrestled tonight has a partner… we can pitch working with them some more. The fans hate them too so it’d be the perfect underdog story!”
Baxter stood up, trying to calm Jeremy down. Perhaps bring him back to Earth. “Listen, man, I get it. Your gimmick is that you’re a nice guy…”
“My what now?”
“But you don’t need to do all this just to be nice to me. I don’t deserve it.”
“Nonsense! We are doing it! Today is the day, Mr. Baxter. Today is the day we get you dreamin’ again!”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Jeremy had always been the dreamer of their team. Bryan was just along for the ride. But to his credit, it was infectious, and just like now, teaming with Jeremy and finding success in EWF triggered that addictive part of his personality. He wanted more and more… until he eventually turned on his own partner to get even more.
But without his dreamer, Bryan’s life would become a nightmare.
“And that my friend,” Mr. Scorpane continued as he poured another glass of vodka over his cup of ice, “is why you need to stop worrying about Eliza and start worrying about… who are you facing next?”
Baxter snapped out of his own thoughts for a moment. “First of all, I ain’t worried about Lizzie. I beat her the first time and I’m gonna fuckin’ destroy her the second time. And there won’t be any denying who should’ve won. Second of all… good question.” Bryan realized the match was probably ongoing as the winner between Tommy Bedlam and MvH was going to determine just that. Turning on the television in the suite, they tuned in just in time to see Michelle picking up the victory.
“Who’s the broad?”
“Do you really follow any of this? You should probably know more about the company your clients work for if you want to be the best agent in professional wrestling.” Scorpane simply shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it’s MvH - Michelle von Horrowitz. Former world champ.”
Mr. Scorpane sipped on the vodka and then held up his hands as if imitating being scared. “Ooooh, big scary former world champ. Big whoop. So was that VAG guy and Virus. Nothing to be scared of.”
“Never said I was scared. ‘Cause I’m not.”
“Good. Because we’ve come too far to lose now. Look at her… you should crush her like a bug!”
“Well, I’m not gonna sit her and underestimate her either.”
“Pfft… and wait, she’s The Dreamer. What kind of stupid name is that? The Dreamer. Hahaha!” Scorpane polished off his glass again and leaned over the bar, laughing while Baxter began to tune him out.
Dreamer.
Baxter went back into his own world of thought. As he had been thinking earlier, Jeremy Best was always the Dreamer of their team. Granted a different type of “Dreamer” than MvH, of course. For Jeremy, it was his head in the clouds personality. But with Jeremy by his side, Bryan got to experience a dream he once had himself. He got to be half of the EWF tag team champion. Eventually he'd get that EWF Championship as well.
It was a dream forgotten… but when he became addicted to that success… Jeremy was suddenly gone.
And his dream was broken.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bryan Baxter opened up the door to his girlfriend’s apartment. “Hunny, I’m home,” Baxter made his grand entrance but was not greeted by the excitement he expected. His girlfriend, Jessica, sat at the dining room table, her blonde hair a mess as she riffled through the paperwork.
“Past due,” she shuffled through enveloped, “past due. Last notice. Warning. Oh and my personal favorite - EVICTION WARNING.”
Baxter seemed uninterested as he walked past the table and over to the refrigerator. He opened up the door and grabbed a beer out, popped the top, and started to drink. “So we’re a little behind.”
“A LITTLE? Bryan, if I don’t come up with this money, I don’t have a place to live. And where the Hell have you been? You are barely here at night anymore and I know you have missed work because I keep gettin’ calls from Justin askin’ where the fuck you are.”
Baxter sipped on the beer, “uhh.. what day is it, Wednesday?”
“No Bryan, it’s Monday.”
Bryan laughed as he took another swig, “oh man… guess this week got a little away from me. Listen, don’t worry… I’ve been workin’ on these fools down at the bar… I’m slow play husslin’ them at pool. I’ve lost five games in a row… and tonight it’s sixtuple… sixduble… what’s the word for times six…?”
“....Sextuple?”
Bryan began to giggle immaturely, “yes, please!”
“Jesus Chris Bryan, grow the fuck up! You’re in your 30s and you act like a fuckin’ high schooler! You want to get us money - GO TO WORK!”
“Justin pays me in peanuts. We’re never gonna get by like that. But husslin’ fools at pool… now we’re talkin’.”
Jessica began to pull at her hair in frustration before standing up. “I don’t get it, Bryan. I just don’t get it! I thought maybe one day you’d grow up and want to actually... I don’t know… be an adult? Get a job. Make money. Maybe have some aspirations? Have a dream and try to achieve it? And maybe not be drinking every day by 11 AM?”
“Hey! I had a great job once! But then I went and actually tried. I tried living a dream and you know what happened… I crashed and burned, baby. Why bother, you know?”
“Oh, is that how you live your life now?”
“Yep, aim low and never be disappointed.”
“So is that what THIS is,” Jessica said, motioning to herself and her apartment, “this is you aiming low. I’m what you get when you aim low?” Clearly frustrated she storms over toward the door of the apartment.
“No, w-w-w-wait,” Baxter slurred his words, fumbling as he realized that poor lapse in judgment. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, no, you’ve made it perfectly clear what you meant and how you feel,” she stated as she opened up the door. “Now get out.”
“C’mon, Jess! I didn’t mean any of that…” Bryan stood up, walking over to his angered girlfriend and trying to wrap his arms around her, “don’t be so bitchy! How about we… make up,” Baxter said with obvious innuendo but she instead slapped him across the face in response.
“GET OUT!”
“Fine!” Baxter said as he raised his voice as well while walking out the door. “But don’t call me later wanting any part of my sextuple!”
SLAM!
“And those are my beers in the fridge, so… like… uh, don’t drink them!” Bryan said with the door firmly in his face and the sound of the deadbolt locking from the other side.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bryan Baxter sat handcuffed in the back of the cop car, a mixture of sweat and water dripping down from his hair and down his neck as the pain in his knuckles was further aggravated by the metal of the cuffs. He couldn’t help but sit in thought while being transported.
“How bad is it?” he spoke up, talking to the police officer driving the squad car. “Justin, I mean. Is it bad?”
“Dude’s gonna need some serious plastic surgery. You did a number on him alright. What’d he do to piss you off anyway?”
“I… am trying to remember…”
The officer laughed, “yeah, okay, sure. Right to remain silent, I gotcha.”
Except Bryan wasn’t just exercising his right. He genuinely didn’t remember. He remembered Jess kicking him out. He remembered the anger and frustration. Mostly at himself. He remembered immediately going down to the bar. Only made sense to go drink away some of that frustration.
He remembered that he never got to play the game of pool. He ended up getting cut off by the bartender. Apparently, they’ve now put in some kind of limit on the number of drinks you can have before 5 PM in a day. They even named the rule after him. Which, he actually thought was pretty cool. He had never had anything named after him.
But what happened next?
That’s right… Kevin’s. Kevin was a mutual friend he made through Jess but he had been kind enough to let him sleep it off on his couch. But Bryan assumed after the mess he left on the couch… he probably wasn’t going to be allowed back anymore. That he remembered now.
But that still didn’t explain his bloody knuckles and Justin’s distorted face…
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
“Nothing cures a hangover headache like this,” Bryan Baxter lifted up his beer as an IHOP waiter brought over his tall stack of pancakes. He sips on the beer as the waiter places the plate down on the table.
“Um,” the waiter nervously stated, “you shouldn’t be drinking that in here.”
Bryan looked at the waiter and took another sip anyway. “And why the fuck not? Is this not a restaurant?”
“It is, sir… but we don’t serve beer. And it’s 9 AM.”
“Okay, sure but it’s a weekend so who cares?”
“Sir, it’s Tuesday.”
“Wait… what?”
“It’s Tuesday.”
Baxter put the beer bottle down on the table and grabbed his phone. He had 17 missed calls from Justin Sanderson. “Ah, shit! I’m late for work. I gotta go!” Baxter took a few bites of the pancake before rushing away towards the exit of the IHOP.
“SIR! I think you’re forgetting something!” the waiter trying to bring attention to the fact that Baxter was leaving without paying. Bryan stopped in his tracks and turned around, walking back over.
“Oh, how embarrassing,” Baxter chuckled as he stumbled over. “Can’t believe I was about to forget.” Baxter grabbed his beer bottle off the table. “Thanks for the heads up.” Baxter then rushed back toward the exit, now with beer in hand while the waiter frantically tried to chase him down.
The oblivious Baxter escaped his breakfast without having to pay but quickly realized he couldn’t find the keys to his car. Which, was probably a good thing, since he was clearly in no state to be able to actually drive his car safely down a driveway much less to his work site. So Baxter staggered and stumbled his way four blocks down the road.
Outside a construction site, a large black sign with gold writing read out Sanderson & Son Construction. His boss, Justin Sanderson, was the son in Sanderson & Son and as Baxter finally arrived at the site, Justin was clearly not pleased to see Bryan. Even less so when Bryan showed up with a beer bottle in hand.
“Well, well, well - so nice of you to finally fucking show up for work!”
“Heeeeeeyyyyy Justin… sorry man, have you not been gettin’ my messages?”
“No, because you haven’t sent any. And I’m not sure why you even bothered to show up.”
“Nah man, I sent you SO many messages. I’ve had this real bad stomach bug. Vomiting everywhere. Just ask my bud, Kevin. His couch… may never recover.”
Justin looked up at the current state of Bryan Baxter and focused in on the beer in his hand. “Yeah… you sure it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that you smell and look like you’ve been bathing in nothing but beer and whiskey for days.”
“Oh, this? Sorry, forgot about that. Here we go,” Baxter lifted up the beer in his hand and took another drink, finishing it off and tossing it to the ground. “All done. Soooooo... let’s get to work. How’s the uhhh… what are we building these days? An apartment? Hotel?”
Justin’s face began to turn a deep shade of red as his anger intensified. “Jesus Chris, Bryan. You are a useless piece of shit, you know that? Since your dad and my dad are friends, I thought maybe you’d be worth having on my team… but Jesus, you are nothing but a… FAT PIECE OF SHIT. You’re fired!”
Baxter’s attempt of being friendly quickly faded. “What… did you just say?”
“I said - you’re fired!”
“No…” Baxter’s fists clenched, “the other thing. What did you say?”
“Oh? That you’re a fat piece of shit? Apparently not only are you a fat fuck but you’re a dumb fuck too! Now take your fat ass and get the fuck off my worksite.”
In that moment, it became a perfect storm of all Bryan had been through in the past 24 hours. His girlfriend breaking up with him. Not having a place to stay. The endless amount of alcohol he had been consuming. And now he’s been fired. But this guy wants to sit here and resort to making fat jokes?
Not today.
He made the wrong choice.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Bryan leaned against the walls of his jail cell. The brain fog had finally started to clear as the events of the last 48 hours had come back to him. He now remembered the feeling of standing over top of his boss and ramming his fist over and over again into his face. The blood splattered on his fist and the ground.
And now that the alcohol had started to fade, he did not feel remorse for his actions. The bastard had it coming to him.
But reflecting on where he was now… this was the bottom of the barrel.
And perhaps the worst part. The most embarrassing part. With no one else to call with his one phone call given to him by the police, Bryan had no choice but to ask for his dad.
“Baxter. You have a visitor.”
Bryan was actually somewhat surprised that his father, Charles Baxter, walked into the room. While tall and portly like his son, Mr. Baxter's appearance is much more polished. His own beard much more well trimmed and his gray hair combed back. The disappointment was clear on Papa Baxter’s face as he walked towards the jail cell wearing a finely pressed buttoned-up dress shirt with black slacks. Everything about him just looked the exact opposite of his unkempt son. Bryan sat up and walked over to the edge of the cell, leaning into the bars.
“I figured this would happen eventually,” Charles stated matter-of-factly. “I’m actually surprised it took this long.”
“Yeah… well… thanks for coming, pops.”
“Honestly, I think this is probably for the best.”
“Wait,” Baxter said as he began to worry about what his dad was about to say, “what do you mean?”
“Bryan… it’s been a long time coming that you turned your life around. Maybe you need a wake-up call.”
“I’m awake! Never been more awake!” Baxter said with panic setting in. “C’mon… don’t…”
Charles continued to keep his distance from the cell, adjusting his shirt. “I thought kicking you out of the house was tough love… but this… this I think is what we have to do, Bryan. I’m not going to bail you out right now.”
“Tough love? TOUGH LOVE,” Bryan said with outrage. “You’ve been given’ me TOUGH LOVE for 30 years!”
“Well, apparently it hasn’t been enough! But maybe some time in here will give you time to think about your life. Think about what you really want to do with yourself. I think you could do some things if you set your mind to it.”
“I thought you thought dreams were stupid. So why should I start having them now?’
“What?” his father said, lifting up his eyebrows with confusion. “I’ve always wanted the best for you, Bryan. You could’ve been a star in football or baseball… and if it wasn’t that, you could've applied yourself at school and done whatever you wanted. Started a business.”
“So be like you?”
“No, I never wanted you to be like me. I wanted you to be successful.”
“Just not in wrestling, am I right?”
“Wrestling was a waste of time. A waste of your potential.”
“But I could’ve been successful there. I was successful there.”
“And now look at you.”
“See… this is what I’m talkin’ about. You want to know why I’ve lived my life the way I have. It’s because of you. It’s because you taught me to not care about my dreams.”
Charles shook his head, “I think you’ve misunderstood me, son.”
“It's what you always told me! Don’t be a dreamer, be a doer.”
Charles chuckled, “that wasn’t me telling you to live a life of mediocrity. Or… whatever this is. It wasn’t me not wanting the best for you. I meant you can’t get to what you want by JUST dreaming. You actually have to work for it. You have to DO it. Baxter Companies didn’t become one of the top contracting firms in North Carolina because I had a dream. I went out there and I bust my ass. I started from the bottom and worked my way up. I learned everything about the business and then when I was ready, I started my own company and I hired people who busted their asses just like that. And people took notice. THAT is what I want from you. THAT is what you need to think about in here.”
Bryan staggered back away from the bars. He leaned against the wall and slumped down to the floor as a wave of emotions flowed through his body. How had he been so wrong all this time?
“Look, son. I know we haven’t had the best relationship… and some of that is on me. And for that, I am truly sorry. Seeing you in here right now… it doesn’t bring me pleasure. It doesn’t bring me joy. I’m deeply saddened by it. But you’re still young. Hell, I didn’t start BC until I was 40… there’s still time. Cut all the bullshit out of your life… figure out what you want to do in life… AND FUCKING… DO IT.”
Bryan continued to sit down against the wall of the jail. He buried his face into his hands without responding to his dad. Charles finally walked closer to the bars of the jail and grabbed on, leaning in. He smiled, knowing that he at least had his son thinking.
“Spend a few days and I’ll be back, okay? I do love you, son.”
He released his grips on the bars, giving one last look at his son before turning and walking away, leaving Bryan to reflect on his words.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
One day.
Two days.
Three days.
Bryan sat in the cell waiting for his dad to come back.
But there was still no sign of the senior Baxter.
He was angry.
And not just because he was still in the jail cell. He was angry at his father for not bailing him out. He was angry at himself for wasting so much of his life to this point. He was angry that he could’ve been doing more.
But most of all, he was angry at his father for being right.
“Baxter!” the guard called out, “good news! Your bail has been posted!”
Baxter’s eyes perked up as he got up with eagerness. “Finally, I was starting to think you weren’t going to come back.”
Heavy footsteps entered the room as a dominating presence entered the room. But it was not his father. Those heavy, booted footsteps and leisure suit belonged to the man we now know as Mr. Bill Scorpane.
“I could never leave a talent like you just rottin’ away in jail. What kind of human being would do that?”
Baxter cocked an eyebrow as he approached the bars. “Wait, who the fuck are you?”
“That’s no way to greet your savior!”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m here to get you out.”
“Oooooh,” Bryan said as he started to think he understood, “you must work for my dad and he sent you. Cool. Yeah, get me outta here.”
“No, your dad has no idea who I am and it's probably best it stays that way.”
“Then I’m completely lost.”
Scorpane nodded, “yes, yes you are. But that’s why I’m here.”
“So… who are you and why are you helping me?”
“We have a mutual friend. I assume you remember Jeremy Best.”
“Of course I do, but… I haven’t spoken to him in years. He wouldn’t possibly know about this…”
“Nope, he has no idea I’m here. And... let's also keep it that way. But I am his agent and I like to keep close tabs on anyone associated with my clients. So I know ALL about you and when your name popped up in some arrest reports... well, I figured we could mutually assist one another.”
“What do you mean?”
“Is this what you want your life to be like?”
“Uhm, of course not.”
“Then, Bryan Baxter… what do you want? What do you want to do?”
Baxter shook his head, “why the fuck do people keep askin’ me that lately?”
“Because, my dear boy, it’s a very important question. You’re at a bit of a crossroads, are you not? You’ve got a chance here to turn your life around. You have a chance to… go after… your dreams.”
“I want to think so… but I still have to deal with that whole assault…”
“Actually,” the guard chimed in as he walked over and unlocked the jail cell, “the guy isn’t pressing charges. You’re good to go.” The cop nodded at both men before heading off, leaving Scorpane and Baxter to themselves.
“What,” Baxter said with surprise. “That makes no sense… not after what I did.”
Mr. Scorpane adjusted the suspenders of his suit and smiled, “you’re welcome.”
“...What did you do?”
“Lesson number one… when you have enough money, you can literally just make problems disappear. So I just made yours disappear.”
“I just don’t understand. You’re helping me but look at me… what good am I to you. I’m useless.”
“Ehh…” Scorpane looked Bryan up and down, “yeah… you’re not wrong. At least like this, you are. But… once upon a time… you were pretty into that wrestling stuff, right?”
“You could say that, sure.”
“Well, thanks to Jeremy, I’ve started dabbling in that business. And I’ve got big plans. And… well, you could play a part in those plans. IF you clean this shit up.
Scorpane handed over his business card to Bryan who slowly reached out and accepted it. He glanced it over, “give it some thought… but you come down with me to Georgia and we’ll get your life on track… and I can make your dreams come true.”
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Back in the luxury suite at Fallout, Baxter looked up to his agent as he was puffing on his cigar and watching Devin Golden and Alyster Black battling it on the television screen. Scorpane was right, he did owe a lot to him.
If it wasn’t for him, he might be still back in North Carolina working a low-level job trying to climb that corporate ladder like his dad. Or he’d be back in jail or worse.
Instead, he was about to wrestle his biggest match in his career. Another one. Seemed like each week was another “biggest match” in his career. Chris Peacock. Cyrus Truth. Now Michelle von Horrowitz. And yet he kept walking away with wins.
Bryan now knew exactly what he wanted in life. But it wasn’t a dream. It was what he was doing to do.
He is going to keep winning.
Not only will he keep his North American championship but he will get to the FWA Championship. He will win the Climaxxx.
And just two people were standing in his way now.
But first up…
Michelle von Horrowitz.
The Dreamer.
But Bryan Baxter...
He’s not a Dreamer.
He’s Doer. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:32:49 GMT
Originally posted by Jimmy. Jason Randall in..."Playing Nice"
*FWA.com backstage exclusive*
Courtesy of Fallout Clears, the post-show for Fallout, Todd Salum caught up with “The Wildcard” Jason Randall after the show. “The Wildcard” was receiving medical attention after the heinous assault on him by Darius Wright that immediately followed their match, where Wright was victorious. FWA’s resident doctor, Dr. Smith, is tending to Randall’s knee when Salum enters the room.
Dr. Smith: “Does it hurt when you bend it or put weight on it?”
Jason Randall: “What do you think?! Of course, it hurts when I do any of those things! What kind of ridiculous question is that?!”
Todd Salum: “Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could get a brief word with you, Mr. Randall?”
Dr. Smith shakes his head at Randall and silently continues to tend to Randall’s knee as he wraps it up with some medical tape.
Jason Randall: “What is it Salum?”
Todd Salum: “Well, I was just coming to check on your condition after that post-match assault from Darius Wright.”
Jason Randall: “Well, isn’t that sweet? That’s so kind of you, Todd! How do you think my condition is, huh?! My knee hurts like hell, and I’m pissed off about it! Wright is lucky he’s not standing next to you right now, or else I’d be beating the piss out of him for what he did, a bum knee or no bum knee!”
Todd Salum: “Will he be able to compete in Athens at Fight Night: The Final Four?”
Dr. Smith finishes wrapping up Randall’s knee and looks over at Salum.
Dr. Smith: “He should be good to go by then, but I would advise wearing this knee brace as a precaution.”
Dr. Smith hands Randall a knee brace. Randall looks at the brace and then back at Salum.
Jason Randall: “Why? What’s going on at Fight Night in Athens?”
Todd Salum: “You don’t know? You’ll be competing in a match where if you win, you’ll be added to the TV Championship match between Vampyra and Shawn Summers at Back in Town in Denver, but there’s a catch.”
Jason Randall: “Of course, there’s a catch; what is it?”
Todd Salum: “It’ll be you and Darius Wright teaming up to take on the team of Vampyra and Shawn Summers.”
Randall’s eyes go wide, and he looks like he’s about to explode with rage.
Jason Randall: “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me! There’s no way I’m teaming up with that lunatic after what he did to me!”
Randall hops off the medical bed and winces as he hits the floor and limps out of the room without caring about his well-being. Todd Salum follows Randall, and Randall doesn’t have to limp far to find Jon Russnow.
Jason Randall: “Russnow, what’s the big idea teaming me up with the man that just assaulted me?! Do you expect me to just forget about what he did?!”
Jon Russnow: “Look, I understand it’s not an ideal situation, but I’m hoping that you can manage to get on the same page just for that match. Especially if you want that shot at the TV Championship, you do want that shot, right?”
Jason Randall: “Of course I do, but not if I have to team with that jackass!”
Jon Russnow: “I’m sorry, but the match has already been made official. Please do your best to play nice, or don’t do it; I’m not the one that loses out on a title shot.”
Before Randall can respond, Russnow walks off. Randall is furious and stomps on the ground, but all that does is add more pain to his already sore knee. He winces as he stomps down and then gingerly walks down the hall in the opposite direction. A few days have passed since Fallout 025, and Jason Randall is back in San Diego with his fiancee Penny. Randall has been resting his knee before his match in Athens. He’s sitting on the couch with his leg propped up, and he has YouTube playing on the TV where he’s scouting Summers and Vampyra. He’s watching his last outing with Summers, where he wasn’t successful.
”You’re watching this again?”
Penny says as she enters the room and sits next to Randall.
Jason Randall: “Yeah, I want to see if I went anywhere wrong with Summers the last time we faced off.”
Penny: “Sounds exciting.”
Penny seems uninterested, but Randall doesn’t seem to pick up on it. Randall sighs as he watches the match finish, with Summers pinning him.
Jason Randall: “I got way too ahead of myself. I thought I could get him with the stunner, but he saw it coming. Maybe I should just try to go for it instead of hitting the kick for the setup; what do you think?”
Penny: “I think you’re too hard on yourself. You shouldn’t be focused on what happened in the past.”
Jason Randall: “I’m sorry, but I think I should be in this instance. I need to know what mistakes not to make so that it doesn’t happen again. I had him dead to rights, but I let it slip away from me.”
Penny: “You’re that upset over this, huh?”
Jason Randall: “You’re damn right I am! My last win was over some clown. That’s not an insult either; he’s a literal clown! I have to be reminded of that every time now.”
Penny: “I thought you didn’t care what people were saying about you? You shouldn’t care, by the way.”
Jason Randall: “I don’t care, but it just pisses me off, you know? You have a guy like Shawn Summers that spends more time running his mouth on social media, and then you have a guy like Darius Wright that thinks he can make a name for himself off of me!”
Penny: “Do you think you’ll be able to manage to get along with him for your match?”
Jason Randall: “Look, you know me better than anyone. You know how my pride is and how I won’t let him get away with what he did to me. I can’t promise full cooperation, but I will try my best. Don’t be surprised when you see me give him some payback, though.”
Randall switched to a Vamprya match, where she won the TV Championship from Phillip A. Jackson.
Penny: “Who is she?”
Jason Randall: “That’s Vamprya; she’ll be teaming up with Summers. She’s been having her issues with him recently.”
Penny: “I like her outfit and her look.”
Jason Randall: “Yeah, well, that’s the least of my concern with her. She’s new to this company, and she’s already a champion while I’m barely struggling to get by to get a booking, let alone a title shot!”
Penny: “But you’ll have one, though, right? If you manage to play nice with that creep Darius Wright.”
Jason Randall: “Exactly, Wright better stay out of my way, or else he’ll regret not finishing the job on me when he had the chance instead of vanishing into thin air.”
Penny: “She’s good, really good.”
Jason Randall: “Yeah, she is, but her recent record in the F1 doesn’t show it. She may be handling too much, and it’s starting to get her. Winning the title, the F1, and now Summers breathing down her neck.”
“I know she isn’t new to the wrestling world, but she’s new to FWA and how we do things here. What she did back in her home country doesn’t matter here. She can harken back to that all she wants, but it won’t matter.”
“She has a target on her back since she won that title. She’s learning quickly that she may have bit off more than she can chew. It doesn’t help when you have bastards like Shawn Summers lurking about.”
Penny: “I’ve seen that Summers guy on Twitter. He seems like a total creep.”
Jason Randall: “He’s tough as nails, but he’s a prick. He can talk a big game and flap his gums on Twitter, and while he can back up his talk, that may also be to his detriment. He’s more concerned with arguing with Vamprya and this new girl Trixie and her brother.”
“I don’t think he’s focused on this match. He’s looking further ahead. He thinks it’ll just be him and Vamprya in Denver, but that’s where he’s wrong. If I have it my way, it’ll be more than just Vamprya he’ll have to contend with.”
“Wright, Vamprya, and Summers are trying their best to break through that glass ceiling. As the gatekeeper, I can’t let them. It’s time I remind them why I’m The Wildcard, and as long as I’m around, there will be no one getting past me or that gate.” |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:33:09 GMT
Originally posted by Man. Kleio De Santos, Tommy Bedlam, Bellatrix Bordeaux and Chris Peacock in…
A FORCE GREATER THAN US
I - THE WITCH
Kleio took a deep breath as she stood in the parking lot staring at the building in front of her. Perhaps it was one of the scariest places she's been since she started her career in the FWA, since she became a witch, since she's done anything.
Kleio took a deep breath and walked into the primary school.
She tried to go over in her head exactly why she needed to do this. Blair had a lot of crazy ideas, but this one seemed a little bit over the top. Yet for Blair's spell to work, Kleio needed to get...a virgin sacrifice. And where better to find one than a Kindergarten classroom? Kleio smiled as she walked into the school's front office.
“Hi, I'm here to substitute...I'm Kleio De Santos” she said. The secretary looked her up and down, and then smiled. No Kleio didn't have a degree in teaching, in fact she didn't have any degree at all. But luckily, this was Florida. And thanks to the ineptitude of Florida Governor Ronald Dion DeSantis, pretty much any one can walk into a school and be a teacher nowadays. A homeless man was probably in the same school teaching right before her.
The secretary didn't even ask Kleio any questions. She had Kleio sign her name, and then just gave her the keys to the classroom before walking her down the hallway. Kleio was still terrified of getting caught, or worse whatever these little demons might do to her. She tried to reassure herself. She's good with Sammie, right? She could do this. Sammie is a bit older, but it's still the same concept. Blair actually first suggested using Sammie as the sacrifice, but it didn't take long for all three of them to realize that Sammie would probably bite their faces off if they tried.
It wasn't long until the classroom was filled with loud, smelly, obnoxious five year olds. Kleio sat in a tiny chair and read the lesson plans that the teacher left behind...if she was going to do this, she had to at least blend in and do the job. She groaned when she saw what the first thing on the schedule was...the alphabet. She took a big breath, and then figured she better jump right in. She stood up in front of the intimidating group of children, and spoke up.
“Hey class” she said, but the kids just kept talking. She tried again “Hey...Hey Class” but she still couldn't get their attention. This was worse than anything she's done in the ring.
“Class, look...I...I…” and suddenly, Kleio's voice started to drift off. She hasn't told anyone, but since her concussion at Back in Business, she has had frequent bouts of dizziness. Everything around the room began to spin. She looked for somewhere to sit, and ended up plopping herself down in the big fuzzy chair that the teacher usually uses to read stories to the class at carpet time. As she sat in the chair, the colors and pictures around the room all continued to blend together. The sounds of the kid's loud voices began to drift further away as Kleio's head began to pound.
She looked up above the chalkboard, and the only thing she could see were the Alphabet letters that were hung high and proud.
A for Apple.
B for Ball.
C for Cat.
D for...Devin Golden? No...no that can't be right. What was Devin Golden's picture doing up there? Kleio could swear that it wasn't there before. She could hear one of her student's voices louder than the others. “I can't wait for The Devin Golden show to come back! I loved the last season!” he said.
“No...no, that doesn't make sense!” Kleio shouted. She stood up, still a little dizzy as things started to fade back to normal.
The kid seemed very confused. “Miss...why doesn't Spongebob make sense?” he said. Spongebob? He didn't say Spongebob. Kleio looked back up at the wall...
D for Dog.
She really is losing her mind. She looked at the rest of the letters. E for Elephant, F for Fish, G for Girl, H for Kat, I for Igloo, J for Jump...and everything started to get dizzy yet again. Suddenly J for Jump turned into J for Joe Burr, and...K for...KAYDEN KNOX? This one was even worse than Devin Golden. At least she knew Devin Golden couldn't have been real, but Kayden? She can't get away from him. It seems like week in and week out her and Kayden are booked in the same match. Either together, or against one another. And most of the time, she's the one who's winning. What more does she have to prove?
The spinning continued. L...L for Lizzie Rose. Kleio couldn't bear it. Lizzie Rose was an on again off again friend and enemy. On the same team in Ground Zero, debuting at the same time in the FWA...but she hadn't talked to Lizzie since she beat her at Back in Business. It's been too awkward.
She scanned through the rest of the alphabet. She didn't even need to look at the R. She knew what it said. And it wasn't worth giving it any more attention than that. He wasn't worth it, that's what Blair had said earlier. But she needed to push through...S for Swim...T for Tent. Ok...everything is starting to get back to normal. The dizziness has gone away. U for Umbrella, V for Van, W for World....
Then she looked up. Her vision was a little blurry, but a man was standing there. Right at the end of the alphabet signs.
“Excuse me ma, I'm the school nurse. I think you oughta come with me,” he said to her with a calming smile.
Who was she to argue with that?
II - THE COWBOY
Tommy and Randi had been sitting in the waiting room for what felt like hours. They were there to find out the gender of their child, but Tommy’s mind was on the meeting that he needed to attend. Randi’s appointment was already an hour late as a nurse appeared in the doorway.
“Golden,” she said.
A couple got up and walked through the door, obviously excited about the news they were going to receive.
“If you need to go, you can take off. I can handle this on my own,” Randi said.
“No. I told you that I’m gonna be here for everything. This is my kid, too.” Tommy’s words came across as genuine, but he was distracted by the meeting he needed to get to.
A second nurse appeared with a clipboard.
“Rose. Elizabeth Rose.”
Tommy looked down at his watch again, which caught Randi’s attention.
“Listen, I know you have a meeting with Peacock, and the rest of your team. I drove myself, so I can get myself home. Go on,” she said.
“It’ll be fine. I’m on a losing streak anyway. Their strategy is probably just to keep me out of the way.”
Another nurse appeared, and this one made eye contact with Tommy as she opened the door.
“Cole.”
A smiling young couple made their way into the hallway with the nurse. Tommy was growing more and more annoyed with each passing second.
“Who is this doctor anyway? And why in the hell does he make people wait so long? You’re gonna pop this kid out sitting here in the waiting room at this rate. We’ll just find out what it is at the same time.”
“Shut up. Doctor Alexander Barrett Caldwell is the best OBGYNs in Texas. I’m lucky to even be here.”
“Well sounds to me like ole’ ABC needs to figure out what he’s doing when he makes his daily schedule.”
Finally, after more than 90 minutes of waiting for an appointment that was supposed to start 60 minutes prior, Randi’s name was called.
“Francis.”
Tommy stood up with Randi as they made their way down the hallway.
“Why don’t we just go ahead and get married that way me, you, and the baby all have the same name?”
“Married? You really think you’re ready for a wife? We had sex once, you knocked me up, and you’re gone 80% of the time. Just because we’re having a kid doesn’t mean we need to get married.”
The nurse who had introduced herself as Nurse Knox was trying to hide a chuckle as she led the bickering couple down the hallway. She took them into an exam room where an ultrasound technician was waiting.
“Hello! My name is Jolene Burr. Let’s find out what we’re having!” The young lady was obviously thrilled with her job. Her enthusiasm almost made Tommy forget how stressed he was about everything. The meeting, the match, the losing streak, all of it.
After a few moments of looking at the baby on the monitor, the ultrasound tech smiled and said, “Doctor ABC will be right in to go over the results.”
The doctor quickly appeared in the room, an eccentric looking man who hardly looked the part of a traditional doctor. He introduced himself, and as he shook Tommy’s hand, he paused.
“You look so familiar.”
“You a wrestling fan?”
“Absolutely! Oh my God! You are Tommy Bedlam! I knew I had seen you. You look so much taller on TV.”
“Thanks? Listen, Doc. I’m not trying to be rude, but can you tell us what we’re having? I’ve got a meeting that I need to get to, and I’m running way beh-”
“Big match coming up. You ever been in a 10-man match before?”
“No. I haven’t. So, what are we having?”
“How did you end up in that match anyway? I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you with any of the people on your team before. Didn’t Peacock eliminate you in your debut? Didn’t you and XYZ eliminate each other in your last battle royal?”
“Yea. But I’ve gotta be at this meeting with them anyway. So if we could-”
“And then what about that other team? I know you’ve had issues with Cole before, and Burr was your last match before you went out with an injury, but have you ever dealt with anyone else on that team?”
“No. Listen, Doctor. I really need to get goi-”
“Goddammit, the pregnant woman wants to know what she’s having. So you boys can have your little wrestling chat later, but right now, I wanna know what I’m gonna be pushing out of me.”
Randi’s sudden outburst created an awkward silence in the room. The doctor casually opened the file.
“It’s a boy.”
Randi looked at Tommy who was obviously happy with the news. Things were shaping up just like the vision he had seen in his dream a few days before Christmas. The doctor left the room before Tommy and Randi who made their way to the parking lot.
“So, I guess we have a lot to figure out, don’t we?” Randi said.
“I already know what I’m doing. I’ve told you. You just don’t want me to decide yet.”
“I just want you to be sure. Call me after your meeting with this team you’re on.”
“I’m not even sure I’m gonna make it. Traffic is gonna be awful at this time of day. I’ll call tonight.”
Randi got in her car and drove away as Tommy climbed into his truck. It wouldn’t start. Fuck. He pounded his hands on the steering wheel in frustration.
As he climbed out to raise the hood on his truck, Doctor Alexander Barrett Caldwell pulled up in a large yellow station wagon.
“Need a lift? I think I’m heading your way.”
Tommy nodded and climbed into the car with the doctor. The two rode away in a cloud of smoke pouring from the exhaust.
III - THE CHILD
It’s a quiet, misty night, with a light drizzle of rain being made visible by only a couple of dimly lit lamp posts. There are no moving vehicles on the roads and no people walking the streets…it’s a ghost town.
After a few moments of peace and quiet, a faint screaming sound can be heard, followed by a slightly louder cry for “HELP!” as a young woman looks to be running for her life, her face and eyes housing a look of sheer terror. As she grows ever closer, her identity becomes clear. With long blonde hair, mascara covered eyes, a plaid unbuttoned overshirt, a black t-shirt underneath that reads ‘who you gonna call’, ripped blue jeans and a pair of Chuck Taylors, we recognise this young lady as the recently debuted FWA wrestler, Bellatrix Bordeaux.
As she runs frantically towards us, what sounds like a sudden, extremely powerful gust of wind enters our hearing. This sound, however, looks to have a shape to it…a human shape. From out of literally nowhere, Trixie is thrown completely off her feet as a transparent figure charges straight through her body.
As she crashes to the concrete with a thud, a duffel bag that she was clinging onto flies out of her grasp and rips as it lands on the ground, causing several items to pour out and scatter the road. These items include a pair of colourful tights, a sports bra of the same style and pattern that bears the word ‘TRIX’, a pair of white sneakers and a plane ticket that reads ‘Athens, Greece’.
Trixie quickly rushes back to her feet and attempts to make a dash for her things, but is intercepted by yet another apparition who charges straight at Trixie’s face, startling her and causing her to “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” in horror, before falling hard on her butt. Once again climbing frantically to her feet, Trixie turns and attempts to flee, but is intercepted by the first ghostly figures as she is thrown back and head first into the side of a building, crumpling to the floor in a heap.
After shaking some of the cobwebs out of her head after such a nasty impact, Trixie dazedly looks up and her face turns to one of overwhelming horror and sorrow as the two ghostly figures slowly descend upon her. These ghosts, who bears the resemblance of Trixie’s brother Bret, and who she considers to be one of her ‘bestest friends’ Vampyra, glares menacingly at Trixie as they begin to shout and scream in unison at the terrified, cowering young woman in hollow, echoing, rage-filled voices.
“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!” the three apparitions yells in evil voices, before continuing in the same vein, “YOU WEAK LITTLE GIRL!”
The terrified Trixie, curled up in a ball on the floor with her back against the wall, starts muttering to herself, with a great deal of heartbreak in her voice. “I-I-I’m sorry…I-’m sorry, I tried my hardest, I swear…please don’t hurt me, I tried my hardest-”
“You’re hardest wasn’t good enough, YOU WEAK LITTLE GIRL!” Vampyra’s apparition snaps back, before continuing “If you had beaten Shawn Summers like you promised, this wouldn’t have happened to me! IT’S YOUR FAULT!”
“H-he was too strong,” Trixie pleads, “please believe me! I t-t-tried my hardest!”
“You’ve always been weak, Trixie,” Bret’s apparition interjects, “You couldn’t protect our parents and now they’re gone…”
“B-but, I was only littl-” Trixie attempts to interject, whimpering all the while, but is cut off as the ghost of her brother continues on in his hollow, menacing voice.
“You couldn’t protect Vampyra and now she’s gone…”
“I tried my harde-” she attempts to repeat, before being cut off again.
“You couldn’t even keep your fucking pet dog alive!”
Trixie, too hurt to produce anything coherent, clutches her head in her arms and begins rocking back and forth, muttering “I’m sorry… Please don’t hurt me.” and things of that nature as the apparitions slowly but surely descend upon her, until…
Off into the distance, a set of glaring lights can be seen charging towards us with great velocity. As the yellow beams grow ever larger, Trixie, in an effort to block out the blinding light, buries her head in her hands, sobbing all the while.
The roar of an accelerating engine crescendos, slowly drowning out the terrified young woman’s snivelling as the ghastly apparitions grow ever closer. The three spectres don’t seem to notice the oncoming vehicle, as they remain tunnel visioned on their victim, descending upon her all the while chastising her for her failure to protect them. A loud horn blares, finally drawing the attention of the ghostly figures as they turn to face the oncoming vehicle…they didn’t stand a chance.
Within a matter of seconds, it was over. Gone were the sounds of the deafening horn and the roar of the accelerating engine. The once blinding headlights, now no brighter than a desk lamp. Gone too were husky, echoing voices of Trixie’s brother and friends, as where they once stood now sits what looks to be a bright yellow school bus.
After a few moments, the bus door opens, and a voice calls from within. “Hey there, need a lift?”
Removing her head from her hands, Trixie looks up towards the vehicle that’s appeared before her, before asking in a shaky, trauma-filled voice, “W--where are we g-g-going?”
“Anywhere but here…c’mon, hop aboard!” the voice says hurriedly, before adding, “I don’t fancy sticking around this place.”
After a moment's hesitation, Trixie climbs to her feet and collects her damp, scuffed clothes and plane ticket, stuffs them into her damaged duffel bag and boards the bright yellow vehicle, saying gratefully “Th-thank you,” before the door closes behind her and the bus accelerates away, literally disappearing into the distance as they leave this horrible place behind, yet in some way, taking it with them.
IV - THE DANCER
“Where the FUCK are they?”
Chris Peacock’s patience was wearing thin as he paced around in the locker room. The show had not even begun yet, but already he was eager to get out there for his last match before he would challenge Devin Golden for the FWA World Championship. His key to that match, the Golden Opportunity briefcase, sat on the ground in front of the locker he had selected for himself. Chris, in his frustration, knocked the briefcase over with the sole of his shoe, causing a loud bang as the flat surfaces of the case and the floor met.
Even though the show had not started and the ring setup was incomplete, Chris decided that he would stray from the locker room for a fourth time to scour the building in search for any of his partners. “I told them one thing. Get here early. How much is that to ask…”
Chris’s muttering as he pulled the door open trailed off as he saw that Todd Salum was waiting for him outside. Peacock exhaled deeply and brushed past the interviewer, who winced as he attempted to catch up with the much faster moving younger man. “Chris, I heard a commotion… I wanted to talk to you about Fallout.”
“I’m not interested, Todd.” Chris said firmly as he marched down the corridor away from the locker room and towards the parking lot. Salum struggled to keep up with him and had to avoid the double doors that Chris passed through slamming straight into his face. A dissatisfied Peacock grunted in anger when he laid his eyes upon the same cars that were there on his previous check. He stood with his hands on his hips and kicked a loose piece of concrete out in front of him. “I can’t believe it.”
“Look, Chris… the show doesn’t begin for another three hours. Don’t you think that this is just slightly overboard?” Todd asked, standing behind Peacock. Chris pounded his forehead with a balled fist a couple of times in frustration.
“Todd…” Chris said under his breath, before turning on his heel and getting in the face of the veteran interviewer. “Can I just ask you what you’re doing here, exactly? Why me? Y-Y-You’re not even filming this! Why are you here? Tell me.”
The exasperation in Chris’s voice was palpable, but Salem stood silently for a moment (mainly to ensure that he caught his breath). “Have you considered, Chris, that I’m doing this out of compassion for you? Out of admiration? I know what this is about - this nervousness and hostility towards me. Was it because of what we spoke about on Fallout?”
“You mean the fact that I’d be the champion right now if you didn’t get into my head?” Chris asked, point-blankly. He points to the ground at his feet. “I had him right there, Todd. We could have all been rid of him… and now, if I fuck this up, he stays. It’s… almost… too much. Then all I ask for is for the four of them to get here early so we can talk things through before the match.”
“If I believe that, deep down, you were the kind of person to take that easy option, I wouldn’t have tried to steer you back on your way.” Todd said, putting a reassuring hand on Peacock’s shoulder. Chris initially recoiled, but soon calmed down when Todd gave him a slow nod of the head. “You’d have taken that championship for your own when no one else had a claim to it. You wouldn’t have fought Alyster and the others in that Battle Royal. It’s not you, Chris. You’re a fighter.”
“Now, I don’t know what is going to happen when you face Devin Golden for that title. You could win, or you could lose. Whatever happens though, you’ll know, right here…” He paused and pressed his hand against Chris’s chest. “You did the right thing. No one can take that away from you. Tonight… is just like any other night, Chris. You go out there-”
“It’s not!” Chris snapped, interrupting. “Tonight, I’m out there with a bunch of randoms that can’t even follow one simple instruction. He’s surrounded himself with the only dickheads in the world that would be friends with him! I’m screwed!”
“It’s just typical. I know people want me to fail. I can tell by the way they look at me. They think I shouldn’t be in this position, and I don’t deserve it. They’re just people though, and most of them are assholes, anyway. It is expected. You know who I didn’t expect to fuck me over, though? Who I thought might just have my back just this one time? The universe, Todd!” Chris turned and flipped the bird upwards towards the sky. “Couldn’t throw me a bone, huh?”
Then he heard it, causing him to drop his hands back down. The faint jittering of an overworked engine. Chris used his hand to shield his eyes as he looked towards the parking lot entrance, due to the pair of bright lights being shone directly at him and Salum. Peacock took a couple of steps closer as the yellow, graffiti-covered vehicle parked up in front of him.
The Magic School Bus.
A loud hiss emerged from the vehicle as it rested at a stop. The doors folded in on themselves. Down the steps walked Tommy Bedlam, followed by Kleio De Santos and Bellatrix Bordeaux behind her. Each offered Peacock a greeting as they passed him and walked towards the waiting locker room.
Chris slowly walked to the bottom of the steps himself just as XYZ reached the bottom step in front of him.
XYZ smiled at Peacock and placed a hand on his shoulder as he walked past him in the same direction as the others. Chris himself looked at his team and then back up to the sky and cracked a small grin.
“I guess the dream never dies, huh?” |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:33:30 GMT
Originally posted by SupineSnake. MICHELLE von HORROWITZ
in
[VOLUME ONE HUNDRED & ONE]
"Of course, the answer isn't always up there in the stars," the boy said, in his best Bax Lightspeed voice, as he held the astronaut figurine aloft by one of its wings. "Sometimes, the answers are down here on Earth, amongst you regular folk. Really, I couldn't have solved this mystery without the help of my best friend."
The boy reached for his Sheriff Best doll, who proceeded to tip his cowboy hat under his gentle command. With a pull of the cord on his back, the doll's mechanical voice declared I'm your new best friend, before he shared a hug with the spaceman that was greeted by general and loud applause amongst the other assembled toys. Bax raised Best's hand, as if in victory, as the boy continued to emulate the sound of rapturous cheering.
“Doub!”
His mother’s voice drifted up the stairs and deflated the scene that his imagination had carefully constructed. She’d used his nickname, of course. His real name was Doug, but his younger brother struggled with his g sounds and replaced them with b’s. The mistake was repeated often enough for the rest of the family to adopt the moniker, and Doug - unhappy with his actual name in the first place - had quickly embraced and adopted it.
“Dinnertime! Come downstairs.”
Doub stared down at his toys and let out a contented sigh. He was happy that his stories were completed with a reasonable degree of closure before the daily dinnertime deadline. He set the spaceman and the cowboy down - the four letters of his adopted name written onto both of their bootsoles in black marker pen - and left the room. He was beginning to realise how ravenous he was. Storytelling was hungry work.
After the door clicked shut behind him, the cowboy sat up. He dusted himself off and loosened up his tired joints, before pushing up to his feet and glaring at the astronaut.
“Well, I guess we ought to continue from where we left off,” the sheriff said, as he folded his arms in an accusatory gesture.
“After all we just went through?” Bax Lightspeed replied, whilst climbing to his own vertical base. The rest of the toys were beginning to go about their own business, except for a handful who joined the Sheriff to form a panel, creating a horseshoe around the spaceman. “We just saved a whole town! That’s got to count for something?”
The sheriff narrowed his eyes, and a few moments later they were back in position atop the wardrobe. This is where they’d been when Doub had interrupted proceedings for an impromptu play-session, pausing the trial as it was entering its final stages. Sheriff Best wasn’t alone amongst the judges. Wolfy - a white-coated and appropriately named toy who’d spent several months missing whilst wedged behind the bed - had already given her testimony, accusing Lightspeed of delaying the sheriff in his dogged attempts to find the lost wolf. The Speak&Spell, meanwhile, spoke eloquently - if a little ostentatiously, and with a propensity to lurch down unexpected tangents - about his broken screen, which now permanently displayed the last three letters of the alphabet. Bax had already owned up about this business with the letters, as Sheriff Best put it, and he hoped this honesty would work in his favour. And then there was Jax the Dinosaur, who was just now recounting the tale of his budding friendship with the sheriff, and the spaceman’s jealous worries that he might come between their own deeply uneven relationship.
“I was just looking out for you, Sheriff,” Bax protested, when the dinosaur was done with his testimony. “Sure, Jax seems harmless enough. Too stupid to do any real damage, maybe. But what about his friend, here?! Sergeant Savage is bad news!”
He pointed towards the bailiff, a block green army man, portly and scowling as his character was flippantly and derisively surmised by the defendant.
“It’s not Sergeant Savage who is on trial,” the Sheriff said. “I think I’ve heard enough, Bax. Any final words, before we reach a judgement?”
“I guess that I would just like to say…” Bax began, before trailing off. He’d never really been one for big speeches, even when the moment called for one. He let out the deep sigh of a heavy heart, and then gave it his best shot. “I would like to say that I want to change. That I am trying to change. I don’t want to be the man I used to be.”
The sheriff had pity and sadness in his eyes. He turned away from the defendant in order to confer with the other accusers. Their interactions were hurried whispers, and Bax shuffled uncomfortably out of earshot. Sergeant Savage stared at him with his angry, little eyes, as green as the rest of him. But Bax could look only at the sheriff, shame welling up in his stomach.
“I would like you to change too, Bax,” the sheriff began, after turning back towards the astronaut. “But you’ve had enough time now. Enough chances. And you keep making the wrong choices. I want to believe that you can change, Bax. I really do. But… I’m afraid you won’t be able to make these steps here with us. You’re banished, Bax, from Doub’s bedroom. Effective immediately.”
“No!” Bax began, with fear in his voice. “That’s… that’s too much! You can’t be serious?!”
“I’m afraid I am, Bax,” Sheriff Best continued, as he turned away from Lightspeed with his hands behind his back. He stared out of the window as a white van - with Smith’s Nails & Nail Guns written on the side of it - pulled into the next door neighbour’s driveway. “I know that it’s dangerous out there. But with you here, it’s dangerous for every other toy in Doub’s bedroom. And… I can’t have that on my conscience. Especially with Doub's birthday party almost upon us. You’ve got to leave.”
“I…” stuttered Bax. He gulped and steeled his nerves. “I won’t leave.”
“BOYS!” called the Sergeant. He had a smile on his face, as if he’d been waiting for this moment of resistance. A few seconds later, his squadron appeared over the lip of the wardrobe, in attack formation. Another team was busy opening the window, which he soon realised would be his enforced exit point into a wild and hostile world.
Bax woke up after a period of unconsciousness. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but if he'd had to guess he would have said quite a while considering the intense, throbbing pain in the back of his head. He must have been knocked out when he was thrown through the open window, given that this was the last thing he remembered.
He rolled onto his back and squinted, his eyes getting used to the dinginess of this new atmosphere. A brief glance around at the general mess and specific items of clothing revealed to him exactly where he was. In enemy territory. This was the bedroom of Sid Smith, Doub's next door neighbour and alleged torturer of toys. He'd heard about the dolls that lived here. He’d been told the horror stories. Toys ripped apart and then spliced back together. Once loved figurines discarded and written off at the drop of a hat. It was said that a lot of the toys that lived here weren't even Sid's to begin with. They were left here for him to play with by a friend named Ojid, who disappeared without a trace soon afterwards. Legend had it that one day he'd return to kill the rest of them off, though this was just the talk in Doub's bedroom. Bax was cynical by nature, and had his doubts about these murmurs. Though now he was here…
Any lingering fears about these rumours were soon put aside, for something more real and close dragged Lightspeed's mind from them. A mechanical buzz was emanating from beneath a large pile of clothing, and Bax found himself in two minds as to whether to approach or to flee.
Inactivity soon took that choice away from him, as from beneath the discarded clothes emerged the strangest toy that Bax had ever seen in his life. He was frozen in place as eight mechanical tentacles traversed the stained carpet, moving more like a spider than the octopus that its pink, bulbous head suggested. The tentacles had shed their skin, or more likely had it peeled off by its owner, revealing the metallic, spindly tendrils underneath.
Lightspeed's gaze was trapped on the octopus, and it took him longer than it should have to notice the rest of the toys that were beginning to encircle him. The one that first took his eye climbed out of the bottom drawer of an adjacent chest, and took the form of a tattered pink astronaut plushy. From behind him came two more, who fanned out either side to join the circle: a figurine of a young wizard that was missing its right leg and its left arm, along with a faceless and featureless black leather doll that crawled on all fours in menacing silence. He wheeled around, and staggering towards him was a bastardisation of a toy. It looked like it had been made by fastening two broken figures - a shark and an alligator - together with glue and the occasional nail. Even from the safety of Doub's bedroom, he'd heard of the sick experiments that Sid liked to conduct, usually in the wake of Ojid's wanton and cruel destruction.
As he continued his three-sixty, Bax saw many more of the deformities approaching. A maid doll that had been dressed in cyber-punk style and equipped with a scythe. A traffic conductor action figure that was missing its head, a road sign installed in its place. A huge, hulking mass of muscles wearing a black shirt with two white M’s scribed onto it in white, its head swivelled backwards on its neck and its knuckles dragging along the floor. A quartet of clones walked behind it, each more contorted and dilapidated than the last. More and more of them emerged from the dark recesses of the room, but Bax’s panoramic was interrupted by a sudden, light tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see two more of the abominations up close.
“You’re finally awake,” said the nearest, a small, green tortoise that glittered with emeralds. The figurine, Bax would later find out, had been detached from a dreamcatcher. To her side was a cowboy doll: ostensibly one that performed the same function as Sheriff Best, but an older model. Less cute and friendly than the new one, and therefore less marketable to children. “What did you dream about?”
“Where am I?” Bax asked, tripping over even this, the most simple of utterances.
“You know where you are,” the tortoise answered. “You’re in Sid’s bedroom. And we’re Sid’s toys. A lot of people call us the Nephews.”
“But why am I here?” Bax continued. He attempted to back away from the cowboy and the tortoise, but walked right into the encroaching octopus. The surrounding circle had grown smaller, and it became clear to the astronaut that there was no chance of escape. “With you?”
“No reason,” the tortoise continued. “There’s no reason for any of this. You’re here with us by chance, and because they discarded you.”
This simple statement of fact was delivered calmly, but it still stirred bitter memories for Bax. He felt an anger flash inside his stomach, though suppressed it through recognition of his current predicament. There were more than a dozen abominations surrounding him now, and although they seemingly weren’t about to set upon him and rip him limb from limb just yet, Bax still felt it in his best interest to remain as calm as he could.
But, more than anything else, this declaration only served to remind Bax Lightspeed of the shameful trial that he'd been made to endure at the hands of the people he was trying to befriend. His fists clenched. The tortoise smiled, supposing that the wrathful gesture was directed at the toys that had banished the spaceman. This wasn't really the case. In truth, Bax's anger was usually aimed indiscriminately, and directed at whoever was unlucky enough to be nearest at the time.
"But what am I going to do now?" Bax asked. He glanced out of the window of Sid's bedroom, which was on the ground floor and looked out across the Smiths' driveway. His father's work van was parked in its spot. Beyond that, Bax could see Doub's bedroom window, and half-imagined he observed his former owner conducting an ill-fated search for the lost toy. For him.
"Well, I expect you're here for a reason," the tortoise began. As Bax turned to face her, he noted that she was smiling kindly at him. "And that reason is to help us."
"And how am I to do that?" Bax asked. He'd never felt more useless than he did right now, and didn't think he'd prove particularly helpful to anyone.
"No, not yet," the octopus said to the tortoise, whilst placing one of his tentacles upon her shoulder to draw her attention from the newcomer. His visage expressed a need for caution. "He only just got here."
"I agree with Uncle," the outdated sheriff said. "He's not ready."
"... ….. . …..," interjected the leather-clad abomination, though his voice was muffled to the point where Bax couldn't understand.
"He's ready," the tortoise insisted. "I feel certain he's been sent here to help us. He fits perfectly."
None of the other Nephews said anything more, and when the tortoise felt herself clear of questioning she turned to face the astronaut once again.
"The toys next door banished you, and abandoned your friendship when you needed them most," she began, whilst maintaining fierce, almost intimidating eye contact with Lightspeed. "We know a lot more about that than you might think. A lot of us here haven't always been Sid's playthings. We once knew the light, frivolous playtime that has thus far been your entire existence. But now, we are here, in this dark place. Away from that light. And the toys that you left behind pity us, yet do nothing to help."
Her smile seemed more devious now, and Bax shuffled uncomfortably at the sight of it.
"Your old master's birthday party is nearly here," she continued. "Just a few, short days away. And we mean to give those toys a present of our own."
Lightspeed looked at the faces of those around him (although he quickly realised that not all of them had faces). Those that did employed a hopeful countenance, as if they looked forward to this vague event with giddy anticipation.
”You mean to hurt Sheriff Best and the rest of them?" Bax asked. The Nephews didn't reply, but the astronaut felt the silence confirmed his suspicions. "But… why? Do you want something that they have? Are you jealous? Do you have something to prove?"
The tortoise shrugged, and Lightspeed got the impression that it was all of these things.
"Because it's fun, and because we can," she said, eventually. Bax didn't feel like this explanation was entirely satisfactory. But then she added, perhaps more tellingly: "we are the shunned, Bax Lightspeed, and that is reason enough."
Bax didn't agree to go along with the Nephews' plan right away. Although he was hurt and angered by Sheriff Best's decision, he still felt affinity towards and love for his accusers, and felt there was a vague chance of reconciliation. Despite his hesitance, he was allowed to stay with Sid's toys in Sid's bedroom in what proved to be a mutually beneficial arrangement. For Bax, it ensured he could stay close to Doub and his toys, so that he could look out for his opportunity to make amends and rejoin them. For the tortoise and the rest of the Nephews, it enabled them to continue to convince Bax that their plan was in his interests.
At the beginning, Doub relentlessly searched his bedroom for the lost toy, and Bax would incessantly watch this unfold through the window at Sid's. The astronaut felt that if he willed it hard enough, perhaps the boy would be able to follow the breadcrumbs to his new home. This might, he reasoned, lead to the discovery of the toys' entire secret world, but this was a small price to pay, Bax thought, for his eventual and inevitable reuniting with his forlorn owner. Soon enough, though, the boy stopped looking so frequently, and then altogether. Bax was left to sullenly give up this hope, and engage with the captors that went under the kind guise of friends.
During this time with the Nephews, he learned that a fair few of them had more in common with him than he once thought. The pink astronaut plushy, for instance, revealed a lot of his own personal backstory after inviting Bax onto what he called a podcast. Lightspeed wasn't entirely sure what this meant, and in actuality it differed little from a standard conversation but for the presence of recording equipment. The astronaut confessed (rather candidly, Bax thought) that he once belonged to a happy home, but that the other toys resented his fast ascent and sudden high standing in their owner's eyes. He went from loved to reviled in little more than an instant, on the back of nothing more than success. Soon after, he found himself out in the wilderness, until he discovered a new home amongst the Nephews.
Others, too, hadn't originally come here under their own volition. The deformed and limbless doll of a young wizard, for example, had once belonged to a family who lived on a parallel street, but was stolen by Ojid and given to Sid for use in a supporting role in one of their sordid, outlandish sagas. At first, he'd dreamed of returning to his former owners, but became enamoured with his captors over time, even when the original role he was brought in to play had long since expired.
Bax found this example of Stockholm syndrome difficult to fathom when he first joined the group, but as the days transpired he did find some semblance of understanding. Although the Nephews were strange and at times frightening, there was a togetherness about them that was endearing. It was something Lightspeed thought he had with Sheriff Best and the rest of Doub's toys, but this belief had since been shattered. And, the more he thought about it, the more he realised that this new set of toys that surrounded him had no other place to go. Where were they to find this feeling of unity, and the sense of belonging that came with it, if not with each other?
Even when Sid played with the toys, and did so with a roughness and vigour that Bax wasn't used to, the astronaut found strange and exciting feelings awakening inside his plastic stomach. He found that he didn't mind the scrapes and scratches that came as part and parcel of this forceful playtime. What's more, he enjoyed the more villainous roles that he was employed in, and felt them a more natural fit for his uneven personality.
Most of all, though, he enjoyed his long and thoughtful conversations with the tortoise that the others called Dreamer. She would spend most of the day asleep. When she awoke, she sometimes gathered the Nephews around her and told them what she dreamed about. Bax thought this an act of pretentiousness initially, and found the tortoise self-important in general, but soon he began to realise the dreams' significance. More often, though, she would spend her waking moments in thoughtful silence, alone and aloof from the group. And, when it was late, and most of the others had turned to slumber, she would send for Bax.
"But how do you deal with the doubt?" Bax asked, during one of their late, hushed talks. "I feel the desire to be good all the time, even if I know it isn't my nature. I'm made for boos, but I search for cheers."
"If you're searching for cheers," Dreamer began, in her thoughtful manner. "Then you are not seeking the right path for the right reasons."
"I feel the truth in that," Lightspeed responded. Often, when they spoke, he felt she possessed an understanding well beyond even her advanced years. He regarded her with a reverence that bordered on wonder. "But at least I would still be on the right path. There is no right reason to walk the wrong path."
"Are they your words, or Sheriff Best's?" Dreamer answered. "The right path doesn't remain the right path forever. Time marches on, and corrodes everything and everyone in its way. The elements wash away the stone, and within a blink of an eye your just path leads only to the ocean."
"Then which way should I walk?" Bax asked, in earnest.
"Right path, wrong path," the tortoise explained, with a gentle shrug of her shoulders that momentarily raised her hard, old shell. "These things do not exist. They are constructs. Eventually, we must all walk the only path: the one that leads to survival."
"Not salvation?" Lightspeed said, after a brief silence. Dreamer felt she saw his last hopes extinguished as he asked his naive question.
"It does not exist," she answered. "Only survival."
After that, neither of them spoke again, and eventually they fell asleep. Dreamer's was peaceful and long. Bax's was restless and short. The next day, he agreed to help the Nephews in any way he could.
In the middle of a cold, dark night, the window of an upstairs bedroom - two blocks away from the setting of this story’s events to present - slid open. Through it, a sequined, green tortoise poked its long head, checking that everything was as she expected it to be. The rest of her followed, the toy’s plodding, deliberate movements accentuated as she exhibited a need for caution and therefore silence. When her whole body was through the tiny gap, she unfastened the length of string that she’d used to scale the side of the house before reattaching it to the inside window handle. She climbed up the glass with her front legs, dragging the window closed with a gentle click, before abseiling down the inside of the wall.
She lamented how slow everything was. Dreamer had always wished for faster action than her slow body, and the even slower world around it, would allow. That was never more true than right now, as she neared the end of her masterplan. Her finest accomplishment. She and the rest of the Nephews would steal everything, and - now that Bax had been won around to their line of thinking and was willing to help them - there was nothing that could stop them. She only lamented how slow everything was.
As she touched down upon the laminate flooring of the child’s bedroom, she gave her string a yank to loosen its fastening and then rolled it up so that she could carry it across the room. As she went, she could hear the soft, gentle snoring of the sleeping child. She knew that her name was Keisha, and that she was seven years old, and that she went to the same elementary school as Doub. She knew what colour the bed sheets were before she’d even left Sid’s house. Her preparation was thorough. Keisha’s bedtime was eight in the evening and they were well beyond midnight, now. All that remained was the interminably slow traversal of the laminate flooring on route to the tall, expertly wrapped box in the other corner of the room.
The wrapping paper followed a rainbow theme on both the box and the lid, and she was pleased to find no pesky ribbons. They were difficult to reapply from inside the present. She began to uncoil her string as she reached the box, proceeding to climb up the side of it, even more careful now through risk of toppling the box or, even worse, waking the child in this most crucial of moments.
Delicate and dextrous, she pushed the lid off the top of the box and made an opening in the corner of it. She dropped her rope in first, and then jumped in after it. There was no chance of delicacy in her entrance. She ran a risk of awakening the present - whatever it was - and having to deal with the ensuing resistance. Fortunately, though, the brand new doll’s slumber was deep. Dreamer observed the small figurine: a vampire wearing a purple and black mask. Fine detailing. Good workmanship. A nice addition to the toy box, she concluded, before beginning to tie a noose in the end of her rope.
As quietly as she could, she climbed back up the side of the box, holding the other end of her string tightly as she did. When she slid down the other side, the rope became taut, the noose tightened, and the figurine was pulled up from the floor and finally woken. Dreamer heard the struggle, but couldn’t see it from the other side of the box, and kept her gaze intent on the sleeping child throughout the short, gruesome ordeal. When the struggling stopped, she retrieved the broken toy and carried it back outside to bury it. This was no easy task for a slow-moving quadruped, but Dreamer felt she owed the vampire a proper burial, at least.
Afterwards, she climbed back through the window and into the box, pulling the lid closed on top of it. Then, she waited. The party was tomorrow.
“Look at that one!” Jax the Dinosaur said, as he and a dozen other toys pressed their noses against Doub’s bedroom window. He pointed towards a large sack that was being carried by both of a young boy’s parents as the family walked up the driveway. “It’s huge! That can’t just be one toy?!”
“Such expert wrapping,” Wolfy added, whilst nodding towards a beautifully presented box and lid covered in rainbow paper. “Humans exhibit such neatness at such an early age.”
“It’s their parents,” Sergeant Savage reasoned. “The parents wrap the presents, the children open the presents. That’s the way it works.”
“Such bizarre customs,” Wolfy mused, whilst twirling the end of her whiskers with a paw.
“You don’t need to pull a muscle trying to look out of that window,” Sheriff Best said, as he arrived atop the dresser and pulled each of his comrades away from the glass. “Doub’s mother won’t let him open any of them until after the party. It’s the same every year. They’ll get stored up here, and we’ll get to take a proper look at all of the new additions without running the risk of falling down the back of a wardrobe.”
“Don’t remind me,” the Wolf shuddered as her mind was drawn back to her long months wedged behind the bed, the Sheriff uselessly looking for her in all the wrong places.
“That’s the last of them,” the sheriff said, decisively. During their reconnaissance, Sergeant Savage had infiltrated the kitchen to leaf through the invitation list. Everyone they were expecting had already arrived. “To your positions. They’ll be bringing them up any minute now.”
Best was, as usual, quite right. The boxes were all lined up against the wall next to the bed, and from on top of the sheets the sheriff watched Doub reach longingly for one of them. His mother took him by the outstretched hand and led him back downstairs to his guests, placating him with promises of forthcoming cake. When the door clicked closed, Sheriff Best sat up straight and turned his head towards the boxes. Over a dozen in all. More than he’d expected… but the more, the merrier, he reasoned. What could possibly go wrong.
He buffed up his five-pointed badge as he led the way towards the boxes. He fixed a welcoming smile upon his face, coming to a stop only a few paces away from the presents. He cleared his throat, the rest of the toys arriving behind him, a sense of communal curiosity overcoming the group.
“Greetings, new friends!” the sheriff declared, with his hands on his hips and his chest puffed out. “My name is Sheriff Best, and I’m here to welcome you all to Doub’s bedroom!”
A few moments of silence, during which the sheriff’s smile faltered.
And then, four identically wrapped presents burst open, and from these violently forged openings came a quartet of near-identical hulking action figures. They were clones but for the varying deformities that were not immediately apparent to the suddenly fearful toys in Doub’s bedroom. The clones drove in formation into a large number of little green soldiers under Sergeant Savage’s command, the army men overwhelmed by the unforeseen attack. As the rest of the toys recoiled from this ambush, yet more boxes were torn open, a violent skirmish suddenly breaking out as more and more abominations erupted onto their until-then calm shores. The sheriff was knocked off his feet by a mechanical octopus that almost seemed to drop from the sky and roll into a mass of green army men, and then had to throw himself out of the path of a blast from a wizard’s staff that tore right through the unsuspecting Speak&Spell.
As Sheriff Best pushed himself up onto his feet, his confusion only grew at the sight of Bax Lightspeed walking towards him with a focussed but conflicted grimace etched upon his face. Before the cowboy could do anything to defend himself, Bax’s hand wrapped around his throat, and Best was lifted half a metre from the floor. He looked to his left, where a pink astronaut plushy was opening up what seemed like temporal vortexes, through which large numbers of green army men promptly disappeared. On his right, another cowboy - an older model known as Sheriff Gerald that Best felt sure they’d stopped making years ago - was single-handedly dealing with both Jax the Dinosaur and Sergeant Savage. There was destruction all around him.
He locked eyes with Bax. The man he used to call his friend, until he’d had to turn his back on him. Behind the astronaut, an unfamiliar tortoise made its slow, plodding approach, coming to a stop at Lightspeed’s shoulder. As the sheriff observed his old friend, he noticed the scratches and scars that now covered his frame. He understood that this was not the same Bax Lightspeed that he’d banished from Doub’s bedroom.
“It’s time to finish him, Bax,” the tortoise said. She sensed what the sheriff sensed: that Lightspeed could’ve popped his head off his shoulders seconds ago, but was being held back by something that neither he nor the tortoise controlled. Something that was coming from inside of him. “Before he has the chance to weasel himself out of it.”
“You… you… you…” the sheriff started, though his voice was gargled and hard to understand. He felt Bax’s grip loosen. Only slightly. Just enough to allow him to speak. “You don’t have to do this.”
“He didn’t leave you any other choice,” the tortoise added. The angel and devil on Bax’s shoulders were made real: one at his mercy, and the other insisting he show none. “This is all that he has left you with.”
“You’re not this man, Bax,” the sheriff argued. Lightspeed was unsure if the words were felt, or if they were last gasp efforts of a dying man.
“Can I come back?” he asked, his grip loosening slightly again. The sheriff looked around himself at the carnage. Jax, Speak&Spell, and the Sergeant lay dead. Wolfy was being overwhelmed by a half-dozen assailants, the octopus sinking his vile tendrils through his soft, white fur. Best looked Bax in the eye and shook his head.
“You can’t come back from this,” he said. And then, Lightspeed’s grip tightened and tightened and tightened, until the sheriff’s head popped from his shoulders.
Upon returning to Sid's bedroom, the Nephews and Bax found that they were exhausted following the day's exploits, and quite quickly drifted to sleep. Lightspeed's slumber was particularly restless and tortured, and a number of times he found himself reliving the moment when Sheriff Best's eyes had filled with fear. Fear for his own life, and fear for what his old friend had turned into. Bax felt ridden by guilt, repulsed by his own power, and frightened by the strange ecstasy that had overcome him in this moment of unthinking, vengeful belligerence.
Mostly, though, he felt that he was being pulled in a direction by forces outside of himself. Both towards the light and into the darkness: none of these choices seemed like ones that he himself had made. His agency had been taken away from him, and he found it a struggle to remember a time when his actions had been his own.
This feeling of being pulled in an unchosen direction by external forces became more literal upon his awakening. It appeared that he had been dragged from his resting place and denied his uneasy slumber. He was now strapped into a chair by tight bonds around his limbs and his torso. A bright light was shining in his eyes, and it was difficult to make out the figure of the tortoise standing in front of him. Only two green eyes were immediately visible, though soon enough his eyes adjusted and Dreamer's sinister frame became apparent. The rest of the Nephews assembled ominously behind her.
"What's going on?" Bax stuttered, though the question was limply asked and remained unanswered. Dreamer smiled at him, as kindly as ever.
"You played your role admirably," Dreamer said. "It's almost a shame that this final part of the plan is necessary."
"It isn't," Lightspeed replied, with desperation in her voice. "I'm one of you now. This is just the beginning. Whatever you have in mind… you don't have to do it."
"I'm afraid that we do, Bax," Dreamer answered, with a slight hint of mockery beginning to enter her voice. "We are grateful for what you've done, and the steps that you've made. But… you're stuck in-between. Too racked by guilt and shaken by shame to really make it here with us… but too self-interested and self-serving to be accepted by them. This isn't your place. Nor do you belong back there. There comes a point where you have to accept a hard but simple truth: that there is no place for you, Bax Lightspeed."
"But I can learn," Bax pleaded. "I'm learning already."
"It's too late, Bax," she said. "Just throw yourself in."
The tortoise stepped up to Bax’s chair and raised up on her hind legs. She lifted her front set of limbs towards the astronaut, and his attempts to back away on his chair were thwarted by a pair of unseen Nephews at his back. As Lightspeed stared down at Dreamer’s encroaching claws, he noticed the green scales beginning to recede. Instead, the pale white skin of a human hand was groping towards him, its touch icy and hostile against his plastic chest.
The hand applied more pressure, and he watched his chest begin to cave in and splinter around the point of impact. Within moments, the hand’s cold digits were groping around inside of him. He struggled and screamed, but his struggles and screams were futile. He was flailing in a harsh, winter wind. A quiet storm brought about by the woman whose touch now tore right through him.
And, when he lifted his eyes to behold his killer, he saw that it was a woman. Beautiful but cold, treacherous as the ocean’s wrath, more powerful than Mother Nature herself. Her eyes were old and hard and knowing, and they broke him before he could prepare himself for this onslaught upon his senses.
She tore her hand from his chest and he fell to his knees: no longer constricted, no longer a doll, no longer a plaything to be controlled. His only master stood before him. He could see her wrestling boots. He was bleeding on them, and on the ring mat beneath. Blood dripped onto the back of his head, too, and when he looked up he realised that it was coming from his still-beating heart, which Dreamer held aloft for him to see. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:33:52 GMT
Originally posted by AON.
Soooooooo...
I once got fired from being a Pizza girl for being hours late delivering Pizzas.
An evil mime held me up.
This is going somewhere, I swear. Just stick with me here.
I still remember the order, two large pepperoni Pizzas and a coke; I was only in the job for...I wanna say..Two weeks? Three weeks? Something like that and I was kinda sort of but not really on sorta thin ice already. I got complaints because I kept making conversations at the door, like, "HI! I'M LIZZIE! I GOT YOUR PIE! DO YOU LIKE PIZZA? I LIKE PIZZA TOO, THAT'S CRAZY! WHAT'S YOUR FAVOURITE PIZZA? WHERE DO YOU STAND ON PINEAPPLE?" that kind of thing. The problem was...Honestly, I'm not sure what the problem was, but I would get complaints like
"I think that Pizza girl is some kind of alien or cult leader; I just wanted to collect my pizza, give her a tip and go, but I ended up talking to her for three hours straight and telling her all my deepest secrets, by the time I ate my Pizza it was stone cold, and I agreed to make her my maid of honour. She's too likeable, it's creepy!"
For the record, that day was lovely, great cake. I cried at the wedding, but I digress.
The point is I was already on the hit list when this happened. I'm walking down a street down Manhatten, one of the more busy streets, it was peak tourist times, so there were a ton of street performers out, magicians, buskers that kind of thing. I tried to give coins where I could, but I was very aware of the clock and that I needed to run if I was going to make it to the customer.
It was then a mime stood in front of me.
I kinda just smiled at him and tried to walk by, but he met my step, I tried to walk by again, but he blocked me again, and he started doing that whole invisible wall routine. You know the one I me, where he placed his hands up like he's blocked by a wall only he could see? This guy was doing it, but only this wall was around me like this guy was acting like there was a wall around me; he was doing this whole thing where he kept going in to shake my hand or hug me, but he kept bouncing off "the wall" over and over again, there was a small crowd gathered around that was laughing and applauding, so I tried to play along, but after a beat, I tried to leave and walk by, pass "The wall" but the moment I did? The crowd started to boo; I mean, of course they did; I was ruining the immersion. I was killing his act, I was killing the vibe. So I mean-What,could I do? I didn't want to upset the mime. He might be one of those magic mimes that could put a weird artsy curse on me. Don't tell me they can't do that. They're freaky. Super freaky.
So I stayed there for his whole act, caught behind an invisible imaginary wall for a good two hours. The customer never got his pizza, and ol' Lizzie Rose has lost another job.
Incidentally, that's not even the first time I lost a job, thanks to having an awkward encounter with a mime. Before I finally got into wrestling, I've had like twelve different jobs, and I lost most of them thanks to interfering mimes and their weaponized imagination, but that's another story for another day.
So, what's my point? Why I'm, I telling you this? What does this have to do with anything?
I'm used to falling on my butt because, recently, that feels like that's all I've been doing. I got screwed over by Bryan Baxter out of the North American title, AND I was so damn close to getting to the final four and ...well...who knows what might have happened to me after that? But that didn't happen again because of Big Bryan Baxter, and you might think I'm complaining; you might think I hold a grudge against Big Bryan Baxter. But I don't. He's not the first person to knock me down, and he won't be the last; that's where my strength lies. I may not be the biggest or the strongest, but absolutely no one can roll with the punches like me. I mean, look at where I was at the start of 2022. I couldn't buy an appearance on TV, and I was seconds away from being fired and fast forward. Eleven months later, I beat Gabby at Back in Business, and I won The North American title. So I can handle what I've been through for the last few weeks. I know I can; I've been through worse, and no one believes in any one person in the wrestling world more than I believe in myself. So this whole thing with BBB is nothing new..but it does give me something to prove. I don't want to be handed anything in this life; I've earned everything I got. So while I appreciate Bryan Baxter accepting my challenge (Begrudgely..but whatever) I feel like this week in the final four is my chance to earn my rematch for the North American title.
So Peacock, XYZ, Tommy. Beatrix's, I ain't got no problem with any of you guys, I know I'm not going to get any cheap shots from any of you, and I got people like my boi Joe backing me up, so I'm feeling good and confident and to be honest? Winning will be nice. I'd want to win, but my main goal? Is to stand out. To impress, to make people think of Lizzie Rose when they think of this tag match. That's what this is about. Earning a place in the fans' minds and proving I've earned a shot at the NA title
2023; Year of the Rave
-LR
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:34:12 GMT
Originally posted by Cyrus. Exile Chronicles (Volume 5)
Chapter 14: The GrindOur scene opens in a dark room, with an old-school tube television set with a third or fourth generation-style gaming console sitting right in front of it, three or four feet away from a simple wooden chair. No other features are visible in this room, nothing else can be seen.
The TV comes to life, seemingly on its own. On its screen, we see a quick recap of the F1 Climaxxx Tournament, which had finalized its final four with the conclusion of the most recent episodes of Meltdown and Fallout. Now, with the first Fight Night in over a year, two semifinal matches will commence, with Bryan Baxter taking on Michelle von Horrowitz and Chris Peacock facing FWA World Heavyweight Champion Alyster Black.
…except, not quite.
Alyster Black, attempting to close the book on his rivalry with Devin Golden and put the final nail in Golden’s unparalleled career, granted the Rotten Gold one final shot at the FWA World Championship. It was supposed to be Alyster’s finest moment before finishing up his run in the Climaxxx.
But, Devin Golden is nothing if not tenacious, even with his claims that his career was heading towards its final bend in the road. Alyster would lose. Devin Golden would become a five-time World Champion, and Chris Peacock would bow out of the tournament to cash in his Golden Opportunity to accomplish what Alyster was unable to do…put down a hated rival and leave as FWA World Champion.
Before we see the updated brackets, the screen on the television flickers as we hear the whining of electronics coming from the gaming console. We see various publisher and developer logos pass by until we come to a game title screen: A figure approaches and has a seat at the chair. There’s a controller connected to the console by a long cable at the foot of the chair, and the figure bends down to grab it.
The camera pans around and we see the face of the man who, up until Chris Peacock decided to take his shot, was on the outside looking in after Bryan Baxter and his weasley manager threw every underhanded tactic at him to prevent him from ending Baxter’s unblemished run in the Climaxxx.
We see the face of Cyrus Truth, noticeably bruised from where Bill Scorpane cracked him with Baxter’s North American Title. There’s a grimness in Cyrus’s expression. For weeks, anger has been driving him, anger that the World Title has continued to elude him and his attempts to secure a shot at the belt. Fury that Devin Golden was practically gifted a title opportunity on the foolish pretense of retirement and closure for the now former champion…
Which, with hindsight, now seems somewhat justified given the outcome of that match.
Still, the anger isn’t QUITE what it normally is. Whether this is due to his opponent or the nature by which he now finds himself with life in this tournament again, it’s hard to say.
Nevertheless, The Exile takes a deep breath and sighs as he turns to look at the camera, holding up the controller.“Well…no sense in wasting any time, right? Let’s get started. We’ve got a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it.”Cyrus presses a button on the controller and we shift focus back to the TV screen.
The game has begun…*******After leaving the title screen, we see that we’re sitting on the character selection screen. This game appears to be a role-playing game of some variety, where players choose one of four available heroes to run through the game with.
We see the four heroes as Cyrus cycles through them.
One is a hooded rogue-like figure, which the game describes as balanced with no noticeable strengths or weaknesses.
Next is a massive, broad-shouldered titan of a figure. The game claims that this hero boasts the highest physical strength, but lacks guile and wisdom.
The third is a feminine-looking figure with a very slight frame, which seems to be more predicated to mental stats like intelligence and charisma, at the expense of willpower and physical might.
And the fourth?
Well, we don’t really see. It looks like it’s wearing some kind of a mask of sorts, and the game only describes it as “The Wild Card.” Its description is just a series of question marks.
Cyrus, after lingering on the first of the heroes for a little longer than the second or third, eventually rests his selection cursor over the fourth.“I’ve been told that this upcoming match between myself and Alyster Black is supposedly some kind of a dream match.”We hear the pressing of a button and the little chime that denotes that a selection has been made. As the opening text crawl begins, just out of focus to where we can’t make out the words, we turn back to Cyrus. “I suppose you could see it that way. After all, over a decade between two different companies, this match is the first one-on-one contest between the two of us. A man who’s held World Championship gold in every company he’s ever competed in against the man who was FWA’s most recent champion up until last Fallout. A veteran struggling to return to the pinnacle against a man who has captivated the hearts of the FWA faithful on his own march towards the top of the mountain, having only just been knocked off it.“People like to talk about how Alyster Black has truly come into his own over the last few months since returning to the ring in FWA, how he’s finally broken out of the shadow of his dear friend to become a true force of nature. The Truth is, Alyster Black has always been a talented wrestler. Anyone who has any sense could’ve seen that when the Gang Stars were dominating the tag team wrestling scene back in CWA. Alyster was never carried, never rode Krash’s coattails to prominence. More than a handful of matches were ended by a Satan’s Spike just as they were from Krash’s flying elbow or spear.“So…I get it. But at the same time…”The game begins properly.
After a bit of introduction, we see the masked figure, this “Wild Card” head out into the wilderness of this fantasy world. Accompanied by what can only be presumed as a temporary party member assigned by the game to help ease new players into the gameplay, the Wild Card gets into their first series of battles against bandits, monsters, and various other fantasy creatures.
We start to see that this masked figure is…almost unnaturally strong for this portion of the game. There’s something about this particular character that just excels against the early-game creatures. Whether it’s due to incredible base stats or some other hidden ability of this character, it’s hard to say.
Eventually, the temporary character stops following the Wild Card, going off on what it says is its own journey for some reason or another. The Wild Card is left alone to wander the game world and seek its own destiny.“The thing about this match…if I’m being completely honest, it shouldn’t be happening. I can sit here and justifiably complain that Bryan Baxter only defeated me because of that slime Scorpane, but I did lose. The only reason people are getting this “dream match” is because Alyster failed to settle the score with Devin and lost the World Title, and Chris Peacock decided to try and do what Alyster couldn’t in getting some closure against The Rotten Gold by cashing in his Golden Opportunity.“If I’m being honest, this whole thing has left a bitter taste in my mouth at the sheer cavalcade of ridiculousness that brought us to this point. I’m well aware of my own failings in this, as well. But the fact remains that we’re getting this match, and I’m certain that plenty of FWA’s faithful are eagerly anticipating it.“Still, I can’t help but wonder…what took us this long to have this match?”We return to the game.
Now alone, the early game ease has been replaced as the game enters what appears to be a massive difficulty spike. Battles that were so easy with the Wild Card’s accomplice now are incredibly challenging. It doesn’t make sense at first, until Cyrus accesses the main menu and we read the special ability of the Wild Card:“This Hero is prone to wild stat changes. It has the potential to be the strongest of the Heroes, but is incredibly inconsistent. Use at your own risk!”Unable to brute force his way past a challenging boss monster, Cyrus is forced to retreat and end the battle, before controlling the Wild Card to return to the hub city.“Over 10 years, and this is the first time Alyster and I have had a singles match against one another. It’s not the first time we’ve fought, mind you. That would’ve been the 4 Way match for Krash’s North American Title a while ago. If I recall correctly, I tapped Alyster out in that match to win the title, but I could be mistaken. Regardless, that’s not the point. The point is, it’s strange that for all the talk of this being a dream match, one would think it would’ve happened already.“Then again, it wasn’t a dream match ten years ago. I was the CWA World Champion and the man considered to be the best in that company, yes…but who was Alyster Black? After losing the tag titles, Krash would go on to have a titanic run en route to becoming CWA World Champion himself, accumulating titles and honors and solidifying his own legend.
“Alyster Black was…gone. Nowhere to be seen until he eventually resurfaced in FWA relatively recently. And to the man’s credit, he has gone on to accumulate his own collection of titles with another Tag Title reign, his X Division Title that he still holds, and the World Title that he recently won and lost. I suppose it could be said that Alyster Black has come into his own since coming to FWA. He certainly has built up a loyal and dedicated following amongst the FWA fans and even the locker room.“But again…I can’t help but look deeper into things. It’s always been hard for me to just accept things at face value. And it would be a disservice to a talented wrestler like Alyster Black to not dig past the facade he’s built for himself…”Back to the game.
The Wild Card is still in the hub city, trying to replenish his resources. However, his ability continues to hinder him, preventing him from having the strength to venture out.
He could venture back to the earlier areas and fight the monsters there, certainly. The game awards experience points for winning battles and, even with the Wild Card’s current lowly stats, they could be overcome without much risk of a game over. Although, the experience gained from such low-level enemies would certainly be paltry in comparison to the more level-appropriate creatures.
Cyrus, scoffing, tries to move the Wild Card back out of the city to head back to potentially level grind. However…the Wild Card isn’t responding to Cyrus’s inputs. It just…stays in the city. A text blurb says something to the degree that this particular Hero is more than content to wait for a better day. The Exile rolls his eyes at this.“Alyster Black could be one of the most prolific wrestlers of a generation. The mistake people are making is that they assume he’s already there. After all, he’s a World Champion, right? No, wait…former World Champion. Important distinction, as I well know. “Blacky Dos Belts,” “Aly Black ain’t nuthin’ to fuck with,” and all sort of other rallying cries to signify that he has the ability to be the next leader of the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance.
“Hype is a funny thing. At its best, it can push a wrestler to excellence, to push past their limits to achieve incredible feats. But hype is a dangerous tool to rely on. Buy too much into it, and you leave yourself blinded to certain realities. And that’s the problem with Alyster Black. As talented as he is, as much as he’s accomplished in a short time since his debut in FWA…look a little past the surface and you can see that Alyster is incredibly inconsistent."Cyrus saves the game, and creates a new save file. This time, he chooses the Rogue Hero, the one that is supposed to be balanced, no strengths or weaknesses unlike the others.
We replay the early game. This time, the Rogue isn’t as stupidly overpowered as the Wild Card was. It takes some struggle to get through the early game, especially without the support of the NPC that the Wild Card had. This Hero stands alone…
…and yet, the Rogue powers through. Cyrus even has the Rogue spend some extra time in the early levels, in spite of the struggle, to gain more experience before taking the next step in the journey. As Cyrus continues to play, even with his eyes focused on the game, The Exile continues to speak.“Alyster…I know why you wear that mask. Not because you’re trying to hide from anybody…but because you’re trying to hide from yourself. There’s a reason why so many heroes in fiction like to wear masks. Because…it’s easier. It’s so much easier to become what you dream of being when you’re able to shroud your face. I don’t blame you for that, Aly. Not at all. After all, the mask you wear these days reminds me of an old friend of mine, and it would be hypocritical of me to judge you solely on that.“But what I do judge you on is the fact that, when things got difficult in CWA? You walked away.
“When you had the chance to break away from Krash to forge your own path? You fumbled the ball.
“And when you found your footing and began to make the push towards the top of the mountain? You stumbled, and lost what you couldn’t take from Danny Toner to a man who left you scarred.
“Because there is one fundamental difference between you and I, Alyster. And it is that difference that resulted in this match not happening until now. See, despite what anybody might think? I’ve never been the most talented wrestler in any of the companies I’ve competed in. I don’t have the physical skills or the charisma to sway the masses and generate the kind of hype that you and so many others have.“What I’ve achieved, what I’ve accomplished was due to understanding one universal Truth. If you want something…if you desire to be the absolute best? If you’re truly committed to achieving excellence, you have to commit yourself to the grind in order to be strong enough to not only achieve your goals, but hold on to what you’ve acquired.”Cyrus pauses the game. He stands up tall and straight as he stands rigid like a statue. His arms are crossed behind him he stares daggers into the camera. Behind him, we see the character-select screen again…although Cyrus wasn’t the one who initiated it. The cursor continues to flicker between the Rogue and the Wild Card.“I’ve been successful in ways so many of my peers haven’t been. And while I have been fortunate in several ways, my successes are due far more to my efforts to press forward, to continue to grind and struggle until I’ve broken through, until what I desire is mine and what was lost is reclaimed. When things got rough in CWA, and I found myself assaulted by shadows in the dark, I never left. When the past three years have been nothing but hardships and struggles to not just reclaim the World Title, but to even have a shot at it? I never walked away. I stayed. Even when so many claimed that my time was over, even when many of the FWA faithful in spite of their cheers look at me and wonder why I don’t step back and reassess or even just retire with the legacy I’ve already built? I never stopped fighting, never stopped grinding.“And I won’t stop. I CAN’T stop, Alyster. Not until I’ve proven to FWA, to the wrestlers and fans, and hell…even to myself that I still CAN. That is the fundamental difference between us, Aly. There’s not a single soul watching or competing in FWA that can claim that my heart isn’t into fighting, into competing and pressing forward in spite of the hardships.
“Can you honestly say the same?
“Can you look deep into your heart, past the hype, past the high of your most recent successes and say that you have the resolve to stick through the lean time, the hard times? Or will this most recent loss to Devin Golden, so soon after stumbling into the World Title after the man you couldn’t beat for it had to abdicate it, freeze you with uncertainty and fear? Will you rise past the pain and grind to reclaim what’s yours…or just walk away from the struggle, as you had before?
“Either way, I suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end. Because you’re not getting another shot at the World Title.
“Because you don’t deserve it.
“Because you’ve had plenty of shots at it and have nothing left to show for it.“And I’ve waited long enough.”The game shudders as the masked Wild Card vanishes from the character selection screen. The cursor hovers over the Rogue player icon and flashes, pulsing like a heartbeat.“I can’t say I’m fond of how we got here, but I would be a fool to let this opportunity pass me by. This dream match is going to be an absolute nightmare for Alyster Black. Aly, you’re not going to find redemption here. You’ve been able to do a lot of great things in your time in FWA, and you have the scars to prove you’re tough when you need to be. But you haven’t struggled like I’ve struggled. You’ve not felt pain, disappointment, and despair like I have. And you haven’t had to overcome it, unlike how I’ve had to conquer it just to survive in this world of ours.“I’ve been grinding like hell the last three years, Aly. Grinding and struggling, trying to remain relevant in an environment that has long wanted me to vanish into obscurity. Suffered pain both physical and spiritual when it seems like the world wanted to let me fade away. All for the sake of the prize. All for the sake of reclaiming the FWA World Championship and proving that I’m not done, not something or someone to be cast aside and ignored. This match, this opportunity that has fallen into my lap? I will make the most of it.
“I’m going to crush you completely, Aly. Because to do anything less, to leave anything to chance by holding back out of some level of respect? Well…that just won’t do.“And besides…I have my own scores to settle…”Cyrus walks away from the television set, out of the light and back into the shadow.
And we see the cursor flicker and switch between the Titan and the Waif, the other two Heroes we’ve yet to see.
It has been said that Alyster Black facing Cyrus Truth is a dream match. A match that hadn’t happened despite one thinking it should have.
But to The Exile, regardless of perceptions? It’s a matter of necessity and opportunity.
Alyster Black may be talented, may be the new darling of FWA…but who is the masked man when he’s stripped of his greatest accomplishment, without his best friend to uplift him?
That’s the ultimate question, isn’t it?
On Fight Night, however, that question won’t be answered.
Because Cyrus Truth has grinded for a long time for this shot, this next step towards reclamation and redemption, and is not about to let anyone, anything, or any preconceived notions of what SHOULD be stop him from achieving what he desires.
The game is far from over for the Wayward Warrior.
And for Alyster Black?
It’s game over. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:34:33 GMT
Originally posted by TGO. [HEADING=1] [/HEADING] I don’t remember how I got here, but I’m laying face-up in my bed with my eyes wide open. Did I just wake up? This doesn’t look like my room, even the room in my coma dream. Oh well. Might as well begin my day!
As I outstretch my arms and legs, I feel rested. I feel, in a way, rejuvenated. I can feel the smile on my face. I feel my cheeks popping out a bit.
Next thing I know, I’m outside. It’s bright and sunny. Beautiful day. Just beautiful. There are some nondescript buildings across the street. The sidewalks are filled with nameless faces – and mostly faceless … non-names?
Then it hits me: I’m the Mayor of FWA town! It’s Day 1 of my new tenure! This is a cause for a big walk down the road.
I begin high-stepping my knees and legs, my upper body leaning back like a member of a marching band. I pump my arms and the same big smile persists.
Everyone walking by is looking oddly at me, but who cares? I’m the Mayor again! Off to FWA City Hall to begin my fifth tenure! FIFTH! Thankfully, the people entrusted me with this duty.
Ahhhh, Lizzie Rose is coming! She has been one of the my best friends, although more distant lately. That happens.
“Mayor Golden … oh boy that has a nice ring to it! .. how are you doing?! How are you on this glorious day?!” Lizzie yells, disrupting the nameless and faceless sidewalk-walkers.
“I’m glooooorious … my friend. And how … are you?” I say in response.
“I’m great! I finally have a chance to rejoin the City Council. Election against Bryan Baxter is soon! How cool is that?!”
“It’s cool as a cucumber, Lizzie! Cool-cool-COOLIO!”
Lizzie Rose is reliable, if not a bit quirky, even for FWA land. Even for me. That’s alright, though. Quirky is good. We need more of it here.
One of Lizzie’s good friends – but not one of mine – Joe Burr, walks up to us along the sidewalk.
“Joe Burr! JOBBER! GET IT?!”
“I’m going to fight a bear!” Joe Burr says, clenching his fists and putting on his scariest face.
“A bear, eh?”
“A bear AND an ostrich?”
“Oh yeah? Iiiiiiiiiiinterestiiiiiiiiing.”
“AT THE SAME TIME, TOO!”
I nod my head and change the topic.
“Can I coooooount on your voooooote in the upcoming eleeeeeection?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Joe Burr says. “I’m a peripheral character created by someone else!”
“Who?” I ask, not nearly as shocked Lizzie seems to be, although Lizzie is always shocked.
“Who knows?!” Joe Burr says. “I am not sentient yet! Lizzie, will I vote for Mayor Golden?”
“I think you should!” she says. “You definitely shouldn’t vote for Chris Peacock! That’d make no sense!”
Ever since becoming sentient in my comatose dream, I've been smarter at recognizing dreams within my dream, too. I realize this is a dream and while this dream Lizzie Rose is similar to the FWA coma world Lizzie Rose, it's not actually her. Same for Joe Burr, who stomps off to fight the wild animals he has in his sight. I want to wish him well, but he isn't important enough.
“Maybe he’s another of your peripheral characters, Mayor Golden!” Lizzie says, a bit loudly, but she’s always loud. I welcome it.
“I think Sauce Guy was my ooooonly joke.”
Lastly, Kayden Knox walks up to myself and Lizzie Rose. Kayden is the tallest of us all – including Joe Burr – but he always seems unsure of himself. Kayden tries to put on a face of confidence and strength.
"Are you also a peripheral character?" Lizzie asks Kayden.
"A perficiator-what?" he says.
"Nevermiiiiind. What dooooo you have to saaaay today, Kayden? A chaaaaaracter change?"
“I made sure Gabrielle was removed from FWA town and will never be seen again!” he yells, pounding his bare chest like a caveman. Kayden Knox then walks over to a nearby thrift shop, picks up a vase, and smashes it over his head.
“I did not vote for you, Mayor Golden. In fact, I did not vote at all. They're all bad! All politicians are bad!” he screams before speed-walking to a nearby payphone on the sidewalk to call his therapist to tell him about the interaction.
“Ahhhhh. Well theeeeeeen.”
I’m glad he’s on my side momentarily, if only because of his brute strength. Reagan Cole is also around.
I know I don’t have much time left to spend in FWA land. I know this is my last run as Mayor of FWA town. I also know there are regular elections and if I don’t do my part as Mayor, then I will be unseated, just as I unseated the most recent former mayor, Alyster Black.
I also know the next time I’m unseated will be when I leave FWA town forever. I’ll have to be Mayor to all the FWA town residents to keep this seat for as long as I want.
Then again, do I really want to hold it for that long? No. Ah, across the street is my first challenger in the upcoming run of elections: Chris Peacock. He looks across the road at me with a scowl. He then shouts something incoherent at me. I smile and wave back at him.
I see some of his top supporters: XYZ, Tommy Bedlam, Kleio de Santos, and Bellatrix Bordeaux. What is there to say about these four? One of them I created. One of them hates the person I made. The other two seem nice! I hope they do well here.
I don’t see Alyster Black anywhere. I wonder if Alyster is OK. I hope he is!
Anyways off to FWA City Hall.
Ah shit. I feel myself waking up. This was fun! I hope I win the re-election against Chris Peacock, but if I don’t, that’s alright! |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:34:55 GMT
Originally posted by OMB. From:
MLOHotshotMaxwell@Gmail.com
To:
KaydenKnox93@yahoo.com
Dear Mr. Knox,
I know how you must feel right now, that everything you love has come crashing down. You feel down on your luck? I get that you feel pretty helpless, I know I would. Do understand that no one is to blame for this other than yourself. My client your boss per say will be watching this match at final four with eager eyes and has an agenda for you in this match. You're going to be teaming up with the new FWA World Champion Devin Golden. My client suggest that when your in this match you watch him closely. Mr. Golden is a key figure in FWA; we are very intrigued by Devin. He is a legend, a man whom you could learn a great deal from. He's someone's who's past could start to creep on him.
That is not the only person you should be aware of. There's another one who shares in our common intrest. One who my client has just had a meeting with. Is it friend or foe? How does that old saying go? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Mr. Knox you have a history with numerous wrestlers in this match. Reagan Cole, XYZ, Kleio De Santos, and Lizzie Rose. The latter maybe more due to your former relationship with Ms. Montgomery but, we digress.
How will you do having to team with a man who took away your tag team championship? Can you co-exist? Does the memories start overwhelm? I mean did he take away the biggest accomplishment of your life? I know that if I was in your shoes I couldn't. I know that my client is deeply dissatisfied and disappointed that you couldn't get the job done. Thats not the only one you could seem to finish off either is it? King Of The Deathmatch. The barbwire crown just out of your reach. My client was impressed at your showings at it but we all know who the true star of that match was. Ms. De Santos, the very one who defeated you and moved onto the finals. Sure, she fell short but she was able to move on from it. She was able to learn from her mistakes. You on the other hand; that is where you could pinpoint your descent from atonement to addiction. You never came back from the island the same man. My client could see that bright as day.
XYZ seems to be the only one that you have some sort of closure with. You defeated him and were able to close that chapter. Now here he is once again and proving that the dream never dies.
Lizzie Rose, do you think she enjoyed seeing the assault of her former mentor? I mean even if they had come to blows in the back of her mind she probably has some sort of grudge against you. I mean the way she had to watch in the back as her head got caved in likely changed any animosity. I mean that attack you wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy. Lizzie Rose learned so much from Ms. Montgomery and much of her success could be associated with her time facing her and learning.
Then of course we have The wildcards and the man; with the briefcase who throws a wrench in any plans Mr. Peacock. Chris opportunity to cash in at any moment does peak curiosity. Is he truly the man he says he is? My client doesn't seem to think so and believes sooner or later Chris will go back on his word. The boogeyman always hides from the light. My client believes that much like the ring from the Lord Of The Ring series, the siren call will eventually cause him to circum to his true nature. Bellatrix is a new face, but still she has had echoes of herself inside FWA for months. A smile that hides a torn future is worth a look. Then there of course is the man known as Tommy Bedlam. Tommy was in a similar place you were Mr. Knox. He seems to be on the rise, his cards on the table the man is going all in on what could be a banner year 2023. My client believes that there is some fear behind the cowboys eyes. His mind preoccupied?
There is one more thing Mr. Knox as I get to the end of this letter to you. I want to go back to what I said at the beginning of my letter. I told you, that no one is to blame for the situation that you are in besides yourself. That may not be a hundred percent the case. I am not to blame of course and neither as my client, we saw a opportunity and jumped on it. The hand you were dealt, the dealer is the one that you should be angry at. Who gave you that contract? My client knows that the sins of the father; should be passed upon the son. Mr. Knox think about it, I probably said too much. I suppose in some ways I pity you. It must be quite the roller-coaster your life. I mean you know all to well about a reaching a peak high and then to come crashing down back to earth. That is the story of your career, is it not? My client asked me to accompany you to the ring at Final Four as well. So I imagine, I will get to see a prime demonstration of that free fall.
See You Soon,
Maxwell Lester
Attorney at Law
PS: We are also going to be changing the Executive Execution name. You can go to think of it as a rebranding. I told my client, that calling it the Caramel Wail would be a excellent choice. :lol You know maybe Cold Blooded needs to be changed as well. I was thinking since we have you by the balls.
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:35:14 GMT
Originally posted by CBK. [HEADING=3] [/HEADING] [HEADING=1] [/HEADING] "I feel like I'm going through a sort of deja vu moment, you know," he said with a pause. His voice had a bit of sincerity in it - something
that had been foreign in their previous conversations. "It's like everything is repeating itself. I got into the first pay-per-view of the year
and suffer a massive loss that destroys my psyche. Then, I go on this monster run of defeating people left and right until the second
pay-per-view where I pick up a big victory. But then," he says allowing for a pause. He thinks to himself for a moment trying to find the
words that he wants to say or gathering the courage to say aloud what he had only thought. "But, then I go on to suffer another loss that
becomes the catalyst for what the remainder of my year will look like. I've lived this year before and I know how it ends. I don't want
to experience that again." The room is filled with silence as his words set in.
Was he right that he was experiencing deja vu? If he was right and this year was shaping up to be similar to last year, what is going to be the
second massive loss that he will experience that will destroy his psyche?
He had plans to do something that would shake the very foundation of the company, but now he second-guessed himself because of this feeling.
He could have taken his place amongst the best in the company if he had beaten Alyster Black that night. He would have been legendary and
possibly changed the course of history with his victory, but he lost. Shawn Summers was a loser from the night forward and knowing that
experiencing that feeling was a possibility again scared him like nothing else before. "I don't like to get into those Twitter debates. I'd rather keep my life off of social media, but something about seeing them using my
name to further whatever it is they have going pissed me off. It's been the M.O. (modus operandi/mode of operating) for all of these
new wrestlers coming into the company. It's like someone gave them a handbook and it said 'if you want to get noticed, use Shawn
Summers'. That pisses me off," he says taking a sip from a glass of whiskey. "They and management have been treating me like I"m some
fucking gatekeeper in the company. Get past Shawn Summers and we'll see where you belong," he says waving his right hand in the air
and voicing his displeasure in a mocking tone. "They would never treat Alyster, Cyrus, or Devin like that. No matter how much they had
declined in the ring they would never treat them like that."
"They are really trying to force this match between Vampyra and me to happen," he says with a laugh as he gets up to pour himself another drink. He taps his foot repeatedly and laughs to himself at the thought of having to face her. "I don't want anything to do with this bitch.
She's a delusional liar trying to gain her confidence back by going at me. It's not my fault you fucked up in the F1 Climaxxx," he says with
a slight tinge of laughter. It was fun for him to think about how he would have approached the F1. But to actually compete in it? He had made
his mind up about that the moment that it was announced. He could make more money doing less work and still have what they all destroyed
their bodies and suffered mentally over. In his mind, entering the F1 was like playing checkers and he was more in the mood for a game of chess."Since the day she signed her contract, she's tried to come for me and I know that it eats her up inside that I don't see her as a threat.
I know it eats her up. I know it," h e says with excitement and glee. "She thinks because I attacked her after her title win that means I care
about the belt and her accomplishments. That couldn't be further from the truth. I just wanted to ruin the moment for the bitch and
remind everyone that the title, the champion, and the challenger are all beneath Shawn Summers. I don't need a belt to make me the
man - I'm fucking me," he says with gained bravado as he takes another sip from his drink. This was his third glass of whiskey that he was
drinking straight and the alcohol was starting to take effect. He returns to his seat and swirls the whiskey in the glass for a moment before taking
yet another sip and continuing."People have this opinion of me that I'm this misogynistic asshole because I believe that women and men shouldn't compete against
each other. That baffles me, really because I don't feel like my opinion is based on misogyny at all. It's more based on science. It's
scientifically proven that men are stronger than women," he says throwing his hands up in the air, spilling a bit of his drink, as he makes
his point. "You want to know why you will never see a men's football team play against a women's football team? It's because everyone
knows that men would kill women out there. It's no different in basketball, judo, or even mixed martial arts. The fact that these
wrestling promoters can't understand that is just crazy to me. And, and the fact that these fans think I'm in the wrong for pointing
this out just lets me know how soft and coddled this business has become."
"I don't want to have a match between myself and Vampyra because I see it as a waste of my time. I have nothing to gain from competing
against her. I have nothing to gain from taking her championship. I was the first to hold it. She has everything to gain from facing me.
Hell, all of these motherfuckers they've put me against have something to gain from facing me. A win over Shawn Summers would
make their fucking careers. For them, I'm the prize. I'm the championships," he shouts with anger before finishing what's left in his glass.
He gently places it at his side and continues."Can you believe that they have me and that bitch teaming up together? Mmhmm, they have us teaming against," he pauses for a moment
and closes his eyes, his head down deep in thought. He pops his head up and opens his eyes once he remembers and continues "Jason Randall
and Darius Wright." He pauses again and laughs to himself before beginning again. " You wanna know how I know that the company thinks
the Television championship isn't shit? It's because they made this fucking match. Mmhmm. If me and that bitch win we get a one-on-one
match but if we lose it becomes a four-way match with these two. What have Randall and Darius done to earn a championship match?
Randall has lost two matches straight and somehow we're supposed to think that he's worthy of challenging for a championship? Then
this Blade-looking motherfucker Darius has just managed to break even in his win/loss and we're supposed to say 'yep, this guy deserves
a championship opportunity'. This fucking company is a joke man.
I knew they were a joke when they first put me against Jason and I gave him an ounce of what I could do in the ring and still picked up the
victory. Sure, he got in some offense and busted me up but at the end of the day, he never was a threat in the ring at all. He's just another
garbage wrestler that's trying to make it big. They need to send him back to whatever indy company that he was a darling in and let him
shine instead of having him as the glorified jobber of the FWA. The same goes for Darius. I'm sure AMA or whatever the fuck that shitty
company is called would love to have him wrestle once a year and put out his little monologues about how he's number one and his opponent
is number two or whatever the fuck he does. I haven't even bothered to look him up. Can't wait for this shit to be over," he says with
disgust. Silence fills the room and Shawn contours his mouth into a look of discomfort. He scratches his head and takes a deep breath
before beginning."He finally made contact," he says in a hushed tone. The sounds of chains rattling let him know that he's finally gotten the attention that
he was looking for. "It's not often that you see a crow near the beaches here in California so I know it was him. It took him some time
but he's finally ready to come for his brother," he says with a head nod and a look of pure defeat on his face. "I'd be lying if I said that
hearing that crow didn't make my stomach drop into my shoes. He sent a message without even saying a word. I don't know why
I'm surprised," he says with a chuckle before beginning again. "He's always been good at that. It's how he works. His appearing in the
crowd at the anniversary show and dropping hints leading up to it was just foreplay for him. Now, he's ready to really get into the
full act of penetration."
"I knew he would eventually make contact. It's why I brought you here. It's why I kept you down here. It's why I bandaged you up
and nursed you back to health. It's because I didn't want him to see what I did to you in that locker room, Eli. If he saw what I did,
well, that would only make what he plans to do to me even worse. Is it telling that I'm more concerned about my meeting with him
than I am with any of the happenings in the company? I'd be lying if I said I didn't deserve what he plans to do to me. I've done some
terrible things to you - all of you." He pauses and stands up facing Eli who is chained to the ceiling like Shawn had left him almost a month ago. He is in much better shape than
the last time we saw him. Shawn smiles at him and Eli smiles back - his eyes still showing malice and hate for Shawn. The only reason he returns
the gesture is that he knows what is to come for Shawn. "Remember how I talked about Deja Vu earlier? Well, the only thing that makes this time different from the last time is that instead of
having Noah as my ally, I have him as my enemy. I'm going to go now, Eli. In a couple of hours, someone will come down and release you
from your chains and I expect for you to return to him and let him know that he doesn't have to send any more messages. I know where
to find him and I will see him before spring ends."Shawn closes the door as we get a long glimpse at Eli who still wears a smirk on his face. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 19:35:32 GMT
Originally posted by Death Walker. I Guess We’re About To Find Out…
[MEDIA=youtube]6nTcdw7bVdc[/MEDIA]
The opening scene begins with some images of a large backyard with fresh cut grass and a treehouse. A wooden backyard patio painted all white is shown between flickers as the view has moved several feet back. And right before the images can become clearer, it transitions over to a close up on the face of The Dark Traveler assumed to be laying down and asleep. However, Darius is merely resting with eyes closed as his Dark advisor talks.
The Dark Guardian: “My Lord… we’re approaching the next Pay-Per-View event in a few more weeks. Now I’ve got a few wardrobe ideas for your final look… How aboooooout… a leather mask maybe with a splash of red and black? Or even brown?”
Darius responds with only a groan as he keeps his eyes closed. The Dark Guardian can understand the disapproval that came from the sound and he continues.
TDG: “Ok… how about one that gives off a psychotic killer clown look? We could add a leather jacket, some striped spandex pants and-”
Again, Darius groans deeply before drifting off to sleep and the scene fades out.
********************************************************
It fades back in but behind a young Darius Wright sitting next to a big wide window in a living room. It cuts to his pouting face as he watches other kids play outside. A woman's voice shouts from another part of this house.
???: “DARIUS?? DARIIIIUUSSS?!? Where did that boy end up now?”[MEDIA=youtube]p-CpkhN9rF8[/MEDIA]
The clatter of high heel shoes can be heard as they take steps over wooden floors. And then…
???: “Darius? Did you hear me calling for you?”
A black woman who looked to be in her 40’s or 50’s with round framed glasses, grabs his left shoulder and roughly shakes him. We appear to be back in his former group home with Miss Tonya and his foster siblings.
Miss Tonya: “I don't know what the hell your problem is but you better snap outta it! Now why are you not playing outside with the other kids?”
After making contact with his foster mom, Darius sighs and turns his face to look out the window and into the backyard. However this backyard isn't as beautiful as the glimpse we caught early on. Most of it is still green but it also has about 5 big dirt patches spread out, no treehouse because there wasn't even one tree and instead of a clean oak fence, it has a beat up chain link one surrounding the yard. A few seconds of seeing his foster brothers and sisters play out back and he begrudgingly replies.
Darius Wright: “They all pick me… they don't like me, Miss Tonya. They make fun of me being short and crying. They pick on me when you're not looking and they punch on me… they kick on me… and they hurt me anyway they can.”
Taking a deep breath with closed eyes shedding a few tears, young Darius just tries to hold it together. This is when Miss Tonya gives the boy a bit of the attention he desires. The woman looks at her youngest and troubled foster son… and then she slaps him across his face with a fiery intent.
MT: “Boy if you don't stop all this damn lying! TAKE YOUR ASS UPSTAIRS!”
The boy, losing the last shred of hope and dignity, gets up and storms off… for he had been warning and explaining to his “mother” about the beatings. However with not enough evidence and the older kids covering for all the other kids, he was soon labeled a liar and a troublemaker. A set of roles that he would later take on as his ongoing personality. Miss Tonya makes it her business to holler from the living room to a stomping Darius as he goes up the stairs with a miffed attitude.
MT: “AND DON’T LET ME HEAR ABOUT YOU TEARING UP THE OTHER KIDS SHIT OR I’MMA BEAT THAT ASS TIL ITS BLUE! YOU HEAR ME?!!”
In an unlit bedroom that he shares with seven other kids, all of different ages, there sits a heartbroken boy at the edge of his bed staring out the window and watching as everyone else plays.
**********************************************************
And within a blink everything goes black and then fades in as we return to Darius Wright sleeping (or at least he was trying to).
TDG: “Ok My Lord, how about we have you don an outfit as an old western grave digger? You could keep it all black the way you like…”
The Dark Guardian is nearby, leaning on a post next to where Darius lays with sunlight glowing through half of the place they reside currently. The Devil’s child responds with a scoff then another groan as before.
TDG: “Alright, I'll keep thinking… but in the meantime, let's talk about these opponents and your so-called partner for the next match in Athens, Greece.”
The hooded guardian pulls out an un-autographed headshot of the FWA Television Champion, Vampyra and then continues with the conversation as he holds the picture out for Darius to take a look.
TDG: “This one here… this one is very relentless, she's what I would refer to as a femme fatale… well, minus the seducing. Tough as shit and knows no limits, you won't wanna underestimate her. She might only be 5’1 but she can be quite the thorn in one's side. My advice… target the right moment to hit hard. She's got a lot of passion and a lot of moves in her arsenal. Be patient…”
Darius sits up and then gets to his feet before doing a few routine stretches. The Dark Traveler shakes his limbs while standing in front of a black punching bag. Then he begins doing some flying knee strikes into the bag as The Dark Guardian keeps talking and holds up another headshot, this one of the other opponent.
TDG: “And then there's Shawn Summers… Mr. Summers is all but forgiving from what I've seen. He really lives up to his moniker of Der Basterd… he's one of the most despicable human beings on this planet and he feeds off that revelation. Your best bet is to think of him as the smug and arrogant punk who loves to prove himself amongst a crowd. Another tough son of a bitch but with a unique wrestling IQ to be weary of. Words of advice… don't play into his games, he knows every way to get inside many of his opponents’ heads. When the moment shows itself, outsmart and outshine him before he knows what has happened… I mean it's not like it's the first time that you’ve dealt with this exact type, remember what's-his-face?!”
Darius turns his face to The Dark Guardian and just smiles as he laughs inside. He goes back to striking the bag but this time with both forearm and elbow strikes. Taking his time with each hit to the swaying sandbag. The Dark Guardian goes quiet for a brief moment before finishing up the plan of action. He watches as his “Lord” maintains his proper form in strong attacks and prepares for a melee of offenses from this tag team match coming up at FIGHT NIGHT: THE FINAL FOUR. He finally interrupts the fighter once more…
TDG: “So umm… matches and outfits aside, do you… do you wanna talk about it? About what happened to you in HELL? About what's about to happen after this match leading up to Back In Town? I know that we've worked hard on building to this moment and I came along to persuade you into this new direction. It didn't take a lot of convincing of course, especially everything that you've been through. Is there anything you want to get off your chest?”
********************************************************[MEDIA=youtube]6nTcdw7bVdc[/MEDIA] This angelic music replays in Wright’s mind as he stops what he's doing and walks off into the shadows of this concrete structure that they are in. Everything goes black and transitions into quick flashbacks of when The Dark Guardian met a smart mouthed, combat fighter named Darius Wright, then the moments that he experienced at previous wrestling promotions, then the matches and the exchanges of words and it all leads up to this journey he had after losing his first title. Darius takes a deep breath and exhales, the scene changes to little Darius at age 4. Shot from his point of view, the boy sits up in his bed on what seemed to be a nice normal morning. He takes his time to rub his little eyes then looks around at his room which is covered with sky blue walls and off white baseboards. He notices all of his toys neatly stacked beside his little bed which has a matching cartoon design to his zip-up onesie. The boy takes off running out of his run with excitement when his dad catches up to him in their hallway. The father kneels and embraces his son but his face isn't shown, only the decorative pajamas he wears…
Darius’s Father: “Whoa munchkin! Settle down, settle down. I know you're happy to go outside… but… we're going to stay inside today. It's looking bad out there, all these gray clouds hovering over us. We’ll play outside another day but for now let's go make mom some breakfast.”
He gives his father another hug and goes around the house exploring as his father heads to the kitchen to prepare them a meal. Darius enters the den and walks up to his video shelf when he hears his mom talking loudly from afar.
Darius’s Mother: “So this is what we’re doing?! You're just gonna act like nothing happened last night?”DF: “Baby, don't start with me. You know damn well-”
Their voices get louder and as little Darius runs over to see his mom, he encounters another one of their recent arguments even though they usually didn't last long. He sneakily crawls under the dining table to attempt to hide as he watches and listens. Looking at their legs and feet while they move back and forth throughout their spacious kitchen, he hears an eerie voice whisper in his ear followed by a loud crackle from thunder striking down upon the Earth.[MEDIA=youtube]fnNg_-eqvKk[/MEDIA] A rainstorm makes its presence known as it downpours over the city of Los Angeles and particularly on the home of Darius Wright. Darius’s parents head back to their bedroom and the storm continues as well as their argument. A sharp painful headache subdues little Darius as he can only grab at his head with no way to scream through this new pain. Soon this is forgotten as we cut to the full grown Darius now in HELL and he stands battered and bruised before a tall, red monster known as The Devil.
The Devil: “You have failed once again… your determination is highly impressive yet you fight me with no real conviction. All I see is the little boy who looks to blame me for everything wrong in his life. You had a choice…”
The Devil’s face is shown as sits upon his throne of bones and skulls. He looks down at another one of his subjects who has yet to own up to who and what he is.
TD: “Now you have a new choice to make as you have entered my realm and fought me over 100 times. And the following choices to pick from… remain here in HELL to serve and obey me or defeat me in battle for the freedom to release more of my evil onto those who come across you. Those are the only ones I’m offering you so you can finally give up… OR-”
The Devil stands up on his hooves and steps up to a weakened Darius. He grabs this dark hearted man by his jaw and completes his rhetoric. And Darius just looks up at The Dark Lord while gasping for air and his aching body barely able to lift a finger.
TD: “GIVE ME THE BEATING THAT I DESERVE! TWO CHOICES! ONE TO MAKE! KNEEL OR CONQUER!”
In such the deep voice, The Devil makes it clear that there's no happy way out of this. Darius gets his bearings, smacks The Devil's hand off of his jaw and gets into a fighting stance. The Devil smiles and tightens his fists before they battle again. Just then, The Dark Guardian appears beside the throne to watch them fight again. He gives a nod to Darius behind The Devil's back and the first punch is swung at Darius. However he dodges it and counters with a roundhouse kick which gets blocked. Darius follows up with a combination of punches and kicks while the two of them circle around the floating platform that they're on. The Devil snatches Darius up and immediately puts him in a guillotine chokehold. He tightens up the hold as Darius chokes for air but delivers body shots to The Devil's abdomen. And right as he believes there's nothing he can do to get out of this, The Devil goes for a knee to his ribs… but Darius grabs the leg and turns it into a modified brainbuster to break free.
Gasping for air like before, Darius goes to crawl to his feet but is interrupted by a pull from the back of his jeans. The Devil yanks him off the ground and goes to lock in another type of submission hold but as Darius flies backward towards The Devil’s chest… he executes a perfectly aimed elbow to the jaw. This makes The Dark Lord stumble a bit in a confusion of sorts which leaves him open for an enzuigiri to the side of his head, making it uncontrollably swivel. Then Darius charges forward to perform a double leg takedown but The Devil plants his hooves and lifts The Dark Traveler up from his waist and hits a mighty powerbomb onto the back of Darius. Which causes him to holler in agony and brings another smile to The Devil.
TD: “And yet another victory on the way for yours truly… I swear kid this is getting easier the more you suffer. I used to respect you, really I did used… to… respect you. But now… I see I wasted my time thinking you could become my next prodigy.”
The Devil towers over a laid out Darius Wright then stomps on his chest and puts pressure on him. As he stands majestically on him, he takes a moment to gloat at his handy work. This gives Darius enough time to hook in a snappy kneebar as he grabs above the hoof, kicks the weak point around the knee and wraps both of his own legs around The Devil's. Darius is now able to bend and torque the leg in any direction but the right one.
TD: “AAAAAAHHHHHHHH YOU LITTLE SHIT! I’LL BREAK YOU IN TWO WHEN I GET LOOSE!”DW: “When you get loose?! Who said anything about letting go? There's no official… it's just me, you and the guardian.”
The overgrown monster of all monsters grunt in extreme pain as he grabs at his head. But then he reaches back with razor sharp nails and scratches at his contender’s once… twice… three times before he lets go of the leg. In more pain and bleeding some from these fresh cuts, The Dark Traveler tries to get back to a vertical base. Both The Devil and Darius face off one more time. Noticing the limping from The Devil, Darius smirks in joy and taunts him to charge directly at him. And The Dark Lord wastes no time at doing just that… he charges at Darius using his huge horns like a bull to a matador. Darius decides to hit a chop block from in front… and it sends The Devil flying out with no control over stopping until he lands on the ground below and slides a bit. Darius goes over to finish this fight once and for all but instead The Devil turns over, blows a handful of dirt into the eyes of The Dark Traveler then slaps the shit outta him while he’s blinded. Darius rubs his eyes to regain some type of visibility as he also crawls backwards towards the throne in defense.
TD: “You can't leave me that easy… you will not go back out there if I have anything to do with it. You're gonna stay… right here, right where you belong. For I am YOUR LORD AND YOU WILL SERVE ME AS MY LACKEY… my minion, my servant. You think you’ve earned the title as one of my children?! To do as you see fit? Come on… you're the weakest being I've battled in a long time and you're unworthy of life itself… just like your dumb ass parents.”
And within seconds of The Devil approaching his downed opponent, Darius finds that fire within himself, hops up into the throne, lifts up The Devil over his shoulder while squatting and as he stands up, hits one of his most powerful Dark Cloud from standing on The Devil's throne. Darius jumps down out of the seat and The Devil is now the one laid out in defeat… only taking a few breaths as he must acknowledge the victor of this round.
DW: “And just like that… you have paid. The. Cost…”
Getting back to his normal condition with a snap of a finger, The Devil vanishes from the ground to sitting on his throne.
TD: “Okay so you won at last… sooo?”DW: “So I'll be on my way now. Sayonara, satan!”
Darius turns away and starts to walk off from where he arrived but The Devil stops him.
TD: “Wait… I'm not done with you… my son. You've proved yourself as a nonstop threat against whatever that stands in your way. And for that, you shall be rewarded.”
Darius turns back around and gives this perplexed look to his Lord.
DW: “Say what now?!”TD: “As much as it irritates me… we had a deal and you managed to hold up your end so… here you go.”
And with another snap of his fingers, The Devil removes all of Darius’s injuries, cuts and bruises. He then gives The Dark Traveler and The Dark Guardian some final words before they return to Earth.
TD: “My son, you are now to wreak havoc on anyone or anything you see fit. I will send you and your guardian back to where you started your journey. I will now give your guardian the right to your official ritual in becoming a true Dark Traveler, a force of nature with mysterious powers and dark ideology. One who brings terror and tragedy upon everything that surrounds him. When the ceremony is complete, you will no longer be simply Darius Wright but one of my own offspring. So go back to carving out your own path… and keep raising HELL!”
*********************************************************
Zooming out from the pupil of Darius’s right eye, we get back to the conversation that The Dark Guardian and Darius were about to have. When Darius looks over to The Dark Guardian and while maintaining his constant silence, he shakes his head with nothing to be said… or gestured (or even written down). The Dark Guardian goes back to his last words for the upcoming match.
TDG: “Alright, back to it… last but not least your partner and use that term loosely since you didn't really leave a respectful impression on him, now did you?”
For the first time in several years, Darius snickers over the minor spiteful act that he did after his last match with Jason Randall.
TDG: “Yeah I’m sure he won't be too happy to have you as a partner either. Obviously he'll be ready to dish out some payback so there's that to contend with as you both have some very talented opponents to face. And if you guys win then you both advance in a title match. Look at My Lord, My Dark Traveler… moving on up in this world!”
Darius grins as he throws some jabs and circles the swinging punching bag. Nodding his head in agreement to the flattering words of his advisor, he pauses where he is to listen to the rest of what will be said.
TDG: “So… about Jason Randall… he’ll be your tag partner in this but be prepared to challenge his tenacity as I'm sure that he'll also want to show you up since your win over him. However! My Lord? Look at me… the main mission is to beat the other two so it is IMPORTANT that the two of you put aside the animosity and get the W so you both can get that championship opportunity at Back In Town. Okay… just remember… the sooner you take down Vampyra and Summers, the sooner you get to whip all their asses and gain a title belt again.”
Darius takes a moment to think over all the advice given for this big tag team match opportunity and he nods again in agreement.
TD: “Oh and I almost forgot… papa brought us some playmates to assist in your intense training.”Out of the shadowy parts of this slightly darkened bunker, a group of vicious demons step out into the beams of sunlight. The scene fades to black with hissing, snarls, thuds, crunches and guttural screams echoing all over… |
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