Meltdown XL & Fallout 040 || Promo Thread.

  • Welcome to "The New" Wrestling Smarks Forum!

    I see that you are not currently registered on our forum. It only takes a second, and you can even login with your Facebook! If you would like to register now, pease click here: Register

    Once registered please introduce yourself in our introduction thread which can be found here: Introduction Board


Dubb

Cry me a river
Joined
Sep 14, 2022
Messages
1,052
Reaction score
2,908
Points
113
Age
38
Favorite Wrestler
jeffjarrett
Favorite Wrestler
Se3BZPQ
Favorite Wrestler
9yQJpez
Favorite Wrestler
ZIF7zVA
Favorite Wrestler
sting
Favorite Wrestler
ddp
Favorite Sports Team
carolinahurricanes
Favorite Sports Team
xjczadG

Promo deadlines:

Sunday 19th May, 23:59PM Pacific Time.
Monday 20th May, 03:00AM Eastern Standard Time.
Monday 20th May, 08:00AM Greenwhich Mean Time.
Monday 20th May, 16:00PM Australian Western Standard Time.

No extensions.​
 

Dubb

Cry me a river
Joined
Sep 14, 2022
Messages
1,052
Reaction score
2,908
Points
113
Age
38
Favorite Wrestler
jeffjarrett
Favorite Wrestler
Se3BZPQ
Favorite Wrestler
9yQJpez
Favorite Wrestler
ZIF7zVA
Favorite Wrestler
sting
Favorite Wrestler
ddp
Favorite Sports Team
carolinahurricanes
Favorite Sports Team
xjczadG
My brother…

I know you are disappointed in me. I know that this isn’t what you would’ve wanted. I have become a disgrace.

I came to this realm searching for vengeance. I came seeking justice for you.

That quest has led me through the multiverse. I’ve visited lands I would’ve never imagined. I tried to take up your mantle. I became the Vengador.

You were always so brave. So strong. A natural leader. When our parents died, you became not just my brother but my provider. The one saddled with the task of keeping me safe. Not just my protector but my trainer. Guiding me through life. All while trying to find us a better life.

And you did just that.

Until the day you died.

I still am trying to put together the pieces of everything you did while I grew up.

You were a mercenary.

I took your mask off your dying body. And I made it my own.

It was supposed to give me your power. It was supposed to give me your strength. It was going to let me stand up to those who may look to cause me harm and strike them down with the same force you did as you took life after life along the way. It was going to give me the means to stare death in the face.

Instead I have just brought shame on your name.

I do not deserve this mask.

I do not deserve this name.

You told me to trust no one. And until now, I’ve done just that. I’ve spurned potential friends… Katsu… XYZ… in favor of a life of solitude.

But it has gotten me nowhere.

My time in the FWA has been fruitless.

And perhaps it is because I have found myself too headstrong in my ways. I treat your teachings as gospel. As the ultimate law of the land.

But maybe that wasn’t the point.

You yourself did not even always abide by your own rules.

You adapted when necessary.

You evolved when your life depended on it.

So now I evolve. I adapt. I’m no longer a slave to the rules you set forth for me.

I have learned that in this realm… in the FWA… alliances are critical for your survival. People use one another for their own gain. If you don’t have someone to watch your back, you will not survive in this land.

If only you were still here. But you are not. There is no one I’d rather have watching my back.

And I apologize if this causes you unrest in your afterlife. But I feel like it is what has to be done.

This mortal… this Bobby Joel… he does not seem like the type I can trust. He possesses the type of silver tongue you warned me about.

However, there is no denying his success outside of the FWA.

Perhaps he can be useful.

A means to an end.

He has knowledge of this world… of this… wrestling… business… that I can use. He is opening up a new world of ways that I can utilize my anger… my hatred… so much rage is burning inside me from what happened in our realm. Everything I went through as a child… watching the life leave your body…

I have yet to even begin to experience the type of violence that exists within the FWA. But I want to. I want to feel pain. But more importantly… I want to cause pain.

The X Championship…

My eyes have locked onto that.

I come from a world where there were no rules. I come from a world that knows nothing but pain and despair. What a perfect match…

My brother…

Starting this week… Big Bam Slam… a real mastodon of a man…

But I’ve slain plenty of beasts in my travels.

My brother…

I hope I can make you proud.
 
Last edited:

AON

Sup.
Joined
Sep 30, 2022
Messages
159
Reaction score
217
Points
43
Facing the unknown is like standing on the edge of a vast, uncharted territory, where the familiar fades away and uncertainty reigns. Almost the opposite of the famous Lion King quote, "Everything the light touches is our kingdom". It's a feeling that can fill the mind with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. A daunting shadow to have looms over you as you prepare to venture into that abyss. In the realm of wrestling, facing the unknown can be particularly difficult. Whether it's stepping into a new ring, going toe to toe against an unfamiliar opponent, or enduring a crowd that's never seen you? The unknown presents a formidable test of resilience.

For athletes like Jack The Clipper - accustomed to the rigours of competition due to his time cutting hair and working in his barber shop, confronting the unknown feeds the thrill-seeking nature of the average pro wrestler as much as it would someone's anxiety. It requires a delicate balance of preparation and adaptability as he must navigate uncharted waters. Lucky for him, the boat he's using to do it - being himself - isn't exactly built like the Titanic. It'll take a lot more than an iceberg to take this one down.


Jack The Clipper: Barbara.

Barbara: Yes, Mr. The Clipper?

Jack scoffs and shakes his head, not too pleased with what he's just heard.

Jack The Clipper, You gotta stop calling me that; you know it stands as stupid as fuck, right?

Barbara : I agree in principle. But-

Jack The Clipper: You wanna sound classy? Yeah, I get it.

An eye roll this time as Jack's tone gives off that he's annoyed, but it's the least of his concerns. Clearly, this is a conversation they've had time and time again, but Barbara won't take the… you can't even call it a hint. Jack's very clear about what he wants.

Jack The Clipper: You do know it's respectful to call people by their first name when they're peers, right?

Barbara: Which I think you'll find we're not.

Jack The Clipper: And who told you that?

Silence from Barbara. He looks away for a second, which causes Jack to get a little serious.

Jack The Clipper: Piss off Barbara.

Barbara: I don't know what you're talking about. My lips shall be sealed.

Barbara pantomimes, zipping his lips closed, and before Jack can push the issue a little, a knock echoes off the office walls.

Jack The Clipper: Come in!

The door opens up, revealing… Dyeanna! The other scissor sister, dressed in the exact same gear as her twin sister, almost as if they were actively trying to confuse everyone around them, IE, black gothic garb, with various cuts and tears in the fabric as if she attacked her clothes with a pair of scissors

Dyeanna: "What up yah slags!

Deanna's face exudes general ease and happiness, seemingly unaffected by the fog of misery that follows Jack The Clipper. He is just spitting on the ground as he goes to work sharpening his scissors while Barbara stands up, her hands outstretched.

Barbara
: Darling sibling!"

Dyeanna: "S'up fam.

Barbara daintily stands up and meets her sister, and they both deliver their well-practised patented Scissor Sister Secret Spiral handshake. Gripping each other's hands, they grab each other's wrists, and in perfect synchronization, they twist their hands in opposite directions, creating a spiral motion. Finally, they bring their hands together in a clap, bringing the very cool handshake they've developed since they were kids. The two share a quick laugh before Dyeanna looks at their boss, Jack The Clipper.

Dyeanna: Jackie.

Barbara: Master Clipper

Dyeanna: Barb, don't you think-

Jack The Clipper: Don't even bother.

Jack looks to Barbara as well, a binge of disappointment in his voice. He doesn't like how 'well trained' Barbara is. She is always on, no matter what Jack does. She never breaks that posh persona and never has a real conversation. It was annoying, really. Jack goes back to facing forward in his chair.

Jack The Clipper: What the hell are you two so chipper all of a sudden?

Dyeanne: "Why the bloody 'ell, shouldn't we?

Barbara: Indeed, we can't be unhappy every single moment of every single day.

Jack The Clipper: "....Why not? Does me no harm"

Dyeanna looks to say something, but her sister lightly taps her on the shoulder and shakes her head, advising her sibling against it. Probably wise.

Jack The Clipper: Oh, by the way, when either of you gets a moment, can you polish My TV title?

Barbara: I beg your pardon.

Jack The Clipper "Watta deaf? My title needs polishing. Get to it.

Dyeanna: "What are you blithering on about, mate? You don't have the TV Title.

Jack The Clipper: Oh? I don't? Well, why's that?

Barbara: "Well, I believe you lost a title match against K-"

In one fluid and slightly terrifying quick movement, Jack gets off his office chair, grabs a glass, and hurls it against the wall.

Jack The Clipper: "BECAUSE YOU TWO IDIOTS CAN'T DO YOUR GOD DAMN JOBS-!

Barbara can't help but to cower ever so slightly, but Dyeanne keeps her ground and doesn't break eye contact with her raging boss.

Jack The Clipper: "Where the fuck were you two for my title match? Huh? I brought you two on board to manage me at ringside, and you're barely there. I thought you'd have my back, and you do FUCK all. You keep fucking up and fucking up again. You barely manage. You don't come out to the ring with me; you don't help me out in the biggest matches of my life-WHAT. THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO FOR?!"

Quiet. If we didn't know these people, we'd think somebody had died in the room. Jack opens his eyes and looks at his two confidants, who're both just staring with wide eyes. Jack doesn't find that too amusing.

Jack The Clipper
: What? Am I wrong? For fuck sake- You two know you can speak freely around me.

Still nothing. That angers Jack a bit; he can feel his body start to heat up. The two men almost look like children who disappointed their favourite adult, but their silence says more than they ever will. Jack scoffs, letting out a tiny piece of the frustration he feels.

Jack The Clipper: And yet you won't. You two are so disappointing.

Jack once again closes his eyes, facing forward and going back to his scissors. Dyeanna goes to say something, but Barbara puts her hand up. Why is that? Doesn't matter. Jack didn't see it, so maybe he'll never know it even happened.

Jack The Clipper: So,… who is it this week?

Barbara: You don't know?

Jack blows air out of her nose. What a silly question. Maybe they were just trying to mess with him at this point and bring the vibes in the room back up. Hopefully, that's what it was.

Jack the Clipper: I mean, I know the name, but… who the hell is he?

Barbara shrugs her shoulders, which makes Dyeanna shake her head. She knows her sister made the wrong move, so she goes to step into the conversation to save him. Too late. Jack has noticed it, and a bitter, mocking smirk comes to his scarred face.

Jack The Clipper: Oh, what - you don't know?

Dyeanna gives a thunderous laugh while Barbara gives an "okay, you got me" look, including a smile. Jack smiles as well, but he sees Dyeanna getting ready to speak.

Jack The Clipper: Dyeanna?

Dyeanna: "Gino's an unknown, boss"

Jack almost snaps his own neck with how fast his head spins to look at Dyeanna with an expression of surprise, confusion, and pride. He doesn't know how exactly he should feel.

Dyeanna: What? It's true."

Jack The Clipper: I know I just… Did you do research?

Dyeanna: What? Sometimes, I help her do research.

Barbara: Well, you more watch than anything else.

Dyeanna: Well, I offer moral support more than anything else. I pick up things, you know? What their deal is, strengths and weaknesses and all that shit, so I know who you're up against.

Jack The Clipper: Okay! Look at you, showing you're more than just a mouth.

Dynanna: Piss off

A short bark of a laugh escapes Jack. Clearly, Dyeanna is back in his good books.

Jack The Cipper: Okay, fine, tell your story

Dynanna: "Like I said, boss, Gino's an unknown. There's not much out there about him except that his family is kind of seedy. He worked with them at their family pizzeria, where they take a little bit off the side, or so the story goes, at least.

Jack absorbs the information with a blank face before he suddenly starts laughing.

Jack The Clipper: "Fucking hell, okay yeah, no, seriously, what's his deal? No more jokes

Dyeanna: I'm… not joking.

No way.

Jack The Clipper: "Seriously? An Italian guy has ties to the mob and really likes pizza? Does he also go down pipes and fight Bowzer?

Dyeanna: Do you think you should be mocking this guy with your win-loss record?

Barbara: Ah! Ah!

Whoa, Dyeanna got a little extra energy for that one. Barbara gives him a bit of a startled look, but Barbara says nothing more. Dyeanna can't see if there are any extra hand motions or what is going on, but… you ever play Telltale Games? Right now is where "Jack will remember that" pops up. But he chooses to move forward.

Jack The Clipper: So, they got me going up against a virtual unknown?

Barbara: Gino Galucci is known!

Jack The Clipper: Yeah, to the police, it sounds like it!

Barbara: You should be pleased! The easier your competition, the greater you look when you squish them like the teeny, tiny little bugs they are.

Jack The Clipper: No, Barbara, I'm not! That's not why I'm here, and you know that! I don't want it easy; it just IS easy for me! And it feels like you're not exactly a believer.

Barbara: "Heavens-! No, that's not true! It's not me booking the matches, but it's not like you to turn down a match.

Jack The Clipper:: Which is part of the problem. Sure I look impressive standing across from the likes of Gino - who wouldn't when you look like me? But I need to put a stamp on what I can do, not for anyone else but for me. I want everyone to make sure they know just who Jack The Clipper s because I don't want to hear a single excuse when I beat Gino into pizza toppings

He may exude arrogance when he enters the spotlight on his way to the ring, but Jack has his priorities straight. His opinion of himself will always be above all, but his plan is to be undeniable. He wants anybody who speaks up against him to look foolish. Dyeanna doesn't seem as happy as she once was after being scolded, and her tone is sad.

Jack The Clipper: Are we clear?

Dyeanna: Crystal.

The Scissor sisters understand what Jack means. Doesn't make it hurt a little less, but this is how this relationship goes.

Barbara: So, what do you plan to do with Gino?

Jack The Clipper: I do the same thing with everyone—cut them down to size, take a little off the top, and get the one, two, three.

Barbara: But how do you prepare for the unknown?

As Jack sits in the chair, he contemplates the question. The lack of information is palpable, hanging in the air like a thick fog. It takes away any clear understanding of what lies ahead. But for Jack? He only needs one thing to latch onto. That small tidbit of information given to him about Gino is all he needs.

Jack The Clipper: By being a hard bastard.​
 

AON

Sup.
Joined
Sep 30, 2022
Messages
159
Reaction score
217
Points
43
Dr.Ima Quack: So, if you don't mind my asking, where did you get my information?

That voice belongs to the esteemed therapist Dr. Ima Quack. Today, he's wearing khaki pants, a blue button-down shirt, and a sweater vest. He's most likely particularly proud of the sweater vest.

Lucy Lupone: It's not important where I got your information. What's important is that you're here and I'm here and I suggest it's time we get to work.

That voice belongs to Lucy Lupone, the younger sister of the acclaimed twins Doug and Dan, the lumberjacks. She's wearing blue jeans, probably Levi's, but we can't see the tag, and a black T-shirt with a red and black chequered design, you know, like a lumberjack.

Dr. Ima Quack: I see. Well, typically, my patients come to me with a referral.

Dr. Quack, in khakis, button-down shirt, and sweater vest, sits in a leather chair. He has one leg crossed over the other and is twirling a set of eyeglasses in his right hand.

Dr. Quack: I don't need a referral. I need you to make sure I'm at the top of my mental game my title match

Lucy sits in a much less fancy chair, which he opted for rather than the couch across the room. Because, a patient on a therapist's couch? Cliche much?

Dr. Quack : I will say I had a chance to look over your file and it's not often my patients prepare their own records. It's abnormal, to say the least.

Lucy Lupond: I wanted to make sure you had the whole picture, and I trust that you do.

Dr. Quack I will certainly admit your self made records were exhaustive.

To illustrate this, Dr. Quack picks up a folder as thick as a Bible from a small table to his right.

Lucy Lupone: I like to paint a complete picture.

Dr. Quack: It would appear so.

Lucy Lupone So, what do you think?

Dr. Quack: About what precisely?

Lucy looks a bit aggravated, which is perhaps putting it mildly.

Lucy Lupone: Surely you can't be serious.

Dr. Quack: Ohhh, this!

The good doctor holds up the gigantic folder, which takes both hands. To do this, he sets his eyeglasses over his eyes and then pulls them to the tip of his nose. He thinks it makes him seem ever so slightly more intelligent.

Lucy Lupone . Yes. that.

Dr. Quack Well, at first glance I'll say that this is the first time I've had the pleasure of treating a professional wrestler.

Lucy Lupone: Is it now?

Dr.Quack: It most certainly is.

A few moments that amount to an awkward pause pass.

Lucy Lupone: So that was your big takeaway?

Dr Quack: : Well no, I wouldn't say that. I did seem to pick up on the importance of this … how do you say, trios situation?

Lucy Lupone:: The FWA Trio championships Yes.

Dr. Quack Yes, yes. In studying your prepared file, I picked up on the importance of said titles with your brothers, but it also mentioned that you were some kind of mensa-level college student before you ate a magic mushroom and started living in the back of your brother's shack in the middle of nowhere and you've seen things ever since.


Lucy Lupone: You think that's relevant to my mental health?

Dr. Quack: Yeah, maybe we should start there. Talk about that.

The doctor was waiting for Quack to speak, but she didn't. So, what do you do in a conversational situation like this?

Dr. Quack: Go on.

Right.

Lucy Lupone: Okay then. Well, you pretty much summed it up. The Lumberjacks haven't been as successful as they should, but I still have hope. They say that's important, you know, to always have hope. Anyway, I know in all likelihood I won't become champion, but for some reason, I still believed in myself, or Perhaps I'm a fool. A damn fool. But I believe we'll be trick or trash.

Dr. Quack: "So you don't want to talk about the drugs? Or the fact you're hallucinating you're in a you're's doctor now when you're talking duck right now?

Lucy Lupone: "....Meh"
 

SupineSnake

FREE PALESTINE
Joined
Sep 13, 2022
Messages
665
Reaction score
844
Points
93
Age
34
[volume 121?]
NOT EVERYBODY GETS TO GO TO SPACE.

”... || English Teacher.”

***

The hospital's waiting room was as brightly lit as the rest of Las Vegas, only less elaborately and less warmly so. Since being asked to sit here and await the doctor's return, she'd mostly been transfixed by a flickering striplight above her head, intermittently exuding its cold and sterile light in a series of uneven blinks. The walls, floors, and ceilings were all white. The chairs were blue and uncomfortable. She didn’t like hospitals but this was an unremarkable thing. Nobody liked hospitals.

She'd tried to distract herself from the malfunctioning filament by observing the faces of those who occupied the room alongside her. She endeavoured to work out why they were here but this game only made her sad. Eventually, her eyes settled on a young man only a handful of metres away from her who was incessantly pacing back and forth, his hands gesticulating wildly as he mumbled unintelligible monologues to nobody inparticular. Occasionally he would realise how unhinged he looked and stuff his hands in his pockets to keep them still. This imprisonment lasted only moments, though, and soon enough the stream of consciousness in his head overwhelmed him once again, his hands freeing themselves spontaneously and any worries about perception quickly dissipating.

She leant her head back until it was propped against the wall behind her, closing her eyes and retreating inwards. She knew why she was preoccupied with her fellow patients and their own reasons for being here: because her own maladies were obvious, and she wished to avoid them. With external consciousness shut out and her internal one in turmoil, she had no choice but to consider the litany of superficial scrapes that Boogie Baby had inflicted upon her.

In the car to the Emergency Department, she'd been certain he'd broken her jaw. She had since found out it was only dislocated, but she was unable to speak aloud when Russnow had stopped her in the corridor before she left the arena. She attempted the task nonetheless, managing only a sequence of noises before he insisted she stop trying. She instead retrieved a notepad and pencil from her rucksack, turning to an empty page and scrawling next Meltdown? in a childish and unfamiliar hand.

“Next Meltdown?” the executive repeated aloud, with a cocked eyebrow to further illustrate his incredulity. “Next Meltdown you need a night off. Look at you, Michelle. Your jaw is hanging off your face. Back in Business is just around the corner. Don't want to injure yourself for that, I'm sure!”

She wanted to tell him that jaws usually hung from faces but didn’t have the energy. The mention of Back in Business annoyed her more than anything else. In the moment before he'd started to speak, her mind was absorbed by twinned rages: one set aside for the dancer, the other for her basterd. Memories of the biggest show of the year added the kaiju and Kennedy to the cocktail. Her cup overflowed with anger. Her hands clenched into fists, breaking her pencil in two. She let the useless half fall to the ground whilst shaking her head defiantly at Russnow. She again pointed to the notepad and her question, before using the broken pencil to scratch another one beneath it: who?

Russnow sighed. He looked beleaguered, near-broken.

“Okay, maybe I can put you in with XYZ,” he acquiesced, meek and pathetic. “You’re both only half-here right now, anyway. But that's a big maybe, Michelle. Get yourself to the ED. The bar can wait for one night. You're not going out in Denver if you're not cleared to compete.”

She lamented being under the yoke of Russnow and his medical staff, but she was where she was. She opened her eyes and sighed when she saw the young, frantic man pacing and mumbling a few metres away from her.

The dislocated jaw was only the start of it. This, at least, she could attribute directly to Boogie Baby, and the two devastating Struts he'd delivered at the culmination of the match and the tournament. Her other injuries had originated in earlier matches, exacerbated by later ones and by her aversion to visiting doctors (and, more generally, to taking care of herself). Her spine was fucked, apparently. A more technical prognosis had been given but she'd understood very little of it. Her neck was fractured and her surgically repaired right knee was just barely holding together. A hip replacement was also mentioned, almost in passing, alongside some dental work that a nurse recommended whilst prodding and scowling at her teeth. She could delay surgery for most of the year, but all except one of the doctors she'd spoken to told her she shouldn't wrestle for at least a month.

“Well, I wouldn't recommend it,” Dr. Jansen, a tall and lean maxillofacial surgeon, had told her. “But it seems you've been operating with most of these ailments for a long time as it is. When's your next match?”

Three weeks, she wrote on her notepad.

As she carefully spelled out the words with her pencil, the importance of the match began to dawn on her for the first time. It was, by all accounts, a throwaway encounter with a man she barely knew. Yet the loss against Peacock weighed as heavily on her reputation as it did her body. And there was her basterd to consider, too. XYZ was redemption and XYZ was bait.

The doctor read the answer and grimaced, but then let out a chuckle that Michelle thought distasteful. He was used to grotesque facial deformities, she imagined. The doctor reached for his prescription pad and a pencil of his own.

“You'll need something for the pain,” he said. “I’ll get you patched up in three weeks. But then you'll need to rest.”

She couldn't rest here, in the waiting room of a Las Vegas hospital, beneath a flickering striplight and in the shadow of the incessantly pacing young man. Her surroundings were not conducive to it, and retreating within was futile. The young man's footsteps thudded against the floor tiles, echoing against the walls, a rumbling cacophony inside her besieged head. There was no escape. Even with her eyes closed, the pounding footsteps drew the man's impatient, anguished image in her mind.

Driven to action by this manic orchestra, she grasped her pencil and her notepad, scrawling a note and then holding it up in front of him: you need to sit down. The young man stopped in his tracks, his legs suddenly heavy and unwilling to pace. He sat down in the closest chair to him, opposite from Michelle, and ran his shaking hands up through greased, untidy hair.

“I'm sorry,” he said, instinctively. He seemed like the sort of person who apologised frequently, almost as a habit. “I didn't even realise I was doing it.”

He said nothing for a little while. Michelle naively thought that one of her tormentors had been vanquished.

“That's a good idea,” he added, rather vaguely. She realised that the period of silence had only allowed him to work up the courage to continue his attempts at conversation. He knew perfectly well that she couldn't respond. She surmised that a conversational partner who didn't reply, even one with a grotesquely swollen jaw, was a dream for most men. It was an evening for lamentation, it seemed. She closed her eyes as her counterpart continued. “The pencil and the notepad, I mean. My partner's having some problems with her own voice. That's why I'm here.”

He paused, as if to allow her time to write something. She neglected to do so but begrudgingly opened her eyes. Resting them was useless. She narrowed them in the direction of the young man. He couldn't detect her hostility, seemingly.

“Been here all night,” he said. She realised that she had no idea what time it was. She'd been within the hospital walls, bathed in its sterile glow, for what felt like a week, but the clock above reception insisted it was nearly five in the morning on the day after the Carnal Contendership. “Feels like I haven't slept for days. She had a seizure and we called an ambulance. They brought her right in, saw her right away. That’s how you know it’s serious. They thought she was having a stroke. Her medications didn't agree with her, or agree with each other, or something. It wasn't a stroke but whatever it was has fucked her up.”

She wondered if he was even talking to her, or if speaking aloud helped him to process the string of events that had constituted his evening. She sensed that his own trauma was borrowed from his partner, and that this wasn't the only way in which he fed from her. Or perhaps it was his future that occupied his mind: several bleak outlooks presenting themselves as inevitable certainties. Either way, she found that she much preferred ascribing her own prognoses to the other patients, and disliked having this question answered for her. Her earlier hypothesis for the young man of syphilis or chlamydia seemed far less problematic.

He remained silent for long enough for her to place her notepad and her pencil back into her rucksack and retrieve her cigarettes. She slung the bag over her shoulders and negotiated the labyrinthian ward to what she thought was the nearest exit. It was the third nearest, but such is life.

Outside the hospital, she found a bench that overlooked a wall facing away from the city. A smattering of low buildings gave way to an endless desert, the moon still visible high above the sands despite the morning light creeping over the horizon. She smoked her cigarette, closed her eyes, and - finally, in this of all places - found some peace.

***​

“Michelle,” the soft, accented voice of Dr. Jansen roused her from a short, shallow slumber. She opened her eyes. The moon had gone and the bright, hot sun replaced it in a blue, cloudless sky. She shook her fist at as the day confronted her. Half a cigarette hung from her lips, which she promptly lit. The doctor giggled at her outburst before presenting her with a lengthy prescription and a paper bag.

“We don't usually administer medication in the smoking area, but it seems you're most comfortable here. Your place of work has been in touch and everything is taken care of on the financial side. Mr. Watkins was most insistent that you should be comfortable. Tonight's dose is in the bag. Go home and get some rest, as difficult as that is in this city. Tomorrow you'll go to the pharmacy and then report back to me here. This isn't going to be easy, Michelle. You'll have to do exactly as I say. But we’ll get you to Denver.”

Dreamer nodded dismissively as she tore open the bag. She swallowed the Ultram ER tablet, which she'd taken before in Europe as tramadol, with no water and immediately regretted her decision. The pill caught in her throat and slowly disintegrated. She heaved before taking a drag from her cigarette, as if this might help.

“You shouldn't mix that with anything else, including alcohol,” the doctor warned, with an admonishing finger to further reinforce this point. “Go home and rest, Michelle. I'll see you tomorrow.”

As the doctor finished his instructions, the pacing young man arrived through the sliding doors. He winced in the face of the bright sunlight before pulling his large, dark shades down over his eyes.

“They told me the same thing,” he said, glaring out over the desert with his hands in his pockets. Rest. Impossible to rest at a time like this. Impossible to do anything. They're keeping her in for observation. She's finally asleep, which means they sedated her. Shame they couldn't do the same for me.”

She agreed that further rest was impossible. The day was here and she had no choice but to confront it. She also sensed that the young man did not want to be alone, and agreed with that too.

She flicked her cigarette over the wall and collected the notepad from her rucksack. She scrawled one word onto it and held it up: drink?

A short time later, the two found themselves underground at a corner table in a dimly lit dive bar on the edge of the city. Michelle sipped a Heineken, neglecting the Jameson's chaser under strict doctor's orders. The young man was drinking neat vodka and smoking her cigarettes as if they were his own. For some reason she let him do so without response. She wondered if this was what defeat was.

They were the place’s only customers except for a man in his mid-thirties who sat at the bar. He was neither young nor old, and still wore a pair of large, dark shades over his eyes, despite the fact that the bar was subterranean and devoid of natural light.

The young man was thinking about the woman’s latest scrawled question: you’ll stay with her? It had both an easy and a difficult answer, she sensed, and he was in two minds as to whether to confide in her. She was only too happy to let him talk and to act as a silent confessional. She found that the more he spoke about his problems, or more specifically his partner’s problems, the less she worried about her own.

“When we were in the thick of it,” he began, carefully, after sipping the neat vodka and struggling to stifle a sharp, sudden wince. “Whilst she was writhing in pain, unable to form sentences, seizing every other minute… I felt certain that I would stay with her, even if this was permanent. That I’d do the right thing. I still feel that way. Of course I do. But that’s a difficult picture to imagine.”

She imagined it was a difficult picture to imagine, and thus neglected to imagine it herself. The young man shuffled uncomfortably, anxious that he’d shared too much. Anxious that he shouldn’t even be here to begin with, with this strange woman in a strange bar, whilst his girlfriend slept under the weight of a heavy sedative, the name of which he couldn’t even remember. Even if his intentions were innocent, which he felt quite certain they were, he often struggled with how things may or may not look. That was part of the problem.

“How about you?” he asked, finally. “Why were you at the hospital?”

It was the first direct question that he’d asked her since they’d arrived at the bar. She collected her pencil from next to her bottle and twirled it around in her fingers. Her notebook was in front of her and she flicked through the pages, her thoughts sticking in her mind. She looked at the handwriting of the simple scribbles. It was as if they’d been written by a manic child. Some were barely comprehensible and all were unrecognizable as her own thoughts. She turned to a blank page and held the pencil in her hand in what she determined to be a natural position, though it felt inherently unnatural to do so. Carefully and deliberately, she began to write on the page, mustering some semblance of coherence at the cost of great mental focus.

I’m a wrestler. I wrestled a match. Lost a match. Picked up some injuries. In three weeks I will wrestle another match. Guess it’s as simple as that, really.

As simple as that. The man at the bar in the large, black shades agreed. He nodded his head thoughtfully. He had a pen and notepad of his own, into which he scribbled fragments of thoughts that became ideas, that became words that became actions. That was the idea, anyway. Mostly, though, he wrote in his notepad because he was the writer, and that’s what the writer did. As simple as that, he thought and then wrote.

A coincidence, maybe. But coincidence is the writer’s friend, although not a favoured one. As you’ll see. You’ll see, you’ll see.

“You’re lucky that it’s physical,” the young man said, after reading her note. “They can treat physical. Do surgery. Give you meds. They’re worried that what’s wrong with G–. might be something else. Something up there.”

Here, he tapped his temple three times, as if he was scared to say it out loud. People often were, even as they proclaimed to be part of the solution.

“I don’t know. The doctors we spoke to didn’t fill me with confidence. One was a sort of angry woman who wanted her to snap out of it. The other was a grave man. He at least spoke with clarity but his prognosis was grim. He wants to refer her to a psychiatric ward for assessment. In her brief moments of lucidity she worries about being sectioned. I worry about the same thing, even with clear thought on my side. It’s all a mess, really. I’m not even sure about what I should be worried about.”

He finished his vodka. Signalled to the bar for another one. The young woman, little more than a girl really, who worked behind the counter began to pour the clear, strong alcohol from one of the hanging optics.

“The grave doctor told me that he’d read about a case with a comatose patient suffering from brain trauma,” the young man continued, as his drink arrived at the table. He began to sip at it greedily, instantly regretting it as the harsh drink roared down his throat and tickled his chest. He fought back the displeasure and marauded onwards. “He would spend years asleep, but occasionally he would awake and speak with great clarity of a world within his head, where he had been a husband and a father and a champion. He had lived this whole life within himself, even though he had a perfectly good one here, in the real world. He said they know very little about the brain, really. I think it was an elaborate way of managing expectations. Of telling me not to expect any answers from them.”

As the young man contemplated his lack of power, Michelle found herself doing the same thing. She was alone, and desperate, and most of all powerless.

Indeed, what power do you have? thought the writer, both in his mind and in his notepad. You have none. You are my puppets: everything inside this room is attached, by invisible strings, to my will and to my typewriter.

He stopped to smile and to finish his drink. He put down his pencil but he was still the writer. The physical act of transferring a thought on the page, with lead or ink or binary code as its conduit, was secondary to the process.

The phone rings, the writer thought, the writer imagined, the writer brought into being. The bartender doesn't answer it for a very long time, perhaps hoping that eventually it would stop of its own accord. She hated her job. She had been doing it for too long. She had been doing it for so long that she had forgotten what it was like when she hadn't been doing it for too long. She hated the customers in the bar only slightly less than she hated their wives on the phone. Eventually, she'd have to answer it. But, for now, she could live in hope.

The harsh, shrill cries of the telephone, attached to the wall and suddenly bursting into life, permeated what little sanctuary was available to Michelle in the subterranean bar. She found it difficult to focus on the young man's problems, and the distractions that they afforded her from her own ones. The buzzing noise reminded her of the flickering striplight in the hospital waiting room, the aural equivalent of that optical menace, and yet the bartender neglected to answer it. To put a stop to the onslaught upon her ears. She was hardly busy, but was seemingly consumed by the task of running an old rag around the rim of a tankard, oblivious to how desperate things had become for everyone else in the face of the phone’s infernal ringing.

She glanced at her companion and considered the fact that it might just have been her on the edge, after all. He didn't really seem to even notice the phone. Instead, his eyes repeatedly traced over the first three words of her most recent note: I'm a wrestler. She struggled to believe it, too.

But she was. As simple as that. Everything else was just exposition. The trauma - as yet still buried by the beer and the painkillers that bubbled amongst it in her stomach - of her travails with her basterd was only a marketing technique. She would doubtlessly rear him up to be the size of a mountain, yet another blocking her path, nestled nestled amongst all of the others, even taller still;. Some behind her, and some unconquered still. The Adventurer was only a foothill and - to mix metaphors - a footnote, but a useful one given his knowledge of and history with the man she sought to make into a mountain. It started there, she thought. Or perhaps that was the tramadol talking.

For now, the writer was more interested in the bartender, the youngest of his creations in all ways. He regarded the focus etched on her face. Smiled to himself again.

It is like that because I wrote it so, he thought. She doesn't answer the phone because I wrote it so. She thinks about her life that she hates and the job that she hates because I wrote it so. She focuses only on the task at hand, on her old rag and her dirty tankard, because I wrote it so.

The writer's power, though, is strong but it is not absolute. The reader's power is far greater. They have the choice to trust or to mistrust, to construe or to misconstrue, to read or to misread or to not read at all. The writer has no such choice. The writer must write only.

The bartender doesn't answer the phone, and you know why because I have told you why. But I cannot tell you everything, and I don't tell you everything that I can. The young man is here at this bar, and not in the hospital, and you know why because I have told you why. But these are only passing interactions with characters who, for you, will mean very little. Not for the writer, but for the reader, who - as we've already established - holds the real power. The power to perceive what they will, and the bartender and the young man are perceived to be irrelevant. As for the young woman who proclaimed
I’m a wrestler in earnest, this is but one volume in over a hundred. This creation belongs only to the writer at the point of conception. The character belongs to the reader, who has decided more about her than the writer could or ever intended to.

At the corner table, mostly in an effort to force the incessant ringing of the bar's phone from her mind, Michelle picked up her discarded pencil. She turned to an empty page and began to write.

Why are you here?

The young man stared at another empty glass. Signalled for another vodka. The bartender meandered over to the bottle, the telephone slipping further down her list of priorities.

“Why are you here?” he countered. Michelle didn't have to think. The pencil glided across the pad, the answer forming on the page before she'd even thought about it.

I'm here because I don't want to be alone.

The writer laughed to himself at the bar. Michelle and the young man didn't react to the outburst because that's the way he wrote it.

Have you ever truly been alone? he thought, he wrote. You've always had me - even at your lowest, at your most desperate, you've always had me. And not everybody gets to go to space, but you did! One doesn't expect gratitude, and one understands. How much of this belongs to the writer, and how much to the reader?

You do not want to be alone, as you feel you always have been. You were left alone with Peacock, right? At the whims of his cruelty and his narcissism, and doomed to fail.

You do not want to be alone, and so you attach yourself to another of my creations. Expectations build for another bout of literary masturbation, of spiritual incest. But they must be subverted. You are alone, habitually, as I am. This is your own personal ghetto: the grave which you dig for yourself.


Michelle's mind was cluttered and chaotic. It took her some time to realise that the phone had stopped ringing. The shrill buzzes echoed around the bar long afterwards. The realisation only dawned when the bartender approached their table. She was still running her rag around the rim of an old tankard.

“Excuse me, are you J–.?” she asked. Michelle could tell that she was bored. The young man nodded his head. It was the first time that she'd heard his name. “That was the hospital. They said your wife's awake. She's been asking for you.”

The bartender placed another vodka down in front of him and left. He finished it in one brave but ill-advised gulp and, after recovering from a bout of harsh heaving, threw some banknotes onto the table.

“Good luck in your match,” he said. Her notepad was still open. I'm here because I don't want to be alone.

To know what it is to be alone.

To look for you, Michelle, at a time when I needed you most. To trust that you would be there, as you always had been.

Not to win some title, or to finally beat a Man who holds power over you separate to myself… who holds power over me too, it seems. Nor to win a tournament that meant little by the time it had finished collapsing. For something else. For something more. You are the best of them all: of my children, manifested as words upon a page (upon a screen).

But I looked for you and you were not there. I couldn't hear your voice. It was lost amongst the mountains that I have built around you.
 
  • Like
Reactions: Dubb

Willis

Probably A Skrull
Joined
Sep 14, 2022
Messages
32
Reaction score
51
Points
18
Location
Brooklyn, NY
Favorite Wrestler
brethart2
Favorite Wrestler
danielbryan
Favorite Sports Team
LechI0u
Favorite Sports Team
RHZ7KJg
Favorite Sports Team
Aed870G


Music For The Reading. (Optional)





Click on gif for an RP inspired by a movie I've seen before.


Zu3tZTq4IT21A_EzsWCsu_bv9kDDNjsk0v3HlaJc3EYUY0jWmzD7SfoOJNNVWhxe2tIyxG7C36RvLuvowjfThXmW6WMzjmLFRcFjOt2Nzk-22VifJNka4B4EIwOeFj9DCxOhMjb3zE_m9MzGKAtGbJk





o2iIrpKQCiB9AX_pQABaC4zWE9--WcXL-ywtZmjP7O0rs8S64yY0Z3bR6wrWCUcN07XcfGir-749WnwoOh-D_75GldO8DwSaNXdAVDx1fKddggsHl95UIWS1b2q8jNbtzPIm2V0tNBL9iHPT8I1iC1k
Breaking News: Sarah Grayson's New Album "The Tortured Roleplay" Goes Number One!


An unpredicted twist that has delivered shockwaves through the music industry, the acclaimed international pop star Sarah Grayson has dropped her long-awaited album “The Tortured Roleplay” for the world to hear. The album has been met with an explosion of excitement shooting straight to the number one spot on the music charts within hours of its debut.

The heart of the album lies explosive revelations, as Sarah Grayson fearlessly dives into the depths of her past relationships. Among the most startling revelations is the bombshell dropped in the song “Echoes Of Regret” where Grayson shockingly exposes her past romance with Rams quarterback Jimmy Garoppolo as a well-orchestrated publicity stunt put together by the NFL and her music label as a way to bring her fan bases over to the NFL.
Fnbq1gi88TisMp9LZgrZbjbzqTEoubZdSGZoNuXytngdpBtYy_QI13l_mO_mz_oQ0s-_g8566ZA5TNsjyVHB778H7xcEteCDifX12N6x_dvc9j545-2hWQeUZE20SMLpfqHQ1cumvCNeOM-DttaBtWw


The song reveals what was truly behind the curtains of the relationship. Which was nothing but deception and lies as the fuel for a narrative to bring more eyes to the NFL in a propaganda love story that shocked the fans to find the real reason the two quickly broke apart during the season.

(The Tortured Roleplay Album Cover)

Though the most captivating song on the album, “The Wrestler”, has truly captivated her fans worldwide. In the song, Sarah shows her true feelings by giving her truths and her innermost thoughts about her former love, Brooklyn Steiner the FWA Superstar and son of major Hollywood executive Kirkman Scott. In the song, she delivers confessions that no one truly knew including her fans, being that she still has feelings for Brooklyn. Regretting her failure in pursuing him when the chance presented itself in the past.

“The Wrestler” definitely started a frenzy of speculation with her millions and millions of fans, who are mulling over the idea of the chance of a romantic reunion between the two that have seen years since their separation before Brooklyn's wrestling career started. As news of Sarah Grayson's number-one album spreads like wildfire on social media, the fans buzz with anticipation as they wait for further developments in the saga. Could this be the dawn of the next chapter in the love story that is complex with each chapter of it? Only time will tell and tune in to TMZ when more on this story develops.


New York City - Brooklyn’s Steiner’s Loft
New York City, Brooklyn prepares himself for another toilsome journey with the FWA, and being on the road, he is in his loft, which to him is his sanctuary amidst the true chaos that New York City can be. The loft filled with anticipation as Steiner packs his gear for the road. He is wearing Jordan sneakers, faded jeans, and a vintage shirt from the 1996 movie Space Jam. He has a sense of determination as he packs his bags.
As he readies himself, the melodies of Sarah Grayson’s album “The Tortured Roleplay” fill the room. With every note it seems to stir up the emotions of Brooklyn, just bringing him back to memories that he’d rather leave behind. Despite the rushing flood of memories, Steiner keeps on the task of packing his gear for the FWA road trip coming up. A strong commitment to keeping his mind on his goal which is to get back on track in the FWA from where he last left off.
The Tortured Roleplay album serves as a comfort and a torment for Brooklyn, as he battles with the ghosts of a relationship he wishes he could just forget. With each lyric, he can feel the weight of unresolved emotions that after years one would think he’d be over. Yet even with the turmoil, Steiner has respect for the artistry of Sarah, a silent acknowledgment of what her music has had on his life. Steiner always supports her whenever she drops music because while the two aren’t together, he saw her rise from a starving artist to one of the top in the industry.
uA4yn9kG2aasLV25vQAHIXCfmQYrwu3hW0Qh2UMxKDXXa7iagxKoUPnfNRIrq0ZawD0dFrp6Uue5MaLGyA93B_wlEvyymeBLupkrWNpeR21oK4HpGXzx3FgLCjsAWWNOgmcQINlnKnmhrVLhlJcESGg

However, on the album a song called “The Wrestler” plays and now emotions have come over Steiners’s face as he can hear the raw emotions of Sarah’s voice. The song tackles their past relationship and how Sarah still has feelings for him and regret plays throughout the loft. He reaches to turn it off as a plea to silence the echoes of the past and focus on what’s important now and that is the future that is ahead of him. FWA and his first singles match back since the injury against Joe Burr.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
“ I can’t go through this shit again. I just can’t.”
His gear is packed and most importantly so are his emotions, Steiner puts his bags by the door as he did and is all packed for the trip in the coming days. Brooklyn takes a seat on his couch. He turns on the TV, flipping through the channels and of course, an ad for Sarah Grayson’s new album “The Tortured Roleplay” appears on the screen, with clips of her music videos and interviews. Steiner just can’t escape this.
Sighed deeply, rubbing his head in frustration.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
“Not again.”
Steiner mumbles under his breath. He just wants to forget about Sarah and just once and for all move on with his life but the universe always seems to have plans that differ from his.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
“I wish I could forget all of this, for good. Forget her, forget everything.”
With each frustrated flick of the remote, Steiner changes the channel on the TV looking for anything that will let him escape the war that is going on inside his mind. He finally stops as a certain commercial plays.



Lacuna INC. Commercial

- The commercial opens up in the streets of New York City. People are just going about their lives, some just look stressed by their troubles. -
Commercial Narrator: Are you just fed up and tired of carrying around all the weight of your past mistakes? I bet they keep you up at night do they?
- Cut to an office worker spilling her hot cup of coffee all over the place, followed by a young person tripping and falling in the sea of a large crowd. Completely embarrassing themselves -
Commercial Narrator: Introducing Lacuna Inc., the premier brand for memory erasure service in the United States.
- Cut to a top tech office building with the logo of Lacuna Inc. displayed proudly -
Commercial Narrator: Here at Lacuna Inc., we definitely know and understand how messy life can be. That's why here we developed this top-of-the-line cutting-edge equipment to help you wipe that memory completely clean and help you start fresh and free of the burden of any unwanted memory.
- Cut to the smiling team at Lacuna showing the process of how everything works to a customer that is beyond satisfied with the process. -
Lacuna INC Head Doctor: With our top of the world in our field procedures, we can remove any memory from your sea of memories that you feel are holding you back. Bad breakup or a cringe moment that you‘d rather forget, we got you covered. Trust us, and forget it.
- Cuts to a montage of all the happy customers showing relief and thanks for having Lacuna erase their unwanted memories of theirs. -
Commercial Narrator: Please don't let these past hurtful memories define who you are as a person. Take back your life with the help of us. Just Say goodbye to those mean memories and hello to a happier and brighter future with our team here at Lacuna Inc.
3KUg1IjWeSUYQQuy6OCQqYnpCJuVBxfg6JzNhhGyHfUqWQrIKP4xEBKs7JcP8MK67AAUepMCwuQ0EQ5-LXzmF5rfRiQil1Ua3CYpL_ouC5D9Nrzcz8c5Ff_SDnme1tmq8Pj3Q3eg2i7bl5sWTovIKjM

- Cut back to the Lacuna Inc. building as the logo flashes on the screen.
Commercial Narrator: Because here at Lacuna Inc, we really mean it when we say set it and forget it.

- The commercial ends with the lacuna logo and their contact information. -

Brooklyn is on his couch with his eyes glued to the TV as the Lacuna Inc. commercial wraps up.
In his hand, is his cell phone as he looks up the Lacuna Inc. website. He thinks about it and hesitates as his thumb lingers over the call button as he battles with himself over the idea of making the phone call.
Sarah flashes through his mind, with every moment from joy to heartbreak. He clenches as the weight of all that is going on rests heavily on his shoulders. The chance to rid Sarah from his mind completely was revealed as an option on the table. With determination in his eyes, he makes the call, and sets up an appointment with Lacuna Inc. As he hangs up the call after making the appointment, a sense of relief finds him. Maybe, just maybe this is the solution to the Sarah problem once and for all.
Taking a deep breath, he sits back on the couch as the decision has been made. The journey to erase everything between him and Sarah is in motion and he is ready to embrace the new beginning.
The cell phone gets set down and he rises from the couch, putting on a brave face but deep down he is still conflicted if he wants to go through this he is tired of being weighed down and once and for all he will move on with the baggage that has been holding him down for years. Steiner walks over and sees that Funky The Dog's bowl is empty as he fills it with food. Funky walks over as Steiner leans down and gives a pat on his head.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
“Tomorrow boy, this will all be over.”
Steiner is all set for the appointment tomorrow with Lacuna Inc. As the time lapses from tonight and the day is just about over.



(The Next Day)
New York City - Lacuna INC

Brooklyn steps into the modern and sleek looking Lacuna Inc.’s office, you can see on his face that he is nervous as he thinks about this massive decision that he is about to make. He looks nervously around the room, just looking at the high-tech equipment in the room and the sounds coming from the machines, something that just leaves Steiner in awe.
Steiner enters the treatment room, you can see that his heart is pounding in his chest due to the anxiety that is going through his veins like electricity. The room has calming light but it’s obvious to see that Steiner definitely can’t shake the feeling of unease that is just lingering over him like a dark cloud.
The doctor walks in, and a reassuring presence in his white lab coat greets Brooklyn with a warm smile. The team gently guides Steiner to a chair, assuring that he has nothing to worry about and that he is indeed in safe hands.
DOCTOR: You are completely safe, Brooklyn, you can relax.
Steiner takes a deep breath as he finally voices his deepest desires.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
“Erase Sarah Grayson from my mind.”
The doctor nods and understands the task.
DOCTOR: You will never remember her again. Not a song, not even a lyric, everything about her will be gone. We got you, Brooklyn.
The doctor and his team set to work with practiced efficiency, carefully working with the high-tech machinery that will soon be tasked with the monumental goal of removing Sarah Grayson, an international pop star and the one who left Brooklyn Steiner heartbroken from his memory. The room is humming with the whirling of the advanced mind-erasing tech.
The Procedure starts, and Steiner feels a wave of dread wash over him. His mind is just racing with so much uncertainty. The doctor offers words of support to Brooklyn
DOCTOR: Relax Brooklyn, everything is going fine.
With a reassuring smile, the machine is activated by the doctor as Steiner closes his eyes and surrenders himself to the unknown before him. The memories begin to fade. Though the journey of all this is uncertain, one thing is for sure, Steiner is taking the necessary steps towards a future free of the shadows of his past relationship with Sarah Grayson.
As the process of the deletion of Sarah from his mind begins, a waterfall of memories crowd his consciousness, each playing out as exactly and as clearly as the day that it happened.
8w7gG3HNsBbJ0gg6Ba5YxNTMJt1aIseG0fazsiOr6Do3F4MYugFwxgTSsY5J_998s5KzCqw6WgRipRrly6qfY2_64mvo14pVM9vv8UwpVx_PxHxunk5IEl2IpfrG4T0yo4XbQr_PJq1uTH9i9p2O_Bs

The reel that is his mind’s eye, flickers like a movie playing in front of his consciousness. The candle-lit date night dinners with Sarah to cozy movie nights at home as the two cocoon in their warm embrace. Road trips and vacations taken together to find hidden gems in towns all over the world. Yet interlinking with the happy times are the memories of conflict, especially after the controversial statement made by Steiner in the interview that got his Hollywood career canceled.
The fight over that and the fight that led Sarah to walk away from Brooklyn play for his mind’s eye to revisit. Finally, the last time they ever heard from each other Sarah officially broke things with him for good as she chose her music career over the love she felt for Brooklyn and left him to deal with whatever he was going through all alone. As the memories fade and dissolve, there is only one last memory left before the completion. A touching memory that lingers in Brooklyn’s mind as it plays one last time before removing it and Sarah forever.

9DkT7ZNVDI3JZkoSBEElYL5LOQX-un4rm-IqDJISfjiOaVdJ8PAVkG_ZeAcgVinL5wve2Js95P_TRWy6ZVOHXkdcGKml1GGEHxnt4gZPrP5WO_0QvwSKlwidN4ZHLJn_LC0r70kVRtG0TuwgQPjUO1g
DMhydcOUQHTirLT6RdG_QK0jbNSKqKhNfbxw7ub6IYiGCR6eRIR0nzy5HmiYdbYqxlCa_F-cEPtWWDv6Mnhjvk8_pmolahW0Bqt3JY0ecE4-oRf8DI8XRFbjyNwbCfT1yAPlLI0CPBtxNw9egxxc4UA


Hollywood Event - Los Angeles
(Years ago)






Mingling chatter and music fills the air of a Hollywood event. Sarah Grayson, in a stunning ensemble that catches the light just slides through the party crowd with no effort. Her eyes sweep across the room with curiosity until they lock onto Steiner, standing apart from the crowd of celebrities with a distant look in his eyes.
Sarah smiles and it widens as she makes her way through the sea of people, with each step making her way towards Brooklyn. Each step with a purpose oozes an energy that draws the attention of Brooklyn Steiner.
Brooklyn in a sleek black designer suit that emphasizes his charm, finds himself captivated with Sarah as she approaches. Though their thoughts are clouded and he is deep in them, her energy casts a glow that penetrates the fog that is in his mind.
An instant connection as their eyes meet, just transcending the buzzing atmosphere that is around them. As the distance between the two closes, Sarah’s aura of warmth enwraps Brooklyn, as the tension that had him perplexed eases and he just looks like a sense of calm has come over him.
With a smile, she reaches Brooklyn’s side, her gaze filled with real concern for the troubled soul that is Brooklyn before her.
Small things in the background like items that were on shelves start to just erase and disappear as this memory is in the process of being removed from Steiner’s mind forever. As Steiner and Sarah talk, the vibrant background that is the event filled with Hollywood A-listers starts to fade into the outer boundaries. Small things, once vivid and there, are now a blur and going into obscurity.
The shelves that are lined with memorabilia start to lose their solidity as they dissolve into the memory of Steiner. Framed photos, once a tale of past glories, just vanish as the memory gets erased from Brooklyn's mind.
uTU6JE4nxChuspNDwzfeyAF0nj4dOS87CGl-4CDrk5I-638DSI5PqTm_i7TNLcrlssLcRh2EdNVMG71BsgP_M41sVT9sg0sH87cTbNuRnKeA-H2botR_1FymXacQ7dV1TBbSphZJBHMo7UA7iGm3yH0
“Seemed to have a lot on your mind earlier. You okay?”
Brooklyn is surprised at her directness as she asks him about being lost in thought while she approaches him.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
my father... He's always looming over me, pushing his agenda. Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating under his influence.’’
Sarah listens to Brooklyn, as her eyes reflect with empathy for him.
uTU6JE4nxChuspNDwzfeyAF0nj4dOS87CGl-4CDrk5I-638DSI5PqTm_i7TNLcrlssLcRh2EdNVMG71BsgP_M41sVT9sg0sH87cTbNuRnKeA-H2botR_1FymXacQ7dV1TBbSphZJBHMo7UA7iGm3yH0
“If you aren’t careful and If you don't heal from what hurt you, you'll bleed on the people who didn't cut you.”
Struck by the truth spoken by her, a sense of understanding between the two, the party continues as the two continue to talk.
uTU6JE4nxChuspNDwzfeyAF0nj4dOS87CGl-4CDrk5I-638DSI5PqTm_i7TNLcrlssLcRh2EdNVMG71BsgP_M41sVT9sg0sH87cTbNuRnKeA-H2botR_1FymXacQ7dV1TBbSphZJBHMo7UA7iGm3yH0
You know what always lifts me, and lifts my spirits when I feel down, my favorite song, Stand By Me.”
Brooklyn, looking to connect, retrieves his cell phone and plays the song as the two of them sing together and have a genuinely fun time in each other’s company as they fill the room with an unexpected serenade.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
”Sarah,
Sarah cuts off Brooklyn as she knows exactly what he is going to ask her.
uTU6JE4nxChuspNDwzfeyAF0nj4dOS87CGl-4CDrk5I-638DSI5PqTm_i7TNLcrlssLcRh2EdNVMG71BsgP_M41sVT9sg0sH87cTbNuRnKeA-H2botR_1FymXacQ7dV1TBbSphZJBHMo7UA7iGm3yH0
“You’re going to ask me out, aren’t you?
Brooklyn smiles as you can tell in his eyes in this memory that he has fallen head over heels in love with her.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
“Yes. Would you want to? I promise you, I can cook.
uTU6JE4nxChuspNDwzfeyAF0nj4dOS87CGl-4CDrk5I-638DSI5PqTm_i7TNLcrlssLcRh2EdNVMG71BsgP_M41sVT9sg0sH87cTbNuRnKeA-H2botR_1FymXacQ7dV1TBbSphZJBHMo7UA7iGm3yH0
“Lucky for you, Brooklyn, I love a man who can cook, but you’re going to have to prove it to me.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
“Consider it a date, my mom is a famous chef, and I will show you just how I move in the kitchen.”
As the memory starts to come to an end, the background begins to completely blur and fade. The edge of Brooklyn's memory softens as the last memory of Sarah in the brain of Brooklyn is almost fully erased. Something goes wrong.
t171QL1KIrBOMcgxSzbc4b4MiaH_Q25w8f-zPy1RV9ayuVY0zL9xLpBxi4K9E9zZT-REyk55vCQMzfU-LPDkLnkLT3kapL3FcrZHfjV8TqHiEZnT9lWXjwOHuT3Tq9n6ZXR7c9_Qe3B1ibPOAeW0he0


The memory erase procedure abruptly pauses and stops as the memories of Sarah of Brooklyn start to load back into the mind of Steiner as if it is doing everything on its own. The doctor looks confused while the nurse has a concerned look with the staff.
Nurse: "Doc, come take a look at this."
The nurse pauses as she points at the monitor with Steiner’s memories. A wave of perplexity washes over the doctor as he reads what is going on. While this is happening Steiner remains unconscious and completely unaware of the battle raging within his mind over the memories of Sarah.
Doctor: “ It’s his subconscious, it is fighting back against us as if his mind is refusing to let these memories go."
The nurse nods in agreement, her expression mirroring the doctor's bafflement. With a heavy sigh, the doctor realizes the futility of their efforts.
The nurse nods, her expression just mirroring the doctor's confusion over the entire situation as this is something the staff has never seen before.
Doctor: “We can’t move on with the procedure as the subconscious that we are dealing with is just too strong and it’s fighting back against what we are trying to do."
As the doctor gently wakes Steiner from his slumber, he delivers the news with a mixture of regret and understanding.
The doctor wakes up Steiner gently as tears form and drop as everything just transpiring has taken its toll on him and you can see in the emotional state that he is in. The doctor delivers the news of what just happened to Brooklyn and as he wipes the tears, he comes to an understanding that this is just something that he has to keep with him and deal with.
Doctor: "I’m sorry, Brooklyn. But it looks like your mind just doesn’t want to let these memories die. Maybe it’s best if you keep them, as deep down we can see that you do."
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
"Thanks, doc, you tried, but maybe this is a sign that I just can’t run from this and delete my problems.".
With a sense of clarity, Steiner slowly leaves Lacuna Inc. a bit woozy after the whole ordeal. The weight of knowing that deep down, he still loves Sarah and that is something that he has to try to navigate through as he can’t run from these emotions.
He boards the city train and on it can’t help but hear the words of the gossip on the trains from the other passengers as he is the topic of the top song in the country and the entire world knows that Sarah wants Steiner back but is that a door that Steiner wants to keep close, it’s something he will have to think about as he figures out what is next for him in this upcoming chapter in his life. For now, he has a huge match coming up against Joe Burr.
Steiner gets to his stop on the train, pulls out his phone and shoots Sarah a text asking to meet up with her. The first actual communication between the two since the breakup.









J05NVxh.png

FWA Meltdown - Denver, Colorado

In the backstage area at FWA Meltdown from The Denver Coliseum the energy is electric, as it’s filled with excitement and anticipation.Among the chaotic atmosphere, Brooklyn Steiner is found sitting in the corner quietly. The dim glow of lights that cast over his head casting a shadow, he is focused as he wraps tape around his wrists, a ritual he does every match. One the tape that he wrapped around his right wrist, he pulls out a marker and writes “mamba mentality” on it.
Steiner is preparing himself for the showdown against a former champion in Joe Burr, but as he readies for tonight’s match, you can see that his mind just isn't 100% focused. But he knows that he has to step up and ready his mind for the fight, and make sure to block out anything that doesn’t help him tonight in his first singles match since injury.
A camera finds itself in the face of Steiner as it is time for him to share some words for tonight’s match against the former Gauntlet champion. He is trying to get the gears moving and get himself in fight mode for tonight and you can see how intense he is as he stares into the camera and offers his thoughts on his Meltdown match up.
Do-ncVnXTSk0WZSkWrPZiYp-U1KijQyWH5tMx8vPjaoXAMDQQDQVm_h2wy-ySfXACynQHGhtpUTOo1pSVdGdfeTnVGGwy2IA94opQTqczxXTL8IArmOdMtr8aPbz4T5EMf2g3tDgyvB-ObdYYrqlGlQ
Ya, know, tonight, I see this as my first night truly back. My first night back in what I claim to be my comfort zone. My place of purpose. Back in the FWA, back in front of the greatest fans in the world. A lot has been going through my mind, the memories, the ones that maybe I wish I could forget. The memories of getting the TV title snatched from me by the fate of the gods. Though, to be honest, I’ve come to realize that these memories are a part of me, these memories helped make me the man that I stand here today.
From the best to the worst, each piece of me, from my in-ring talent, to my subconsciousness, each part, every step, every misstep, has me right here and has me right now. To be ready to go out there, and not forget the past, but use it, as its purpose to make me a better wrestler, and to bring me back to the heights that I was once at before my departure, before my TV title reign getting ripped away from me due to the injury that sidelined me.
I need that, I need how I felt when I got the word from FWA executives that I would not be TV champion anymore, at first, but the bad memories, like that one and the others that I don’t feel like going into details about, If I could have the unwanted memories gone, just like that, they would be, trust me, I tried. But like I said, that’s what makes Brooklyn Steiner who is, and tonight, Joe Burr, you stand in the way on my road to redemption, you stand in my way on the road back to being called a champion here in the FWA.
The Carnal Contendership didn’t go the way I hoped, but, it showed me that I still have it, I still have what it takes to climb the mountain again, to face off tonight against anyone in the ring in front of these fans who have supported me every step of the way on my way back here to the FWA. They never let me forget, they will never let me forget, that this is my home, and tonight, I plan running straight through Joe Burr, knocking him the F##K out and putting my name back to where it once was as one of the elites in the FWA. I’m more than just the subject of one of the top songs in the world, I’m Brooklyn Steiner’ and I’m not just a wrestler, I’m THE WRESTLER! And soon Joe will know, and the millions of fans who supported me on my way back will know it too. I’m better than ever, and I will prove it, and I dare anyone to try, and prove, me, wrong.
The camera fades as Steiner resumes getting prepared for his match as he does; you can hear him whistle the song “Stand by me” as he slowly starts to put himself in stretching formation. He looks to be in top shape and ready to take on Joe Burr tonight.
 

ETE

Active Member
Joined
Sep 21, 2022
Messages
185
Reaction score
111
Points
43
Age
37
Favorite Wrestler
themiz
Favorite Wrestler
GDgC9g9
Favorite Wrestler
J1K3xhn
Favorite Wrestler
88j8DYn
Favorite Wrestler
maryse
Favorite Wrestler
kane
The Right Side of the Bed Club in the heart of sinful Las Vegas had become one of the more infamous Clubs around. Always full of powerful, beautiful and overtly sexual people there to embrace their lack of inhibitions. It was hedonistic and debaucherous. Everyone knew if you wanted to embrace your most sinfully sexual side this was the Club to go too.

If you wanted to embrace your wildest fantasies. If you wanted to be surrounded by people parading around in as little clothing as possible this was the place to be.

But not so much anymore…

It has been much quieter thesedays. The Clubs owner XperienX Xtacee had let his interests and his focus wander, as well as his enthusiasm and belief in himself and his Club. It’s been much emptier recently, barely looked after. Verging on falling into complete abandonment and disrepair.


In its glory days not long after Mr. Xtacee had debuted in the FWA in the 2023 Carnal Contendership match a future FWA Hall of Famer now dabbling in other ‘exploits’ on film had even filmed one of her scenes for Evil Angel at the Club. XperienX was paid quite well for ‘renting’ out a VIP room for the night. And as a bonus he got to meet this future Hall of Famer, the Goddess of many Coatings herself. A brief encounter that could have instilled something inside the young man.

But this isn’t about XperienX Xtacee, at least not yet. This isn’t about how popular this Club used to be. This isn’t about what that woman with her Caramel complexion had done in this Club. But rather what she is currently doing in this Club…

It is a year later that Gabrielle had found herself back in this place. Invited here by a man who had simply introduced himself to her as ‘The Gentleman’ backstage at the Carnal Contendership. He was well dressed, and carried himself with an air of absolute surety, accompanied by a Texan accent. Despite being an older man, definitely in his 60’s he was still clearly quite fit, even maybe still attractive in a grizzled sort of way.

He’s also so very similar to so many of the men in Gabrielle’s life; he knows what he wants and he knows how to get it. What he wants right now is to bring the Right Side of the Bed back to its former glory after buying his way into the business recently.

He has a plan for this, and as an experienced Manager of Pro Wrestlers, and a long time fan of Professional Wrestling he has very particular ideas in mind. Helping Xperience Xtacee reach his full potential is part of his plan. If XX can reach Championship Gold this Club will blossom from that. People resonate with and respect a winner, and people will come from all around to Party with a Winner.

Then, there’s the other part of his plan. The part that currently has her head buried in The Gentlemans lap as he grasps a handful of her long brunette hair. This Club is all about raunchy, about sex, about sin and skin. He knew exactly who to approach, afterall in the World of Pro Wrestling who better to approach with such a matter?

And of course people will come from all around to party with her…

She would be perfect working here in some capacity. She’s everything that the Right Side of the Bed Club represents and needs. Perhaps even moreso. The Gentleman is unsure of exactly what role she could fill here. This place is no Brothel. Becoming an out and out Pornography studio seems just that step too far, and besides despite what her current actions may suggest she’s not currently áctive’ in that industry.

Perhaps she could be a dancer here. She could even just walk the floor and make sure the patrons are happy and looked after. But those thoughts are far from his mind currently. She’s busy making sure he is happy and looked after…in his own Club.

He’s getting lost in her deep brown eyes as she looks up at him from her knees. All her clothes long since removed as she kneels between his legs and bobs her head up and down in his lap. His grip sporadically getting tighter on her hair, as do her lips.

It was easy to get her here, and easy to get her on her knee’s like this. The Gentleman is a fan of her work, so he had certain expectations. But still, she had surprised him with the easines in which she’d engaged in sucking off an old man she’d only recently met in a nearly abandoned Club.

This woman is in the Hall of Fame, yet she finds herself eagerly in situations like this.



It is only after he’s ‘finished’, pulled his pants up and taken a phonecall in another room that it can sink in to her just how easy this was.

She wipes at the corners of her mouth with a slight smile upon her face. There’s no regret, no moment of clarity where her actions sink in and she has too try and explain to herself what she’s just done. She’s used to this. This is just her life, what her life has become and its as simple as that. This is her new normal.



She’s slipped her slinky light blue dress back on now. With its high hemline, plunging neckline and being backless it conceals very little of her body. Its a dress that all at once carries an air of expense and high fashion…while inviting lewd thoughts and stares. She’d look at home walking a red carpet, or laid out on the carpet.

The Gentleman has disappeared into some back room for now. While this Goddess as she has been called in different ways has found her way into a familiar room. A room she had spent some time in a year prior. It had afforded her a moderate level of privacy back then. Elevated above the Club, tinted windows, though not impossible to see through.

She had filmed one of her most watched scenes in this room, and if she’s being honest one of her most enjoyable. Something about the voyeuristic nature of it had resonated with her at the time, maybe it was because she felt so seen during the scene. That is what she was chasing at the time afterall. Affirmation, acknowledgment, attention, acceptance.

Things she still chases. Things that bring her to places like this, with men like that, to do what she’s done a year ago, and just moments ago.

She sits down alone in this room unlike last time and just looks at her reflection. A year prior the group of men making up the film crew along with her co-star had delighted in making her look into that mirror but today it’s just her.

She marvels at her own beauty, at that famed skin tone, at her curves seductively and barely hidden from her eyes. She still has an ego, she always will. That ego perhaps even ‘protects’ her these days from judging herself too harshly. She can see why she’s so lusted after, she can see why nearly all the men she’s ever met have wanted too and often have bedded her.

She’s proud of this, a warm smile crossing her face as she sits down on the leather couch that occupies the back wall. Her looks have aged well deep into her 30’s. Her looks kept her relevant. Her looks gave her an identity when she had given up on what she had spent most of her life doing.

She can envision herself occupying this space again, surrounded by other beautiful people should The Gentleman and XX successfully bring this Club back to its glory days. Its weird to think she’s here hanging out in a Club owned by someone she’ll be punching in the face in a weeks time. It is even stranger to think that the man who was palming the back of her head just moments ago might be managing someone she’ll be spiking into the canvas head first in a weeks time.

She chuckles at that thought for a moment. Giving head and spiking heads, the story of Gabrielle.

That joyful little chuckle doesn’t last too long though. There’s a reason she excitedly agreed to meet The Gentleman here. There’s a reason she helped him slide her out of her dress. There’s a reason she danced for him. There’s a reason she buried her head in his lap.

It was a distraction from what fate has brought her…a distraction from a so called “Golden Opportunity”.

Gabrielle in places like this, with men like that, doing what she had done can all be traced back to her last Golden Opportunity.

While everyone else ‘lucky’ enough to qualify may be seeking to make the most of it, Gabrielle is doing her best to forget all about it by diving into the sort of things she was driven to by it in the past.

The Gentleman probably thought he was smooth talking Gabrielle onto her knees so easily, in reality he was important enough, seedy enough, endowed enough for her to welcome him as a distraction.

It's all she wanted right now. Carnal Contendership ideally for her was a win or absolutely lose occasion. First or last, any inbetween can bring a nightmare back into her World…

She closes her eyes tightly. At times she’d almost feel dead inside, another way she protects herself from judging herself too harshly.

It was fun right to get one over Lizzie Rose again.

It was exciting to come so close to winning the whole thing.

Yet Gabrielle had almost instantly contemplated withdrawing from the Golden Opportunity.

A distraction is needed, again.

But not ‘that’, not again.

He’s probably too old to get it up again so soon.

Gross.

Again, a distraction is needed.

XX. Its his Club she’s in after all. She cant give herself and that knot of dread in her throat all of the credit for why she’s here. XperienX had reminded her of the sort of people she’d worked with. The Gentleman had reminded her of the sort of people she’d meet and sleep with prior to working with their clients.

That was pretty standard. If Gabrielle was going to work with XperienX then she had to prove herself with The Gentleman first. Old habits die hard. You live like that for 8 months or so and it becomes the norm. Perhaps Mr Xtacee’s own overt sexuality had clouded Gabrielle’s mind as well. She’d seen the comments on social media when this match was announced; it was just going to be a porno in the ring.

She wants to convince herself that it wouldn’t be that, she’s a professional…but she’s here afterall. Maybe their match will descend into a porno? Maybe the Foreplay and the Climax will be unlike any that XperienX has hit in the ring before. And maybe Gabrielle wont be able to resist it.

She should hate herself, she knows that deep down

Inducted into the Hall of Fame despite what she was doing at the time, and she hasn’t changed much. From Back In Business Main Events to meeting strange men in empty Clubs…

The smile has gone from her face, but at least the Golden Opportunity isn’t on her mind anymore. She does have moments where she regrets the life paths she has chosen. Its why she had tried to quit Porn several times. It's why she finally did and then returned to the FWA. But still she’d found herself crawling back to Desmond for a sense of self worth.

She finds herself here, sitting on the same leather couch she was bent over a year earlier with a camera in her face.

XX should just be an opponent, nothing more. She’s fallen on hard times in the ring (giggle), she’s desperate for a win. As desperate as she was when she left the FWA, found herself stripping, and then found herself fucking on film.

She knows XperienX is desperate, as desperate as she is. He needs a win as well. His Club has fallen on hard times because he too was wallowing in self doubt and self loathing. Funny how that works out.

She stares upon her reflection again. Wanting to cheer herself up. Her brunette hair is a bit of a mess, but in a flirty kind of way. She adjusts her dress, playing with the way the low neckline exposes her ample cleavage.

Its sad to anyone else that truly cares about her, and it will be sad to her as well in time to come. But there's a sense of pride that comes from how she looks, how desirable she is, how sinful she has become. Her self worth is so wrapped up in letting men put her on her back outside of the ring.

She just doesn’t want to be put on her back in the ring anymore. Her and XperienX Xtacee could make magic together…but they cant. They shouldn’t. She needs the win. She needs to feel her hand raised again.​
 

Nostradamus

White Rabbit
Joined
Apr 15, 2016
Messages
10,940
Reaction score
5,527
Points
248
Age
28
Location
Brooklyn, NY
Website
www.ratswithwings.com
Favorite Wrestler
eddieguerrero
Favorite Wrestler
nock3cf
Favorite Wrestler
n4HSWck
Favorite Wrestler
kofi
Favorite Wrestler
6SLLEQr
Favorite Wrestler
edge
What?

“What?”

“WHAT?!”

“WHY?!”

“I have unrestricted hiring power, my good fellows. It says so in the contract that Mr. Xtacee himself signed.”

“YOU HIRED HIS OPPONENT!”

“Yes, Monica, I did. After a long and hard negotiation process, I believe Gabrielle and I came to a fantastic business arrangement.”

Monica rubs her temples with her fingers while staring directly at the floor.

“Old man, listen-“

“Oh, come now, Antonio, no need for such language.”

“Y’know what, fine, I apologize for that. But do you realize how STUPID this is? You brought in someone that your business partner is going to fight. You let them into our business, and home, where they could dig up whatever dirt they want and use it to their advantage. On top of that, it’s not some one-time gig, you’ve given her a PERMANENT SPOT IN THE CLUB!”

“What do you take me for, Antonio? I can assure you that Gabrielle had her hands full during our meeting and at no point would she have the opportunity to wander around unattended, much less find anything detrimental to Xtacee’s image. Besides, what does he even have to hide? The three of you are about as open a book as any I’ve ever read.”


The Gentleman leans in close to Antonio.

“And isn’t time for a new chapter after all? Despite Mr. Xtacee losing the Carnal Contendership, he still has a captive audience. Also, thanks to him, my Linus was able to compete in that match as well. I just thought I would return the favor by making The Right Side of The Bed become what it was before. In fact, let me show you all something…”

The Gentleman begins searching in his fanny pack for something. While he is doing this, Monica speaks up.

“Ok, I have a headache. I can’t believe you think this is a good thing. That evil bitch is not a good person to have here. It has nothing to do with what she does, because sex sells baby, but it has everything to do with who she is. There’s a reason people hate her. Everything she’s done proves that she deserves what she gets, and you hire her here? Without telling us you were meeting her? Look what she caused with Lizzie Rose, that girl was broken after they were through with each other and then Lizzie went all weird and joined Eternal at some point. What makes you think that she won’t come on through here and destroy everything?

“She can’t do anymore damage than what’s already been done, Monica.”


For the first time in this conversation, Xtacee has said more than the word “what”. He seems dejected and defeated after failing to win the Carnal Contendership. At this point, The Gentleman has finished searching in his fanny pack and has pulled out his phone.

“Monica, Antonio, Mr. Xtacee, I’d like to show you something. You see, I took the liberty of creating a pre-registration list for the club. Only those that register will be permitted.”

“Wait, we WANT more people to come here, not less. Why would you restrict people from coming in!”


The Gentleman turns his phone to show Monica the pre-registration list.

“Holy shit.”

Monica sees hundreds of people have registered to come to the club on the day of its re-opening. Well above the legally allowed amount of people.

“The Right Side of The Bed is set to have its highest attendance ever, most likely its largest profit ever, and what is absolutely going to be the most social media interactions in its history. All in one night. We’re going to have to reject some people in order to remain in compliance, which will be a fantastic look and make for a great news story. I already have some media lined up for interviews with Xtacee.”

“How… how did you do this?”

“Well, it wasn’t through normal advertising. In fact, it wasn’t through any real advertising at all. You see, I pushed out a little leak that Gabrielle would be dancing here and that she has become our new premium attraction. Now, nothing has been put out by us in an official capacity, so we can’t disappoint either way. My only request is that, win or lose, please don’t injure our new employee. I want to make sure we deliver on the surprise, and we have more to talk about on the news. I’ll even have my boy, Linus, downstairs to greet people and sign autographs. Thanks to you, he gained some fans.”

“I want to hate you… so badly.”


Xperienx Xtacee gets up from the spot on the floor he’s sitting and extends his hand towards The Gentleman, who shakes it happily.

“Thank you, Mr. Lovell. I can see you’re putting in the work, baby. Monica, Antonio, my loves… We should head out and get me in the right headspace before the show. She might be our newest employee and attraction, but she’s still the one I’m facing. Maybe we can all sit down together and have drinks afterwards. Mr. Lovell, you can bring Linus along as well.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, my sweet boy doesn’t drink. He just can’t handle that sort of thing. Appreciate the gesture, however.”

“Come, my loves. Mr. Lovell can handle everything while we’re gone. I need to make sure that Gabrielle stays on her back. For a pin, nothing more.”

Xperienx Xtacee, Monica, and Antonio all head into the elevator and make their way down. Meanwhile, The Gentleman taps away on his phone and smiles to himself.
--------------------------------------------------------
XX logo.png

51/49
 

Cyrus Truth

Member
Joined
Sep 16, 2022
Messages
46
Reaction score
63
Points
18
Age
39
TY0PNvN-leCrc1PQlduOu9wKTKuejOVi2t56z4J3fx0FP7dj7xjO8XeWLj2fwKIS9ewofnROyehraRHRDY1cIc9dHKZw2bt4zJPLD8R7Ngkc4FbSF3tpG28PN3D_XM68Uoq15f1wh2poZH0FWJW2qIw

Chapter 3: Cornerstone


Carnal Contendership, both the event and the titular match itself, is over.

Championships have been won. Championships have been defended…barely. And the main event of Back in Business has been determined.

For FWA referee Richard Davis, still suffering from the vicious attack that he endured in the events opening contest, it’s a bit of a somber thought as he’s backstage, searching the bowels of the Sphere theater as FWA personnel and wrestlers have already begun to file out to find rest or reverie in the City of Sin. However, Richard’s been around long enough to know that a certain wrestler has a habit of being the last to leave as much as he’s the first to arrive at any given event.

Referees are supposed to be impartial, and never show favoritism towards any specific wrestler. And sure, when the bell rings and the action begins in the squared circle? Richard Davis has always and will always call the matches down the middle and enforce whatever the rules of the contest is.

But…that doesn’t mean that there isn’t respect that extends well beyond whatever happens between the ropes.

And certainly, even regrets about the outcomes of the matches themselves.

It takes Richard a while to find him, but eventually he does. Not in the locker room, not where catering was set up, nor in the trainer’s room.

Richard Davis finds Cyrus Truth sitting on a staircase outside of the Sphere, nursing the myriad of bruises, aches, and pains with an ice pack he likely nicked from one of FWA’s medical team. But The Exile is not alone, as his tag team partner and Fallout commentator Konchu Hao is standing nearby with his minion Epsilon.

It seems, as Richard observes, that he’s not the only one that has regrets about how events went down tonight.

“Truth, I must apologize again profusely for not being here for your World Title match. I suspect that those reprobates sabotaged my rental vehicle, and finding public transportation is always a bloody mess during FWA events. But I SHOULD have been here. I should’ve found a way to make sure that those wretched cretins and that barbaric lout did not have the chance to intervene and…”

“Konchu, relax, it’s fine.”

“Bloody hell it is! This continues to happen to you when you’re within micrometers of reclaiming the World Title, and it’s abhorrent that FWA management will do nothing to correct it. That imbecile Russnow is about as effective as mammary glands on a…”

“Hey…Cyrus?”


Richard’s voice cuts through the conversation mid-Konchu rant as all three FWA talents turn their attention to the referee. Richard, despite being about as imposing as a referee can be in the sport of professional wrestling, nevertheless nervously approaches The Exile and The Mad Wizard, head somewhat low and voice somewhat muted.

“Hey…I, uh…I just wanted to say ‘Sorry’ about what happened in the cage tonight. I tried to keep Stache and Amigo out, but…”

Konchu cuts him off with a biting, angry interjection.

“Well, you should be damn well sorry! The entire point of the cage and you being out there was to keep those horrid wretches from interfering! You should have exercised your authority and forced them to leave ringside immediately!”

“It was a cage match, I didn’t think…”

“YES! That was the folly! You did not THINK, and because of that? Truth is not the World Champion, as he damn well should…”

“Konchu! Enough!”


Konchu, normally not one to be cowed by anyone, immediately clams up as Cyrus barks out his own rebuttal, speaking with force and authority despite the evident pain etched on his face. Cyrus then turns his gaze to Richard Davis, who seemingly braces himself for a proper lashing from the man who lost his championship match due, in part, to his inability to control the interference from the Friendship Wrestling Alliance.

But, as he stands ready to take everything on the chin, something every good referee ends up doing at one point or another in their career, he’s absolutely floored by what Cyrus says next:

“Hey, are you alright? You took a pretty nasty chair shot from Baxter.”

Did…did one of the most anti-social wrestlers in FWA history, a man who commands and demands as much excellence from his peers and those in his purview as much as he does himself, just ask Richard Davis…a lowly referee, if HE was all right?

Without any bitterness or irony?

Richard looks at Cyrus and sees that…yeah. There’s a look of legitimate concern on Cyrus’s face. It’s not overt, and not as if The Exile’s expression belays any REAL concern…but the question is still genuine.

Richard scratches the back of his head sheepishly as he eventually answers.

“Um...I’m…I’m okay. My back hurts like a sonofabitch, but I’ll be okay. Heh…kind of reminds me of my football days, to be honest. Lot more painful than getting tackled out of my cleats, though.”

“Yeah…I imagine so.”


Cyrus, slowly, rises to his feet and starts to walk over to Richard. However, before he can reach him, he staggers and falls to a knee. The Exile winces and clutches his head, the after-effects of Baxter’s chair shot to his skull still there, only exacerbated by competing in the Carnal Contendership Match.

Epsilon immediately goes to Truth’s side as Konchu reaches out to help him. Cyrus, however, calmly brushes The Mad Wizard’s hand aside as he grabs Epsilon’s shoulder and uses him as a crutch to get back to his feet. Shaking some of the cobwebs out of his mind, Cyrus gives Konchu and Epsilon a reassuring look, telling them without words that while he’s definitely hurting, he’ll be okay.

Cyrus Truth approaches Richard Davis and extends his hand.

“I appreciate you trying, Rich. Lots of referees wouldn’t go through the trouble and risk getting their shit stomped in, but you did. Thanks for that.”

Richard looks floored by the graciousness on display from one of wrestling’s most vicious and demanding misanthropes, but he eventually shakes off the initial shock and takes the offered hand.

As the two shake, Konchu tilts his head as if he’s just as confused by this display as the referee.

“Well…I suppose if you’re all right with it, I can be as well. Although I am still confused. Not only were you robbed of the World Title by that gaggle of rakehells and that brutish blackguard Baxter, but you came up short in Carnal Contendership in the same night.”

“Just because I’m not losing my shit over it, Konchu? Doesn’t mean you have to remind me about it. The near concussion from Baxter’s chair shot is more than enough of a reminder.”

“That being said, I am still perplexed. I was fully expecting you to be absolutely apoplectic.”

“Yeah, not gonna lie? I thought you’d be pissed off about how tonight went down.”

“Why would I be?”


Cyrus leans against a nearby handrail next to a set of stairs leading out to the parking lot and out of the Sphere. He takes a deep breath, still suffering the effect of having not only the brutal loss to Jeremy Best, but the stress of competing in Carnal Contendership.

“Krash is back, boys. Yeah, I could be absolutely livid about tonight, and I probably am deep down. But, in the end? One of my friends has come back. How could I stay mad? Besides, I’m in the Golden Opportunity match, so it’s not as if this is the end of the journey back to the World Title.

“But…damn it to hell.”


Cyrus groans as his brow furrows and he leans back, trying desperately to stretch his back muscles to alleviate some of the punishment they took tonight. It’s another cold desert night in Las Vegas as Cyrus turns his gaze to the stars above.

“Competing in a cage match AND Carnal Contendership probably wasn’t my best idea. If I hadn’t lucked out with a late entry draw, tonight would’ve really sucked. But, The Road takes you wherever you’re supposed to go, even if you have to take a detour or seven to get there. And I’ll look forward to winning Golden Opportunity and using it to get a title shot against Krash when he puts an end to the Friendship Freaks’ nonsense once and for all.”

“Hmm…a lovely thought, but it seems a bit unlikely, if you ask me. You were in the ring with him, so perhaps you saw something I didn’t at commentary. But it appears that there were some…complications. Krash does not appear to be completely recovered from what that fiend did to him.”

“Didn’t expect him to be. I’ve been trying to reach out to him over the last year, but I haven’t really gotten any calls back from him.”

“Nor have I. Certainly, he defeated Best at Back in Business last year, but…”

“Don’t worry about it. Krash will pull through.”


Both Konchu and Richard are a bit stunned by Cyrus’s proclamation. The Exile turns and, seeing the confused faces of the commentator and referee, simply shrugs and smiles.

“I have faith. I know Krash. Best and his boys are screwed.”

Cyrus lets out a sigh. It’s a bit haggard, considering that Cyrus has basically competed in two full matches and likely suffered some severe trauma to his head thanks to Baxter and Best. But The Exile, at least for now, is not dwelling on that.

The main event of Back in Business won’t be his this year. At least, not for the World Title. But the World Title wasn’t completely out of his reach. And perhaps…

Perhaps an avenue to correct something that has long been allowed to fester and corrupt has presented itself.

“Hey, Cyrus? You sure you’re alright? You kind of zoned out there for a second.”

“Hmm?”


Cyrus, lost in his thoughts that are currently marinating in a soup of haze and pain, shakes his head to remove the cobwebs. He looks at Richard and Konchu and nods.

“Yeah, but I think I’m done for the evening. FWA’s booked a doctor’s appointment in the morning to make sure that I’m still going to be cleared for the upcoming shows and I ABSOLUTELY need to find a hot tub if I’m going to get any sleep tonight. Rich?”

The referee, a bit startled at being addressed again, looks at Cyrus with his full attention.

“Thanks again. I’d be happy to have you ref any of my matches. And…don’t worry about tonight. You did as good a job as anybody could’ve expected under the circumstances.

“Konchu? We’ll talk tomorrow. There’s some things we need to discuss.”


“Of course. Restful evening to you, Truth.”

“Belloc quaz, Varzos!”

“Thanks, Eps. See you all soon.”


Cyrus Truth is certainly exhausted. His head is screaming in pain, his legs are wobbling like jelly.

But, he still manages to walk away into the night under his own power. Perhaps not as champion, but certainly as a warrior king.

Left alone, Konchu watches as his friend, robbed yet again of the glory he’s worked so hard for, suffered so much for, disappear into the darkness to find succor and relief.

Richard Davis, for his part, seems both relieved and a bit perplexed by that whole exchange.

“I have to say, that man’s something else. Just about everybody else that’s ever walked down the ramp would’ve been calling for fucking blood.”

“And you don’t think he is?”


Richard turns to Konchu with that retort. The Mad Wizard, who never stops looking off in the direction that Cyrus has wandered off to, continues to speak to the FWA official.

“While I am content that Truth is not allowing his anger to control him as it has in the past, do not be mistaken in thinking that it isn’t there. I know Truth better than most. The Exile is a man who suffers such ignoble actions as were on display by our champion’s henchmen with a great, roiling rage. It will simmer. Perhaps even boil over and consume him. But woe be the poor unfortunate bastards who dare to stand against him.

“Recall, Mr. Davis…when Christopher Peacock stole the win in last year’s Back in Business main event? Truth burned his entire world down around him. Jeremy Best, regardless of whether Krash is the man to end his reign or not, will most certainly be no different. And personally? I can’t wait to watch the carnage that is to come.”


There’s several seconds of silence that seem like an eternity as the weight of The Mad Wizard’s summation weighs heavily. Richard eventually sighs as he shrugs.

“Cyrus Truth is a hard son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

“Harder than stone, Mr. Davis. Well, then. I should probably take my leave as well. Good night to you.”

“Yeah. You too.”


With a nod that is quickly reciprocated by the faithful minion, Konchu leads Epsilon away from Richard Davis, leaving the referee alone with just his thoughts, most of them focused on the exchange of words between him, the Mad Wizard, and The Exile.

Still suffering his own fair share of pain thanks to Baxter’s steel chair, Richard lets out a low groan and wince as he simply says:

“Things aren’t going to get any easier for me and the boys. Heh…the life of an FWA ref, I guess…”

*******
d-98Jd1eAIkQ0ON7O4YM2LJUYkHzEEnocJ1JBJw_RPOAfuC75w7TCX_OtnDGFo8o3RuvNeLmSUoOvnYMsRu2t7A7FoX346lO455k1tTCBDfA7X1l7uv5RIW2OIsRZU78aOGxxnI_7HOb0_0xSvIVP4Q


Five days after Carnal Contendership, our scene has changed from the glitz and glamor of a desert city where vices are readily catered to and dreams are regularly indulged and shattered in equal measure…to a beach somewhere on the East Coast. Far away from the tourist traps and hustle and bustle of revelers looking to soak in the sun and salt of the sea, there’s no white-bleached sand or vendors hocking tchotchke wares. This beach is rough and jagged, more stone than sand. This is a place not for sunbathing or surfing, but for contemplation.

A perfect place for a man like Cyrus Truth, having to find his center after a tumultuous Carnal Contendership.

The Exile sits on one of the larger rocks jutting out into the Atlantic, cross-legged on a spread-out towel, wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks. The sun has begun to set as a noticeable breeze rolls through, making the late spring day turning to night a bit chillier than expected.

The hairs on Cyrus’s arms stand on end, the hair on his head flutters as the sound of waves crashing against the rocks provides the soundtrack for his meditation. The scars of countless battles are a roadmap on the body of The Vagabond King, an atlas of a journey that has forged this wayward soul into the warrior and champion he’s been in professional wrestling. A journey that’s been a crucible of fire, blood, and pain.

And pain is certainly evident from Cyrus’s expression. Despite the valiant attempts at calm and detachment from the physical, The Exile is still nursing quite a lot of pain from Carnal Contendership. The rigors of two highly-taxing matches along with the vicious chair shot that BARELY didn’t result in a full concussion are not so easily recovered from. Cyrus, using the meditative techniques he learned from his days as an Observer acolyte, can’t help but fidget, as stone makes for a poor seat when you’re covered in bruises.

Still, Cyrus sits in silence. There’s a great many things that the Carnal Contendership event had put into motion. Some that tangentially affect The Exile, like the main event rematch between Krash and Best for the World Title that Best’s flunkies denied Truth. Others that more directly and immediately require his attention, like the upcoming Golden Opportunity that Cyrus has once again qualified for.

But there’s a dangerous road between here and there. While the main event at Back in Business has been set in stone barring any truly horrendous complications, the remainder of the event is most certainly not. And every wrestler worth their salt will clamor over one another to earn, claim, or steal a marquee spot at FWA’s biggest event of the year.

This would be treacherous enough had The Exile had to concern himself with the folks on the roster that have been there. But Carnal Contendership, as it always does, has tempted a handful of wrestlers from the shadows of obscurity for a chance at ultimate glory.

Some, like Krash, are most welcome to have back. And their absence until the return? Understandable.

Others?

Well…

“WELL, FUCK YOU TOO! YOU UNGRATEFUL SON OF A BITCH!”


…Shit.

Cyrus is disciplined enough to not let physical pain or his own wandering thoughts break his concentration when he’s trying to meditate and find his center.

Outside distractions? Not as much. Nobody’s perfect.

Opening his eyes for the first time in many minutes, The Exile turns his head to the source of the outburst. Walking onto the beach with a cellphone in her hands is a woman with dark red hair and freckles, wearing a white dress with sunflowers on it.

She wouldn’t be too out of place for a trip out to the coast, but judging by the look of anger and frustration on her face, her visit isn’t predicated on a desire to relax and bask. And while Cyrus isn’t necessarily trying to eavesdrop on her conversation, her shouting makes it hard not to listen in.

“That bitch comes back into your life and you go crawling back to her? No, I don’t care if you think you love her. Oh…OH, you didn’t want to hurt me? Well, GOOD FUCKING JOB! Fuck off!”

The woman immediately hangs up on the call to whoever she was talking to and, clearly without thinking, throws the phone into the ocean. It takes a couple of seconds for her to realize what she’s done as she unleashes another storm of curses.

Eventually, the swearing ends as the woman, clearly exhausted and emotionally drained, simply drops as she sits on the beach, trying her best to keep the tears from welling up in her eyes.

Cyrus, for his part, isn’t quite sure what to make of all this. Certainly, he knows more or less what’s going on, but…is this really something he wants to get involved with?

…Yeah. Not because he cares about drama or any of that nonsense. But because, even in spite of all the ups and downs throughout his journey down the Long and Winding Road, he’s still the same punk kid that got exiled from the Observers.

Cyrus Truth is not a man who stands by and watches when he might be able to affect change in the world.

“Hey…miss? Are you all right?”

The sound of a stranger’s voice startles the young woman as she frantically breaks out of her wallowing misery to find the source. It only takes a second, as Cyrus is very clearly not hiding as he rises to his feet from the rock that he had been sitting on.

It takes her another second or two before she finally responds.

“W-what? Who are you?”

“Just a traveler, nothing more. My name’s Cyrus, if that helps.”

“Cyrus. Yeah. Right.”


“And I was wondering what was wrong. If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look like you’re in a good place right now.”

The young woman’s fair skin turns a shade of red in embarrassment as she wipes her eyes, flicks of sand getting mixed up in the tears and sweat. Realizing she’s only making a larger mess, she frantically tries to find something to clean the grime off.

Cyrus, without saying a word, tosses his towel to the woman, mindfully not approaching her himself. As the towel lands at her feet, she’s still a bit hesitant to accept this stranger’s apparent act of kindness. However, she eventually grabs the towel and uses it to clean her face.

Somewhat mournfully, she laughs into it as she finishes wiping the sand and muck off.

“God damn it, I’m such a fucking mess. I must look absolutely pathetic, huh?”

“A little, yeah. But I doubt it’s not without a reason. Is it alright if I approach? I can stay here if that’s more comfortable for you, too.”

“No…no. It’s fine. Um…thank you, I guess. Cyrus, right?”

“Yeah. What’s your name?”

“Jess. My name’s Jess.”


With a nod of acknowledgement, Cyrus carefully climbs off the rock he had been meditating on. It does take him a bit of time, as while he’s in a lot better shape than he was after Carnal Contendership, he’s still in a fair bit of pain and soreness. After a couple of minutes, he approaches Jess and has a seat in the sand next to her, keeping a good foot of space between himself and her, not wanting to make her uncomfortable in the presence of a stranger.

“So…Jess? Do you want to talk about why you decided to throw your phone into the sea? If not, and you just want to sit here in silence or talk about something else, that’s fine, too.”

“You…you saw that?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. That’s embarassing. Well, how much did you hear?”

“A lot of expletives and you basically yelling at someone about some other woman? I can kind of put the pieces together, but it might help you to just unpack everything.”

“Why do you care?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Most would.”

“World’s a tough place. Why not help someone else on their own journey if you can?”


The sheer bluntness and sincerity in how Cyrus said surprises Jess, as it’s clear that she doesn’t fully know how to respond to that. Eventually, however, Jess’s wariness gives way to resignation as she wraps her arms around her knees and looks out into the ocean.

“...that was my boyfriend you heard me yelling at. My ex-boyfriend, I guess now. We’d been dating for…God, years now? I honestly thought that he’d be the one, you know? But…he never did propose. I suppose that should’ve been the first sign. I’m so stupid…”

“Hey. No. You’re already hurting, there’s no sense to keep beating yourself up. Just…keep talking.”


For the first time, Jess lets out a very, very faint grin at the empathy being shown to her by The Exile. The grin fades as she continues recanting her tale.

“The bastard’s former flame…some girl that he said was just a fling before he met me. She came back into his life, after being completely gone. Just ghosted him after they had been dating for some time, and she came strolling back into his life just the other day.

“He told me when we starting seeing one another that their relationship was toxic, that it was the best thing to happen when he and I started dating. But, that bitch comes back and he just starts simping on her like some damn puppy dog? What’s the point? Why bother giving your heart to someone when they’re just going to tear it out the second someone else comes waltzing back into the picture?”

Cyrus, taking a couple of seconds to mull over what Jess told him, lets out a sigh as he leans back into the sand, lying down and giving his back muscles a chance to relax.

“It’s rough. Not going to lie and tell you there’s an easy answer or a simple path forward. Believe or not, I get where you’re coming from. Not necessarily from a romantic side, but from…work."

“Work?”

“Yeah. I’ve been with the same company for eight years at this point. I’ve done pretty much everything I’ve been asked to do and have never really left for any reason. It’s more than I can say for a lot of my co-workers.


“So many of them arrived with a bunch of high hopes and aspirations. And management, well…management’s always been the type to buy into hype. It’s why so many people come and go. Because they know that if they leave and show up months or years after the fact? They’ll get a boost to their credibility, even if they may not deserve it. And those who stuck by the company through the good times and the bad? Well, at best, they’re set aside. At worst? Brass thinks they can use us to continue building the hype for the returning folk.”

“That sounds awful.”

“It really is.”

“What do you DO for a living?”

“Professional wrestler.”


Jess blinks, a bit surprised by the casual way that Cyrus answered her question.

“You’re a wrestler?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Why the hell would I lie about that?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s just…you don’t really look like a professional wrestler. I mean, I don’t mean to be insulting or anything, it’s just…”


Cyrus cuts off Jess’s stammering with a slight chuckle, of which Jess seems a bit grateful. The Exile sits up, sand clinging to his back. He doesn’t seem to mind it, though.

“You’re not the first person to say as much. Even these days, where wrestlers come in all shapes and sizes, there’s still that stigma of muscle-bound meatheads using headlocks and clotheslines. But that’s not that important.

“The thing I’ve come to realize is that people always want to chase the wave, you know? Like my bosses, like your boyfriend…it’s all about the ebb and flow, the constant movement. That’s who this girl is that your ex left you for, and all the other wrestlers that show up after an extended absence where I work. Just waves. Transient, roiling ripples that could become a tidal wave, or just end up little more than a fleeting moment in a cavalcade of fleeting moments.”

“...Has anybody ever told you that you speak like a poet sometimes?”


That…actually gets to Cyrus, as The Exile is stunned by that interjection. Jess, for her part, is a bit concerned when she sees the strange look on Cyrus’s face, until Cyrus simply laughs it off.

“Yeah, old habits. My point is, so many people get infatuated with waves, when I’ve always preferred to be a rock.”

Cyrus points over to the rock he was sitting on before Jess. The sky has turned from blue to a medley of reds and oranges as the sun has begun to set. The waves, ever ebbing, lick at the shoreline and crash against the stone.

“It’s the nature of time that everything eventually comes to an end. It’s unavoidable. Even if you wish it didn’t. Even when it hurts when it does. Waves are…inconsistent. They come and go, but it’s rare that a single wave will ever make a major splash. Pun not intended on that, by the way.”

Jess chuckles at that. A lot of the angst and anger that she had been carrying since arriving here seems to have been muted, if not evaporated by this conversation.

“A rock is never going to be as exciting. It’s never going to get as much attention as a wave, or ever be appreciated for existing. And yeah…a rock will eventually be worn down over time and returned to dust and sand after enough has passed and enough waves have crashed against it.

“Thing is…one wave can never break stone. Wear it a little, yes. No avoiding that. But there’s not been a single wave strong enough to get the job done on its own. And before the stone eventually breaks? Countless waves will have been broken upon it and left as nothing but water in the vastness of an ocean."

“So…what you’re saying is…despite how much it hurts, it’s not the end of the world, right?”


Cyrus nods and smiles warmly.

“And more importantly, pain is something that’ll eventually fade. What someone else does shouldn’t matter when it comes to your own worth. Let the waves continue to roil for what little good they’ll do, I say. Ultimately, they’re just droplets of water in a vast ocean that they’ll inevitably return to. In the end, be the stone that rises above the water, the ever-present cornerstone that can be built upon that the waves break themselves upon.

“Disappointment and sorrow is part and parcel of being human. But what you do with that is entirely up to you. The only thing you have to decide is whether you let that sorrow be what you drown in, or whether you choose to be a stone and let the waves that think they can drag you down crash against you and return to the nothing they came from.”


It’s easy to tell that this was a conversation that Jess was not expecting to have, nor was meeting this stranger who has been kind and respectful for no reason other than just choosing to be. When she came to this beach, it was to run from her pain, her sorrow, and her rage.

But…this stranger, this wrestler is right. The re-emergence of someone who ran away, the decision of her ex-boyfriend to leave her for that bitch despite everything they’ve gone through together?

Fuck them both.

“...I think I understand. No…I DO understand. It’s about knowing your worth in the end. My life is mine to live, right? My choices, my actions, and what I let affect me are mine.”

“Pretty much.”

“Still doesn’t stop it from hurting.”

“No. It won’t. But pain is just pain. It doesn’t make you any more or less than what you choose to be.”


Jess lets out a deep breath, much of her pent-up anger and frustration leaving her as the air leaves her lungs. She scoots over closer to Cyrus as she asks:

“Hey…is it okay if I hug you?”

“Yeah. Sure.”


Jess wraps her arms around Cyrus, and The Exile returns it. It’s not something Cyrus is particularly comfortable with, but he knows that it’s something that Jess needs. A reminder that the world will change and things will come and go, but that in the end? She’ll survive. And remain when so many other things pass by.

Jess releases her embrace as she stands up, dusting the sand off her sundress.

“Hey. What company do you wrestle for?”

“The Fantasy Wrestling Alliance. I compete on both of their regular shows.”

“I’m…not much of a wrestling fan, but…maybe I’ll tune in. Just to see you work.”

“Can’t promise I’ll win.”

“You will.”


Cyrus seems a bit surprised by that as Jess simply smiles.

“Because you won’t be broken by whatever the ocean throws at you. Right?”

The Exile lowers his head. One could assume that he’s doing it to hide his own blushing at his own words being returned to him by this stranger he just met, or maybe he’s trying really hard not to meet her gaze to let her know that she got to him. However, the laugh is still very audible.

“Ha, ha…yeah. Damn straight. Are you going to be alright, Jess?”

“Yeah. Maybe not today, but I will be. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’d…ask you for your number. Not for that, of course…I’m not ready to dive back into that sea. But you know…in case you needed to chat? Either way, kind of pointless considering…”


Jess sheepishly points to the ocean, where the consequences of her phone-throwing tantrum have finally really begun to sink in. Cyrus chuckles at that, a lighthearted amused laugh as he stands up to meet her eye-to-eye.

“Don’t worry about it. If we run across one another again, maybe then…”

“Yeah. I’d like that. Well…sorry for bothering you with my whole mess. But…thanks. Maybe see you around?”

Cyrus shrugs, but he nods.

You meet all sorts on the Long and Winding Road. Some are people who you travel with for a long time. Others are simply passing travelers you meet once. But every person you meet, interact with, share stories and beliefs with? All of them are important. Every single one.

For Jess, this was a chance encounter to put the world back into perspective. To understand that sorrow and pain need not define what her next steps will be.

And for Cyrus?

Well…

As Jess waves goodbye and heads further inland away from the beach and to whatever the next chapter of her story will be, Cyrus remains. Standing alone as the sun has sunk deeper and deeper into the horizon.

Night will fall soon. And much still needs to be done for the journey to Back in Business and beyond.

The first obstacle, the first wave is a wrestler with championship pedigree, but nothing else aside from vapid hype due to a return in the Carnal Contendership match.

Another wave that emerged from the vast void that it slunk to, that thinks it will be the one to change the landscape of FWA.

It’s nothing new to The Vagabond King. Just another wave doomed to crash upon the cornerstone of FWA, the man who has stood as a rock amidst the turbulent sea.

As Cyrus looks out upon the sea, and looks once more upon the rock he meditated upon…a decision is made.

Cyrus is still in pain. Some of it will fade. A bit of it won’t.

But Jeremy and his little band of misfits weren’t enough of a surge to shatter him.

Trevor Ocean?

He’ll be no different.

And maybe…Cyrus will do FWA a favor yet again. And make sure this new wave of a returning wrestler ends up shattered and broken before it inevitably ends up disappointing those who put too much faith in it.

Yeah…

It’s time to get back to work.​
 

WelshyBOI

Well-Known Member
Joined
Dec 11, 2021
Messages
416
Reaction score
627
Points
93
Age
27
Location
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio
Favorite Wrestler
shawnmichaels
Favorite Wrestler
cmpunk
Favorite Wrestler
christian
Favorite Wrestler
X2VL4FM
Favorite Wrestler
lita
Favorite Wrestler
sethrollins
Favorite Sports Team
53tBXAk


ScoAH9CJ5iNSevquEGdtnt7am71qoJ_zfLfqJpaf6brChcQ1anyltmLkFCORrXRa80U7lcO4_utVcdSJ3PgQJgWuRxhrJvsMQwPKuZtXAIXH9nCJGV7UYsuLn2GfM3bjK2FboLMLi26y5dlwe17FiL4

8BxDFvMxt-DPi-BXi246iIX6GWnrpCnrXiZfCf4S6o3iam0FiwpqTzToKlw0xWlRNnYxKnB0RvSBDaTT6wR3Tqeu_Kt_XdHjwYV2HAFgvGwAM3pU0rYnR2E6vg8ivwqHXb9EUdGtd7wWFXlejBrmAtE



4th May 2024
Sphere
Las Vegas, Nevada
Carnal Contendership 2024


I1wyFoECWngZlu_n_Z_MLhcXEDQXSWrh92N_tQYsaH6nKbM6WpHnYLYex-cR43IgIQ6d9SS8TZtfjJ7v0BRRnT7KNMoBxHLEXr4G4X8PMrlEUKAj4sowrOI_1TxiRlGhvTEhBsCEB-BNDP0WERc0ToE
As Blair and Celestia strolled through the hallways of the Sphere after their elimination from the Carnal Contendership match, Celestia seemed conflicted, feeling the weight of what she, Blair and Trixie had just done. They had usurped their leader. Celestia knew that Kleio wouldn’t just roll over and take their betrayal lying down. No, she knew Kleio better than that. Celestia knew that this was only the beginning of the war for power within The Coven, but, at least now everything was out in the open and she didn’t have to sneak around and pretend anymore.

In contrast to Celestia’s nervous demeanor, Blair sports a wicked, victorious grin. Months of planning and maneuvering had led up to this moment. She didn’t care that she had been eliminated from the Carnal Contendership, since winning that match was not the mission. No, Blair had but one goal tonight, and she had accomplished it. She had overthrown Kleio and taken the mantle of Leader of The Coven for herself… and it was about damn time.

*CRASH*

Blair and Celestia glanced at themselves as they heard the thunderous crashing sound, and were at full alert as a terrified Security Guard slid around the corner, almost colliding into Celestia as he attempted to flee whatever the cause of the noise was. Luckily, the Security Guard managed to slam on the brakes before clattering into Celestia, and, realizing who he was standing in front of, he began to speak panickedly.

“Oh, thank fuck it’s you… please… you have to help us… she’s gone fuckin’ mental….” The Security Guard begged in an English accent.

Blair and Celestia looked at each other, eyebrows raised. They knew that Kleio would be apocalyptically angry after what they had done, but they didn’t think she would snap this quickly.

“Kleio ain’t our problem anymore, dipshit.” Blair said with a smirk. “Besides, you’re the security guard, you sort it out.”

“No, you don’t understand… it’s not Kleio…” The Security Guard responded as he stood, hunched over, hands on knees, as he tried to catch his breath. “...it’s Trixie… she’s gone berserk… she….”

As the security guard struggled to get his words out, the sisters’ notice him clutching his gentleman’s sausage, wincing in pain as he did so.

“She punched you in the pee-pee, didn’t she?” Celestia said amused, finishing his sentence for him.

The Security Guard shook his head, no. “... she threw Gary head first into my dick!”

The sisters’ eyebrows raised as they imagine Trixie launching a full grown man like a missile into another man’s penis.

“Who the hell is Gary?” Blair asked, confused.

“Gary Barlow… the lead singer of Take That… I’m his security guard… he’s been backstage, taking pictures with the wrestlers n’ shit… he went up to Trixie and asked for a picture, and she went fucking insane!” The Security Guard said, his eyes filled with terror.

“That sounds bad…” Celestia said, looking nervously at Blair.

“Where is she now?” Blair asked.

“She’s in her locker room, throwing shit around and screaming n’ shit, and Gary’s trapped in there with her! Arena security and some of the FWA executives are tryna to get her to calm down, but she ain’t having it. Please… you have to get her to calm down… YOU HAVE TO SAVE GARY!!!”

Blair sighs. “Fine. C’mon, sis… let’s see what all the fuss is about.”



As Blair and Celestia came around the corner, followed by Gary Barlow’s Security Guard, who cowered behind them, they see one of the FWA’s most prominent executives, Jon Russnow, flanked by several security guards as he attempts to quell the situation.

“Trixie, CALM DOWN!” Jon Russnow demanded as he stood outside of Trixie’s locker room.
“FUCK YOU!” Trixie yelled furiously, as a steel chair flew through the doorway directly at Russnow, who narrowly managed to dodge out of the way. “YOU SET ME UP! You put Aaron there to distract me, and then Jimmy Johnston snuck up behind me and threw me out! IT’S A CONSPIRATION!”

“Nobody set you up, Trixie! Harrows bought his own ticket and you let yourself get distracted by him, that’s it! I’M NOT OUT TO GET YOU!”

“LAIR!!!”

Russnow ran his fingers through his hair, stressed, before signaling for his security guards to go in and handle her. The team of 4 security guards entered Trixie’s locker room. A few moments later, Trixie screamed a terrifying warcry, and 3 of the security guards came running back out, terrified. After several thudding sounds, the 4th security guard’s battered and unconscious body is thrown through the doorway and back into the corridor.

Seeing the utter carnage and destruction being waged before them, Blair and Celestia approached Russnow, who’s eyes lit up with hope upon their arrival.

“Oh, thank god. Blair, Celestia… Trixie’s gone ballistic. She’s convinced that I planted Harrows in the audience to distract her, in order to get her eliminated from the CC. She wants my head. And what’s worse… there’s a high-profile celebrity trapped in that room with her, and she won’t let him go until I let her back into the match.”

“She’s holding Gary Barlow hostage in order to get what she wants?” Blair asked, looking impressed by Trixie’s ingenuity. “We taught her well, after all, sis.”
Celestia looked completely dumbfounded. The Trixie that she came to know and like would never do something that bad… not on purpose, anyway.

“Look, you two may be the only people in this arena who she won’t try to kill on site… get her to calm down and let Gary go, before we end up with a dead celebrity on our hands.”

“What’s in it for us?” Blair asked without hesitation.

Russnow shook his head in disbelief… “Triple pay for the both of you.”

Blair smirks. Celestia, on the other hand, has one more condition…

“Okay… but, if we manage to talk Trixie down and get her to release Barlow, you can’t fire or suspend her.”

“You can’t be serious…” Russnow said in disbelief.

“I am.” Celestia said bluntly, her directness in the face of their boss impressing Blair.

With no other alternative… “Fine… do we have a deal?”

“We do… now, get out of the way, bozos.” Blair barged past Russnow and the terrified security team, with Celestia in tow as they approached Trixie’s locker room. Pausing just outside, Blair whispers to Celestia. “She likes you more, sis… talk to her and get her to let us come in.”

Celestia reluctantly nodded in agreement and gulped nervously.

“Uh, Trixie…? It’s me, Celestia… can Blair and I come in?” Celestia asked, trying to sound as unthreatening as humanly possible.

“Did that slimy prick Russow send you?” Trixie’s voice rang out in response, sounding suspicious.

“Uh… no, uh… we told him to get lost or we’d turn him and his men into chickens and eat them.” Celestia glanced back at Russnow and shrugged. Russnow, taking the hint, ordered his men to back up down the corridor, out of sight in case Trixie peaked through the doorway. “So, uh… can we come in?”


“... fine.” Trixie agreed, though she sounded reluctant.

Blair gave her sister a nod well done, and the pair made their way into Trixie’s locker room… if you could call it that anymore.

R_LVhTxxaFoNQMX552jnMqP9Us_EUBc-RQdAGF223RMgQakFOdxj7dktqgboVPak5EE2a-yLwF_Vhq_zP9ODnTokbuU9tEtuVlmmYIbkymcN4ff2OJDfofvo2CmBcaNOSHvKKG7xGFeR6Lx1INCI_8w

Celestia’s jaw dropped as she looked around at the damage that Trixie had caused. The room had been all but uprooted.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Blair quipped, nodding her head, impressed by the level of destruction that Trixie had caused. Her eyes fell to Gary Barlow, who sat curled up in the corner of the room, whimpering in a pool of his own urine.

“Oh hey, Gary… not having the Greatest Day, are you?” Blair said, chucking at her own joke. Gary didn’t look at all amused as he sat there, crying. “Oh, Keep Your Head Up, dear… there’s Hope for you yet.”

As Blair toyed with Gary Barlow, Celestia’s eyes fell upon Trixie, who paced back and forth, menacingly.

“What do you want?” Trixie asked, though given the sheer amount of venom in her voice, it sounded rhetorical.

“We’re here to talk.” Celestia said. “It’s been a big night for all of us, hasn’t it?”

“It’ll be an even bigger night when I win the Carnival Contendership.” Trixie said, determined.

“That ain’t happening, Trix. Not this year, anyway.” Blair said, bluntly, earning a nasty glare from Trixie in the process.

“You don’t know that.” Trixie responded, in denial.

“Sure I don’t.” Blair said, shrugging sarcastically.

“Look, Trix… Russnow ain’t gonna put you back in the match. Hell, the only reason he isn’t firing you right now is us. Just… just let Gary Barlow go, and we can talk.” Celestia pleaded, not wanting Trixie to get fired if they were to fail to talk her down.

“NO!” Trixie's eyes widened as she glared at Celestia. “You ARE in cahooters with Russow, AREN’T YOU!? He turned you against me, just like he turned Aaron against me!”

“Trix, I’m not out to get you, and neither is Blair. We’re just trying to help you.” Celestia said, trying to drill it into Trixie’s head that she’s just being paranoid.

Trixie stared into Celestia’s eyes, before nodding in agreement.

“Okay, I believe you….” Trixie said, calming down slightly, before trying to think of a plan. “Okay, listen… I know we only just booted Kleio out of the group and everything, and we haven’t had time to do the big, secret ceremony to make me leader yet, but-”

“Wait, WHAT?” Blair asked, completely flabbergasted.

Celestia’s jaw dropped as it dawned on her what just happened, and her mind frantically worked to try to come up with a way to get out of what may be about to happen.

“Yeah, I know you guys were probably gonna try to surprise me with it on my birthday, but that’s 4 days away and the match will be over by then, so, as the new leader of The Coven, I decree that you two must help me make Russnow put me back in the Carnival Contendership match before it’s too late…”

“... you ‘decree’?” Blair asked, her eyes almost twitching as she tried to comprehend what was happening.

“Yes. It’s posh for ‘I’m telling you to’... Now, I think that maybe taking Gary Barlow as my prisoner wasn’t the best idea, but I was just so angry that I lost my cool for a moment. So, I’m willing to let Gary Barlow go, but we need to come up with a new plan first.”

Celestia’s eyes darted from Trixie to Blair, who looked to be staring a hole through Trixie’s skull as she tried to keep herself from exploding.

“Uh… o-okay… um… look, Trix…” Celestia attempted to stumble through her sentence, as the realization that she was now standing between two atomic bombs who may be about to collide set in.

Blair, staring menacingly at Trixie, took a step towards her, but was halted by Celestia’s outstretched arm. Celestia stared at Blair with pleading eyes, silently begging her not to engage Trixie. Blair glared back at Celestia, who mouthed the words “trust me” silently, so that Trixie didn’t notice.

With great reluctance, Blair backed away from Trixie and walked to the other side of the trashed locker room. Completely oblivious to this whole interaction as she worked to come up with a new plan to get herself back into the CC, Trixie spoke up once more.

“C’mon, people. I need ideas!” She exclaimed, trying to motivate her new minions to help her.

Blair gritted her teeth, while Celestia tried to regain her composure enough to fix this huge mess.

“O-Okay, T-Trixie…” Celestia’s words stumbled once more through sheer nerves. “Look… I d-...I don’t think there’s any way to get you back into the CC… but, wait… please, hear me out…”

Seeing Trixie’s eyes turn nasty at the thought of being unable to get back into the CC, Celestia pleaded with her to listen.

“Russnow isn’t gonna put you back in the CC, but… you can get your revenge on the one who eliminated you from the match.” Celestia said, trying to appeal to Trixie’s blood lust.

This tactic seemed to have piqued Trixie’s interest, as the thought of getting her hands on Johnny Johnson - the man who dumped her over the top rope and cost her her big chance to fight for the World Championship at Back in Business - caused an evil grimace to form on her face.

“How?” Trixie asked, with no small amount of malice in her voice.

“He’s already the #1 Contender for your X Championship.” Celestia said as a glimmer of hope entered her being that Trixie was actually hearing her out. “We could get Russnow to make the match for next Meltdown, so you don’t have to wait too long to get your hands on him. Just think… you vs. Johnny Johnson… one on one… no rules… you could do whatever you wanted to him, and nobody would be able to stop you… you could make him rue the day he decided to cross you.”

As Celestia explained all of this to her, a dark cloud seemed to have descended upon every fiber of Trixie’s being as she imagined all of the horrible things that she would do to Johnny Johnson for costing her the biggest opportunity of her life. It was as though, upon hearing this idea, hurting Johnny Johnson was now the only thing that could appease her.

“Soooo, I take it you like my idea?” Celestia asked with her fingers figuratively crossed.

There was absolutely no response, or acknowledgement, from Trixie. It was as though she had immersed herself in the thoughts of eviscerating JJ… it had consumed her entirely. It was the only thing that she could think about now.

Celestia looked back at Blair and shrugged, before turning to Gary Barlow.

“Well, I guess you can thank your Lucky Stars… you’re free to go.” Celestia said, which caused Gary to look up at her with all the gratitude in the world as she scrambled to his feet and darted for the door. “Woah, Gary, before you go… if you so much as think about pressing charges, suing, or telling anyone about what happened here, we’ll come and find you… got it?”

Gary Barlow nodded anxiously, before scurrying out of the room to freedom. Once he was gone, both Celestia and Blair’s eyes descend upon the still entranced Trixie, before they too exited the room, leaving her to her dark imaginings

Once they’re out of earshot, they walked past Russnow, who nodded appreciatively. Once they had passed Russnow, Blair turned to Celestia.

“One down… one to go.”

*GULP*


THE END
 

The Golden One

Active Member
Joined
Sep 13, 2022
Messages
56
Reaction score
105
Points
33
Age
36
Sitting in a chair, one leg draped over the other, is the mustache-sporting narrator of XYZ and The Menage. He has a cowboy hat, a posterior of relaxation, and a welcoming smile. His chair is outside, in the breezy sunlight, as random passerbyers walk within an arm’s length of his position.

The Narrator hasn’t been seen in quite some time, but it’s worth knowing he has been watching XYZ and keeping up to date on his happenings. He’s always watching, whether through a telescope or just being a man on the street within bird’s eye view, such as today, in a yet-to-be-disclosed location.

“Howdy, gang. Long time, no talkin’ to ya’. I’m back ‘n here to give y’all a little roundabout on X ‘n his friend gang. Now, usually, The Menage are at full force, but that dang Wild Jerry’s departure weeks ago left the group fractured. We got a few days before the Meltdown and Fallout shows comin’ up – right on the heels of Carnal Contendership – and you’d think X would be plottin’ n’ plannin’ on his match with Michelle von Horrowitz, right?

Well, we all know that ain’t X’s style. He knows Michelle is a tough cookie, and he’ll need a damn miracle to pull a win. So this week – these days – are all about lookin’ long-term, and long-term says he needs a much more quaint version of the group.

Sure, the always-eccentric and attempting-to-be-inspirational XYZ is ‘round here somewhere. However, he has “excused” the others – Frank, Christian Howard, ‘n that wild man PacMan Bert – giving them a much-needed holiday. His attention lay with Sierra and her “sleuthing”, as she and Lizzy Golden call it, anyway.”


The Narrator was looking at a menu at the time when the camera zoomed in originally. Now he isn’t. He sets the menu on a small square table.

“I can’t read a damn thing on that anywho. Oh, where are we now? Good question, amigos.

XYZ is not on one of his space travels. He is not siftin’ through the Mexico City parks in search of Wild Jerry. He isn’t even going through some FWA-ordered therapy, which he just remembered recently that he hasn’t been to in nearly a year after going three or four times in the span of two months following Big Al’s “death.”

No, he, too, is on his own holiday. We are here … in Paris, France. That’s damn right. The cty of love, of affection, and of big towers – or a big tower. Plus a bunch of people gettin’ mad at us English-speakin’ folk. But hey, we aint here much longer.”


The Narrator pauses, allowing for the unseen narrator to fill the blanks. X, Sierra, and Liz are staying in a southern neighborhood near the Guy Moquet metro station.

“Cafes and restaurants dot every corner of every intersection – busy or not. Coffee shops and souvenir stops pack the lower levels of multi-story buildings from street corner to street corner. Lofts ‘n apartments – one of which where XYZ and his two companions are staying – fill the uppers. In between, in the crevices of the city filled with love and style and art and other tourist attractions, are what XYZ enjoys most about international travel.

Eating at U.S.-popularized fast food chains, such as Big Al’s favorite, Popeyes.

There’s one in Montmartre and another elsewhere in the city. There are multiple McDonald’s, plus multiple Five Guys and KFC. Oh, and there’s a Pizza Hut three blocks from the AirBnB where X is staying. How about the Dominos a half mile away?

Anywho, let’s get over to the trio so we can check in. Until next time…”


The Narrator flips the menu back up – upside down – as he tries again to read the French food descriptions.

A block over, XYZ is enjoying two pieces of chicken from Popeyes. Sierra and Lizzy, who are not eating, watch in silence. It’s not fun for them.

“X, should we go to the Eiffel Tower? Or the Louvre?

Sierra’s discouraging tone cannot keep X from his food.

“Not inspired by big buildings or art galleries.”

“What about a boat ride on the river?”


XYZ doesn’t respond, which in itself is a response. Sierra is noticeably upset, but also agitated. Same with Lizzy.

“Why are we here? In Paris?” Lizzy asks, leaning forward with her arms crossed on the table.

“It is random. I needed an escape.”

“Why did you bring us along and not the other three?”
Lizzy hounds.

“Because I wanted an update on Sierra’s sleuthing and the search for my mom.”

“I’ve put it out everywhere,”
Sierra says.

XYZ looks up, wipes his mouth with a napkin, and nods.

“I know. You did your best.”

“I’ve done my best, but you haven’t made it easy. You aren’t even sure on a name. You just ask for ‘XYZ’s mom’ to contact us. How would one know they were your mom?”

“I assume everyone knows of how we are trying to save the downtrodden and help them ride from the darkness,”
he replies.

“You’d be surprised how few people watch professional wrestling,” Lizzy jabs.

“X, either way, we won’t find her in Paris. She’s definitely back in the United States.”

“Well, I was hoping Wild Jerry would meet us. I told him we’d be here if he wanted to come. He has always been an extravagant world traveler.”


Nothing, though. Wild Jerry has not shown himself in Paris.

"Should we discuss Kleio de Santos and what happened to The Coven during Carnal Contendership? How they all ganged up on her and eliminated her?"

"What about it?"

"Seems she has taken to targeting you ... and by association us ... again. Yet, it seems she is vulnerable."

"Her house falls apart around her."

"She remains the TV Champion ... for now. She is backed into a corner but not defenseless. I am not going to capitalize on her misfortune or her mistakes. She is dealing with Blair and Celestia and Trixie. From one leader to another, I hope she finds peace."

"She would not hope the same for you. She does not hope the same for you with the Wild Jerry situation, in fact."

"That is her prerogative. I have my own. Should I always cast a stone back at my opponents and rivals? Should I always stoop to the low step of my enemies? I don't wish to. I have always been the lightning in the cloud that pushes the rain and fire away from the troubled township. I am the windswept sea urchin finding gold amid the floundering foothills.


Kleio can do what she must. She has not hurt me. Ruining my chances to win King of Deathmatch and targeting me in Carnal Contendership are cuts, but they are cuts that quickly heal with time. She cannot get rid of me so easily, and I bet she will tire eventually.

Like I said, she has not hurt me in a meaningful way."

"Yet,"
Lizzy whispers nervously, not loud enough for X to hear.

"Michelle von Horrowitz? What do you think about your next match?"

"Did you not hear the narrator's assessment? I will need a minor miracle. She is tough. She is proven. I will try. There is not much else in it.


As XYZ, Sierra, and Lizzy walk out, they enter one of the busier streets in the city. X looks for the metro station and begins thoughtfully planning his next meal.

“Five Guys for dinner?”

Liz rolls her eyes and Sierra doesn’t even offer a response.

“Hey, are you XYZ?”
a random person shouts with an American accent. The English-speaking fan is a pleasant surprise to XYZ, who nods and keeps going, his green cape tied tightly around his neck.

“I am. And you are?”

“Well … I was asked by a lady over there to ask you. She offered me 10 euros, too.”


The fan, a high-teenager in age, looks behind him across to a cafe near the Popeyes and waves. Then, amid the bustle of people, a woman appears walking toward them. She has a very thin figure – almost sickly thin – with black hair and beautiful pale skin. She seems to be around 40 years old in the face, but some of her skin is wrinkled, so maybe she’s closer to 50.

“Thank you,” the lady says before handing over the 10 euros.

She then approaches XYZ, Sierra, and Lizzy Golden.

“Ma’am … are you in trouble? Needing anything? Usually someone seeking me or The menage out is in need of our saving services, often on another planet or galaxy.”

“I do not,”
the woman says after a small chuckle. “Oh, X. You’re as imaginative as I remember.”

XYZ is taken aback momentarily. He looks at Sierra, who cocks her head to her side suspiciously. Lizzy, though, picks up on it immediately. Her eyes grow big.

“Do I know you from a past life? I cannot place your face?”

“It has been years, X. But yes, you do know me.”


A pause.

“I’m your mom.”
 

Dubb

Cry me a river
Joined
Sep 14, 2022
Messages
1,052
Reaction score
2,908
Points
113
Age
38
Favorite Wrestler
jeffjarrett
Favorite Wrestler
Se3BZPQ
Favorite Wrestler
9yQJpez
Favorite Wrestler
ZIF7zVA
Favorite Wrestler
sting
Favorite Wrestler
ddp
Favorite Sports Team
carolinahurricanes
Favorite Sports Team
xjczadG

Mandalorian

E-Fed Staff Member
Joined
Sep 13, 2022
Messages
1,966
Reaction score
1,005
Points
113
Age
30
Location
UK

ALYSTER BLACK
AND

THE NEW FWA NORTH AMERICAN
AND GRAND SLAM CHAMPION

CHRIS PEACOCK
ARE

FTN
IN

“NO GOOD DEEDS…”




ALYSTER BLACK
AND

THE NEW FWA NORTH AMERICAN
AND GRAND SLAM CHAMPION
CHRIS PEACOCK
ARE

FTN
IN

“NO GOOD DEEDS…”
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner and the NEEEEWWWWWWW FWA North American Champion-”

“You forgot “Grand Slam” again!”

A collective groan broke out between everyone around the table. Chris and Alyster had gathered their ‘family’ members at Dazzling Dave’s for a celebratory meal after their extremely successful Carnal Contendership. A small chortle from Alyster made it clear that he was purposely screwing around with his partner due to Chris making him do an elaborate entrance into the room.

“Dude… we’ve been watching you fuck around with him for like five minutes now. Surely just say it right so we can start eating?” Violet Dreyer asked. She was displeased due to being in between the Diamond Dogs at the table.

Alyster laughed. Uncharacteristically, he was savouring the feeling that had consumed him in the last few days since Vegas. He felt incredibly proud of both of his best friends; Chris for becoming a Grand Slam Champion and Krash for winning the Carnal Contendership. He had already dealt with Allen’s unfunny jibes about what he was going to do in order to match up with them.

The answer was a simple one; nothing. Not on his own, at least. It is no secret that ‘Black Jesus’ had been disillusioned with the FWA for some time, even before winning and losing his second World Championship. FTN had been presented with an opportunity to regain their tag titles. So that, along with having his pals’ backs, was all that provided him with any sort of attraction to the FWA. Even she was not an interesting enough proposition to draw him into the ring, anymore.

Whilst Alyster was lost in thought, everyone else around the table broke into separate conversations; Violet gave one word answers to the repeated questions from Rick and Sonny, Allen was trying to wingman Chris to Cindy the waitress (who had been given the night off in order to attend the meal) and then on the end was Max Peacock, making a rare excursion from his bedroom. There was three seats left, two of them belonging to Chris and Drew, who everyone could now hear arguing from inside the kitchen;

“Drew, stop bitching and make the fucking food, okay? If I want to show people this thing then that’s my business.”

“You’re one to talk about “business”, you stupid bastard! Have you got any idea how much we’re losing tonight by closing?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, man? I’m covering the night’s losses! I told you the other day, you stupid fuck! Maybe if you weren’t two bottles of whiskey down at the time you’d have REMEMBERED!”

A couple of seconds later, Chris burst through the door and as planned for his championship entrance to his friends, his theme music started playing. However given the argument that had just been overheard by everyone, Chris’s enthusiasm had dipped, “Allen, turn the fucking music off, would ya?”

After several seconds of Allen’s bumbling, ‘He’s the Greatest Dancer’ abruptly cut out. Chris yanked out one of the spare chairs, sitting down next to Cindy, with another spare chair on his other side. He tossed the North American Championship on the table in front of him and then put his head in his hands. Cindy reached over and put her arm around him, “Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re both under a lot of stress. I know you’re worried about him.”

Chris hardly noticed her hand clasping onto one of his as he looked down at his lap. Their relationship had not progressed past the mutual infatuation with each other that they shared. Chris was busy preparing to face Michelle and now he and Alyster have another big match coming up, and with him having to worry about people coming after his title now, he simply did not have the time to even think about how he was going to address his feelings towards the waitress.

The atmosphere had become tense and awkward following Chris and Drew’s argument, with most around the table unsure of what to do. Alyster stood up and cleared his throat; “I’d like to raise a toast.” Everyone turned to look up towards the masked man, who held his beer bottle up in the air in front of him.

“Chrissy, I just want you to know that I’m proud of you, dude. This whole thing has been one hell of a ride so far, but it is far from over. We’re going to beat that melt Fenix and that fat fuck Savage and then at Back in Business… we’re going to take out R-”

A quick glance at Chris caused Alyster to pause mid-sentence. The scowl on his partner’s face due to his argument with Drew made Alyster realise that it was not the best time to bring up Chris’s arch-rival. “Well, we’re going to bring those titles right back here to Dazzling Dave’s! TO CHRIS!”

The rest of the group joined in with the toast, and the outpouring of support was enough for Chris to fight off his frown and allow himself a chance to relax and enjoy the evening. It was thankfully not much longer for everyone to wait for Drew to start bringing the food out from the kitchen. Cindy assisted with the serving, despite Chris near-ordering her not to. Once the food was served, Drew took his place next to Chris. The brothers ate the tortellini starter without talking, save for when Drew attempted to fill his empty glass with a full-bodied red.

“No.” Chris said firmly, and he placed the palm of his hand over the rim of Drew’s glass.

“You fuckin’ serious right now?” Drew asked loudly.

Everyone had no choice but to be drawn to the animosity between the brothers once again. Drew knew the answer to the question already, but he was unsure of Chris’s motivations. It would not be out of character for his brother to simply want to embarrass him for the sake of it. He stewed and stabbed at the food on his plate, occasionally glancing over at his brother sitting next to him with scorn.

Chris obnoxiously ate his food in record time, ignoring the tension in the restaurant dining room, which had been closed off to the public in order to facilitate yet another celebration. He enjoyed his plate but did not wish to thank his brother for it; Drew’s dependence on alcohol had ramped up to never-before-seen levels in recent months. The evening they were presently experiencing was a rare instance of relative sobriety from Drew, and the only other reason for that besides Chris cutting him off was because of Max’s presence. Everyone was aware of what an evening with Max entailed - long tangents about parallel universes and timelines - but knew that it was a tactical move on Chris’s part to have him there.

It was just earlier that day that Alyster had expressed his dismay at Chris’s use of his nephew to ensure better behaviour from his brother. But, at the same time, he did not want to be held responsible for clearing up Drew’s vomit and any other bodily fluids, which Chris assured him he would be if he fought back on Max’s attendance at the meal.

Chris was not alone in enjoying the food; the rest of the guests emitted agreeable murmurs of enjoyment. This - coupled with the atmosphere caused by the bickering Peacocks - resulted in a distinct and noticeable lack of conversation around the table. Alyster was the only one wise to what this would mean, given that Chris had finished eating before everyone else. Chris anxiously tapped his fingers on the table, and then his North American Championship.

“When’s the next course, then?”

“Chris, come on,” answered Allen, half-chewing a piece of pasta, “Try and chill out a bit, eh?”

“Allen, shut up,” Chris responded coarsely, before he turned back to his brother expectantly, “When’s the next course?”

“Can I not eat this first?”

There was not an immediate answer from Chris, who shrugged. A small, sarcastic smile formed on his face as he reached forward and grabbed a wine bottle on the table by the neck, “Fair enough. You eat, Drew, and I’ll… drink.”

“Fuckin’ asshole…” Drew pushed away from the table in his seat in the face of the obvious taunting from his brother, and left for the kitchen. Meanwhile, Chris hummed as he topped off his glass.

Everyone looked around for someone to bring Chris to task, and all eyes fell on Alyster. Black grimaced under his mask, knowing before anything had even happened that it was going to fall to him to keep Chris in check.

“Chris…”

“Yeah?” Chris responded, finishing his mouthful and placing his glass back down on the table without much finesse, causing some red wine to spill onto the white tablecloth.

“Was that really necessary, mate?”

“I wanted more food, Aly. I’m picking up a fucking bartending shift here tomorrow you’d at least fuckin’ think that this prick would get the mangia ready in time, huh?”

For the first time in the evening, Chris heard himself and realised how harsh he was being. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly, “Look, I know I’ve been riding Drew hard lately… and trust me, I haven’t wanted to… but look, this tough love shit is working. Has he passed out yet? Pissed himself? Walked around with his dick hanging out? Yeah it must suck seeing twin brothers being at each other like this, but it’s for his own good. So please, just let me do what I need to do, because I promise, I’m doing all of this for his own benefit. Let’s enjoy this tonight…”

Chris raised his glass and encouraged everyone to do the same, “To family!”

Everyone joined in with the toast and reciprocated Chris’s sentiments. With a greater understanding of the forces at play, the FTN Family were able to enjoy the entrees (steaks) and the dessert (tiramisu). The wine flowed, laughs were shared and the guests pretended not to notice when the Peacocks began bickering on a frequent basis.

The celebration was beginning to die down, guests were leaving one by one. Max’s lecturing about the “vast multitude of possibilities in the infinite universes” was enough to cause Violet and the Diamond Dogs to leave (but she ensured that this was not together, despite their pleas), and Drew then took Max back to his mother’s before returning home himself. Soon enough - after kindly asking Allen to leave as well - Alyster and Chris found themselves (almost) alone, sharing a bottle of rum as they often did.

“You know, tonight wasn’t a total disaster. Besides you and your brother fighting all night, it was pretty fun.”

“I don’t want to talk about that prick anymore. Let’s talk about literally anything else.”

“How about we talk about Ra-”

“ANYTHING BUT HIM!”

Alyster raised his hands in defence, chuckling as his partner downed another swig.

“Alright… Hey, are you a millionaire?”

Chris spat out his drink, “Am I a what?”

“A millionaire. I mean, you’re a Grand Slam winner now, you’ve main evented a Back in Business, you spent most of 2023 main eventing. Are you a millionaire yet, or what?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you might not be, considering your house, this restaurant, plus you have a manager who you must pay a percentage of your earnings to, not to mention all of your personal problems. You know, most of your problems could be solved by throwing money at them.”

Chris was rather thrown off by this line of questioning, and decided to throw it back in Alyster’s face. “Are you a millionaire?”

“Yeah mate, two time World Champions don’t fight if they’re not earning seven figures. That’s a fact.” Alyster replied in a matter-of-fact tone, the question did not rile him up as it did Chris.

“I am too, of course I am. I think every top worker in the FWA is one. And some of the people down the bottom.”

“You think Reagan Cole is a millionaire?”

Chris furrowed his brow, “Well, maybe not Reagan Cole.”

“What about a prick like Jeremy Best, you think he got the better of Watkins during his contract negotiation?”

“I think Jeremy would wrestle for a handshake and a hug if I’m being honest. Freak that he is.”

“Who do you think the highest paid wrestler on the roster is?”

“I dunno man, probably me? Who wrestles more frequently and has held more gold than me? Who better than Peacock?”

“You think you make more per match than Shawn Summers?”

“Of course I make more per match than Shawn Summers. For starters, I’m still around, he hasn’t been. And also, when was he ever a World Champion?”

“Never. And I will make it my mission in life to ensure he never wins the FWA World Championship.”

“Oh? Is that the motivation you need to make a big return to singles competition? Shawn Summers being on the cusp of winning the world championship? Michelle von Horrowitz spent the last year tormenting you while dressed up as a weasel and you can calmly sit by and let that go and leave me to deal with it, but Shawn Summers? That’s a different story!”

“Michelle was weaselperson? That’s news to me.”

“Of course she was weaselperson, what are you on abou… Oh, I get it. You don’t want to deal with that either.”

“I just don’t care.”

“Nah, it eats away at you, that you’re letting it go.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“I can see it, all over your face, buddy. Even when you’re wearing the mask. You’re so pissed off that you could crush coal into diamonds between your asscheeks. In fact, I’d pay good money to see you try…”

“Very funny. Can we talk about literally anything else?”

Both men fell silent, they gaged the room for a while before Chris broke the silence.

“Do you think we’re the baddies?”

“You mean, are we bad guys or are we villains? Cause mate, I don’t know about you but I’m a bit colour blind.”

“How so?”

“Everything is in shades of grey to me.”

“Yeah, but like, we’ve done some pretty despicable things over the last year or so. And I’ve come to terms with it, you were with me for most of that soul searching. But I’ve never asked how you felt about it.”

“Yeah, we’re bad guys. But who isn’t these days?”

“That fuckin’ Cyrus Truth isn’t.”

“Dude, fuck Cyrus Truth.”

“Lizzie Rose - or whatever the fuck she’s supposed to be right now - sure ain’t.”

“She’s no peach though.”

“Jackson Fenix is a good guy.”

“But Nate Savage is a bastard.”

“No, you’re thinking about Bryan Baxter.”

“Am I? How could I confuse the two? One is so… rotund, and the other is so… bulbous. Where the fuck does Jackson Fenix get off thinking he’s a good guy anyway?”

Chris shrugged. “He seems happier, don’t you think?”

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“I think there’s merit to carrying yourself as a good guy, and not succumbing to being a bastard.”

“What are you saying? That you’re not happy with the way people perceive you? Cause I remember you singing and dancing about how you just don’t give a fuck a couple of weeks ago.”

“I don’t give a fuck. It’s just, it was nice being the golden boy that everyone looked up to and got behind.”

“And where did that lead you? Where the fuck does being a “good guy” get you? It sure as fuck didn’t keep the World Championship around either of our waists.”

“Being the bad guys didn’t keep the Tag titles around our waists either.”

The memories sting for both men who fall silent again, their gazes fixated on the rapidly emptying bottle of rum sitting between them.

“You being the bad guy absolutely wrecked Cyrus’ shit at Back in Business.”

“Actually,” came a voice from the kitchen, followed by Allen Price walking out in an apron wearing a pair of marigolds, “That was me.”

“Are you doing the fucking dishes, mate? You know there’s a fuckin’ industrial-sized dishwasher back there, right? Takes two fucking minutes.”

“Get the fuck outta here, man!”

Chris and Alyster watched as Allen discarded the potwasher accessories and then left the restaurant. They shared a collective groan, and then clinked their glasses together once more.

“Did you say earlier you’re bartending tomorrow?”

“Yeah…”

“Shouldn’t we finish up here?”

“No…”



The next day.

A loud obnoxious snore woke Chris up from his deep alcohol induced slumber. He lifted his weary head, blinking rapidly to adjust to the burning morning light, and took a look at his surroundings. He was still in the restaurant. Laying down across the bar, which had proven to not be a comfortable resting place. He found that he was not alone, the loud snoring that had woken him had permeated from the carcass of his tag-team partner that lay underneath the evening's dining table.

Chris stirred, swinging his legs over the edge of the bar and landing behind it. He turned on the complicated coffee machine that laid behind and grumbled, “You need to be a Goddamn rocket scientist to work this fuckin’ thing.” He banged the side of it, and like magic the machine began to pour life-giving molten coffee into a waiting cup. “Eyyyy, works every time. Oi, Alyster! You want some coffee?”

The loud screaming from Chris woke Alyster who instinctively sat up, smacking his head against the bottom of the table. “Ah, fuck!” He groaned in agony whilst slowly rolling out from under the table. “Yeah… fuck… with lots of cream, and lots of sugar, please. Actually do that though. I know I asked for cream, but don’t you fuckin’ dare give me a “special”...”

Alyster slowly rose to his feet, though he was on wobbly legs. The room was spinning ever so slowly, enough to disorient the usually functional drunk. “I had a few too many last night. Can you believe that? I had too much to drink, me?”

Imitating Alyster’s accent, Chris began mocking his compatriot, “Crickey, I can believe you’re talking like a right-git about now.”

“Hey, don’t you start with that racism.”

“Australian isn’t a race. You can’t be racist against one.”

Alyster scoffed, then putting on his best (and most obnoxious) American accent retaliated, “One double cheeseburger please, and I’ll pay for that with my credit card.”

“That’s pretty good, are you impersonating Nate Savage?”

“I think every person imitating an American is doing Nate Savage.”

Just outside.

A van pulls up around the side of the restaurant, inside are two men. A burly man driving, and his far skinnier accomplice. In the back of their van are a variety of stolen goods, their haul from a long night’s work.

“This looks like a good place to grab a quick nip. I’m pretty sure the owner used to be in debt to the boss…” said the rotund member of the duo.

“Shouldn’t we fence the goods first Nat?” His slimmer compatriot asked, with an edge of concern.

“Later Jackie. We’ll just grab a pint first.”

Nat unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the van. Jackie followed him, neither had noticed that they’d left it unlocked. But who would have the balls to steal from them?

The doors to the restaurant burst open for Nat and Jackie, they stepped inside as if they owned the place. The restaurant had seen better days, it had at this point not been cleaned up following the previous night’s festivities save for Allen’s pitiful attempt at washing up.

“Oi, Drew,” Nat called out to Chris. “Two lagers, mate.”

“Drew, you grew a hefty moustache over the last couple of days,” Jackie pointed out. A man growing a fully bushy moustache over three days did not ring any alarm bells for Jackie, or for Nat.

Chris rolled his eyes and looked to Alyster who was busy downing his coffee. A cheeky smirk crept across Chris’ face and he moved to the taps. “Coming right up fellas.”

Jackie and Nat each grabbed a stool by the bar and eagerly awaited their drinks.

Alyster turned to them, “A bit early for a pint, ey mates?”

“It’s never too early to get your buzz on. Especially after a hard night’s work.”

“Right, and what is it that you lively chaps do?”

“We’re in the business of reappropriation as we like to call it."

The comment raised an eyebrow from both Alyster and Chris, and elicited a smack to the back of Jackie’s head from Nat.

“We’re repo men.” Nat said in a desperate attempt to cover up for his mouthy partner.

“Ah, repo men, I suppose it’s safer to work under the cover of darkness than during the day when poor unsuspecting good folk are carefully guarding their goods.”

Nat stared at Chris for a few moments, at first he was confused that Drew would question their occupational hazards, but soon came to realise that the man he was staring at wasn’t in fact Drew Peacock, but his much more famous and, more-importantly, wealthier twin brother.

“Wait a sec, you’re not Drew.”

“No I’m not. What gave it away? Was it the fact that I’m capable of forming coherent sentences, and the fact that my breath doesn’t stink of wine and whiskey?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Alyster was quick to interrupt. Chris shot him a look. Alyster chuckled.

“Oh, that explains the moustache!”

Chris slid two pints across the bar to the thirsty men waiting. Nat and Jackie were quick to pick up their mugs and down the golden nectar within. Nat set his pint down and burped rather loudly, the man was, amongst other things, uncouth.

“That was well brought up, shame you weren’t.”

“What? It’s good beer. It’s a compliment.”

Alyster rolled his eyes - it most certainly was not “good beer” - and returned his attention to the steaming hot coffee in front of him.

“So, you’re Chris, right?”

“I am,” Chris replied dryly.

“I’ve gotta ask, since you’re on TV and all, are you a millionaire?”

Jackie choked on and then spat out his drink, “Nat, you can’t ask a fella that!”

“What?! It’s a legitimate question!”

“And one I won’t answer, sorry boys.”

“Ah come on, I’ve seen you fight on pay-per-view in this very restaurant.”

“I hope Drew pays for those.”

“Don’t think he does, I did the cable hookup myself.”

“Ah, peachy. I’ve got a question for you fellas. Do you think it’s better to be a bad guy, or a good guy?”

Nat and Jackie gave each other a look, they both replied in unison.

“Good guy.”

“Bad guy.”

But weren’t quite in sync as they expected to be. They were surprised at each other’s answer.

“What do you mean it’s better to be a good guy, we’re hardly good guys now are we?”

“Of course we are. I mean, we do what we have to do to get by, but that doesn’t make us bad.”

“Damn straight, and don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise.” Chris reached behind the counter and pulled out a rather large glass beer mug that had a label on it reading “tippers r sexy”. He placed it on the bar besides Jackie and coughed nonchalantly.

Jackie instinctively reached into the front pocket of his jacket and pulled out a dollar bill which he dropped in the mug.

“Like hell!” replied Nat, scoffing as he finished his sentence. He noticed a stray bottle cap beneath his seat and kicked it far across the room. It hit something, drawing everyone else’s attention and he used the momentary distraction to take the dollar bill from the tip jar.

“It always pays to be the bad guy, and there’s no point deluding yourself. Embracing it is more profitable.”

“You’re not wrong there, mate.”

Chris grabbed a rag and started wiping the bar down, doing his best to look like a stereotypical bartender. He noticed that the dollar bill was missing from the tip jar and shook his head. He decided to input the order on the POS system and then turned to the men who were sipping away at the lagers; “Fourteen fifty please, gentlemen.”

The surprised looks on the faces of both customers made it clear to both Chris and Alyster that they were not used to paying for their drinks. They looked at each other for a moment before Jackie reached into his pocket once more, pulling out his wallet. Nat cut across him with his arm and put his own wallet on the bar next to Jackie’s.

“I can’t let you get this one. Feels like you’ve been doing all the heavy lifting lately. In fact, why don’t you get a tab going? We could be here a while.”

A look of concern crossed Jackie’s face and he got closer to his partner, speaking in a hushed tone, “What about the… stuff? It’s got to go!”

“You worry too much, Jackie boy!” Nat said after downing his pint and slamming the glass down onto the bar, “Another please, Chris.”

Alyster chuckled to himself once more as he mused on the fact that the larger man had no idea when to stop. The knowing glance he shared with Chris made it clear that both FTN members had the same thought. Jackie was much slower at consuming his drink than Nat, who made a sizeable dent in the pint with his first gulp.

A grin crept onto Nat’s face as an idea seemed to birth inside his head, “You know, you brought up an interesting question. Is it better to be a good guy or a bad guy? Well, I just had a thought about how we can put that to the test.”

“What’s that, then?”

“Well, you two seem like pretty capable guys. How about both of you head on out there into the city, one of you does some good deeds and the other some bad… and we see who comes away with more dough?”

“Think you’ve got enough dough already…” Alyster said under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“So you boys game?”

“Well, we’ve got nothing better to do…”

“Ummm…” Chris motioned to the bar and the restaurant around them, and everyone realised that he was in fact in the middle of a shift.

Jackie let out an exasperated gasp and then took a sip of his beer, “He’s working, Nat, we can’t bring him away from the bar. They’ll have to close!”

“Well, we can watch the bar for you? Besides, who else is going to come in here at this time?”

The logic could not be disputed. Chris admitted this and skirted around the bar with a groan and then helped Alyster to his feet. Before they left together, FTN turned around and caught Nat already reaching over the bar to help himself to a bottle of whiskey on the other side. Neither reacted to it though, instead choosing to ask an important question, “How long do we have?”

“Oh…” Nat said, thinking whilst he assessed the POS system, cash register and the drinks behind the bar, “Why don’t we call it three hours?”

Chris and Alyster disingenuously agreed to the terms of the bet and left the restaurant in the hands of the two shady figures.
Outside.

“Alright, so we’re in agreement that those fucks are here to rob the restaurant’s alcohol and empty the cash register, right?”

“Yeah, it seems that way.”

“And you’re cool with that? That’s your family’s living, mate.”

“Right. But the cash register is empty because we weren’t open last night and I’m not going to be too upset if the place where my alcoholic brother spends most of the day is suddenly deprived of booze, am I?” Chris winced as he stared up into the sun following the sound points being made, “My only worry is that fat fuck decides to go into the kitchen, now that will bankrupt us.”

After the classic FTN fat joke, they scanned the surrounding area in an attempt to figure out how they were going to properly sell the ruse.

“Okay, and we’re also in agreement that we’re not actually going to walk around Brooklyn trying to scrape a few pennies together?”

“Well, we could do that part… I thought it’d be cool to release someone’s dog, only to find it and then scoop up the reward.”

Chris screwed his face up at the insane idea and looked at Alyster with some worry for his sanity, “That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard, man. We need to get you some counselling for this dog thing. It really isn’t healthy.”

“We’re literally millionaires, Chrissy. We can just hit up an ATM and then one of us just gives more money than the other.”

“But then aren’t we giving these guys our money, as well as everything they take from the restaurant?”

“It was never agreed that we’d give them the money. We just need to show it to them. But yeah, they’ll probably insist on taking it, won’t they? Well, the big guy will. Greedy fuck.”

“That’s a good point and if they do insist on trying to take it? We’re the two toughest sons of bitches in the biggest wrestling company in the world, I think we can take these two scrubs, surely? Even with these stinking hangovers.”

Alyster nodded to agree but groaned as another issue with their reverse ruse arose, “What are we going to do for three hours, though?”

“I know a good titty bar around here?”

“I don’t doubt that you do but after you dragged me to that orgy that one time I don’t think we need to do something like that together ever again…” Alyster ignored Chris’s dismay as something caught his eye. He proceeded to walk into the parking lot around the side of the restaurant and his eyes rested on the two parked vehicles. At the far end was Chris’s classic white Cadillac, and the other was the van that Jackie and Nat arrived in. Alyster spoke again, this time with much more excitement, “They definitely have some stolen shit in there, right? Shall we just… take it?”

It was supremely hypocritical for Chris to act as enraged as he did at that suggestion, given his past misadventures and brushes with the law, “We can’t steal from them, Aly!”

“Too late,” said Alyster nonchalantly as he tossed the wallets of the repo men onto the floor at their feet.

Chris really hammed up how appalled he appeared to be by Alyster’s proposition and actions. However after a few seconds he dropped the act and shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, why the fuck not? They’re in there with as much free booze as they want. They’re not coming out here any time soon.”

After Chris had pulled his car up closer to the van, they thought for a moment about how to get the doors of the van open so they could extract the goods inside. After wasting twenty minutes coming up with all manner of convoluted schemes to prise the doors open, Alyster simply tried the handle and to their uproarious laughter, they swung open. Inside the van was a collection of electronics, jewellery and some duffel bags which upon inspection, contained a few rolls of money.

Peacock popped the trunk and together the two of them decided to sift through the items in the van, deciding what they felt was worth keeping by value and emotional damage caused to the goons inside.

“Chris… I have to ask, mate. What made you want to bring up this good guy, bad guy thing? I know we were touching on quite a lot of stuff last night… but just seemed like a strange thing for you to give a fuck about, you know?”

“I don’t give a fuck what other people think of me. When I realised just how fickle those people are in those arenas and how quickly they’ll switch up on you… I realised that stuff isn’t important. It isn’t a determining factor when it comes to success in our thing. Fuckin’ Cyrus lost to Best… there’s no justice in this game. It’s only who is better on the night.”

Chris attempted to unlock an iPhone he had found, which belonged to a middle-aged woman by the looks of the case and lock screen photo. It was the woman with a man standing in front of a large tree. They looked happy and Chris wondered for a moment what they were like as people, and whether this could be him if he made the right choices, “It’s me, Alyster. I don’t know whether to think I’m a good guy or a bad guy.”

“I do all of this fucked up stuff inside and outside of the ring. We’re jacking a van, for fuck’s sake-”

“Yeah, but the people we’re ripping off are assholes who are trying to rip us off, remember?”

“So doing a bad thing to a bad person makes the thing you’re doing a good thing? I think it’s more complicated than that… I am an asshole to my brother because that’s the only way that I can help him… but he doesn’t see it that way. He just thinks that I’m being an asshole, you know?”

“Chris, you’re doing something to help him. When he’s better, he’ll understand that. You’re right though, you do do bad things. It’s how you won the fucking Climaxxx, man. You got bitched out at the start when you tried to play the good guy again but then you flipped that switch and hey, you’re a Grand Slam Champion!

“And look, the whole thing with Krash. I won’t lie, part of me was concerned with how you’d be with him coming back. But man, you fucking came through for him in the Carnal Contendership. Fuck R-... that guy, you took that bullet for Krash and no one would have blamed you if you didn’t, mate.”

Chris nodded his head and then pocketed the phone.

“Come on, man. You know why I did that.”

“Nope. Enlighten me.”

“For you, dickhead. At that moment, when me and Krash were on the apron, I thought about what you’d think. What you’d prefer. I don’t hold it against you one bit either, Alyster. I took another kick to the jaw but I got that fucker back and at Back in Business we’re taking those fucking titles, you understand?”

Nodding, Alyster agreed with Chris. They remained silent for several minutes whilst they continued to unload the contents of the van into the trunk of Chris’s car. Alyster felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Whilst he was ecstatic for both Krash and Chris, he knew that they had a tumultuous history at best prior to FTN forming during Krash’s blackout period. There were always the lingering rumours that Chris was just waiting for the right moment to turn on Alyster, peddled by naysayers and Nephews sympathisers.

Krash’s presence was always a potential wedge that could come between FTN and it almost did after Back in Business last year, but a fire in an English stately home saw that obstacle cleared. But Chris’s actions in the Carnal Contendership Match had fully laid to rest any notions of ulterior motives. Not even the staunchest detractor at the Fallout commentary table could refute the unbreakable bond that had formed between two of the best wrestlers in the world, who were getting ready to run roughshod over the FWA tag team division once again.

In that particular moment, when they were rummaging through the contents of the van, it seemed as if almost nothing Chris could do or say would cause any friction between them;

“So Alyster, I wanted to talk about Michelle.”

Alyster cursed under his breath as Chris managed to avert the “almost nothing” in his previous thought to land on the one topic that caused Alyster to clam up. He was already frustrated that he had entertained even the briefest of conversations with Chris about her the night before, which he blamed on the rum. Despite all of the time that had passed since their last interaction and this seemingly new target of Michelle’s attention which had arisen, Alyster was not ready to address the saga of weaselpeople which had consumed much of his life the previous year.

“I know… I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just feel a bit bad about the whole situation there. Like, you were supposed to be the one to beat her. I was just supposed to be a stepping stone on her path to you… but I kind of just blew the whole thing up? I just feel like I’ve kind of taken something away from you, you know?”

No answer from the masked man; instead he simply just dropped a few gold and silver bracelets from a cardboard box into the trunk of Chris’s car. Chris got the message that no matter how much he tried to broach this subject, Alyster was not going to budge from his position. He shrugged, “Okay, message received. We’ll deal with… them… at Back in Business but afterwards, I want us to revisit this. Tag titles first.”

All of a sudden, a burst of excitement seemed to take over Alyster’s entire body, “Tag titles? Fuck yeah, mate! We’re going to squash these pricks on Fallout and then yeah, we’re coming right back here to NYC and winning the big ones again. Let the reign of terror commence! WOOOO!”

Over the course of the next hour, the Cadillac was filled to the brim with the goodies from the van. All that was left inside once FTN were done was the kind of useless shite that they didn’t even think worth taking out of principle or because it would have been funny.

“Alright, move your car. I’ll move the van.”

“Where am I moving it?”

“I don’t fucking care mate, just nowhere they’ll see.”

Chris hopped into his car and pulled it out of the parking lot. He drove it down the couple of blocks to his apartment building and left it in the underground parking complex. On the walk back to the restaurant he thought more about why they were doing what they were. It was conflicting, because whilst Nat was a certifiable piece of crap, Jackie seemed to be a genuine guy who just wanted to get by. Is that the lesson though? Is Jackie holding himself back by continuing to associate with someone so nasty? Someone who does not share his ideals of becoming a better person? Someone perhaps incapable of being a better person?

Even if Nat did try to improve himself, would it make any difference when they ran into someone like FTN? Chris and Alyster didn’t give a shit where someone opposing them sat on the moral compass, they wanted to win. They were going to win. Nat and Jackie were sitting at the restaurant which had no money on premises, drinking into Drew’s stash. They thought they were on the up with this move against Chris and Alyster, but they’d already lost their wallets and the valuables in their van, and they hadn’t even realised that they’d been fucking duped.

The ironic part is that if Jackie did shed Nat, then he’d probably have not found himself in the situation that his partner had put him in. The guy had some very clear upside, but that potential was never going to be realised whilst he remained attached to Nat. That lack of foresight was going to be Jackie’s downfall and his crime for the punishment he was going to receive. Their partnership was not like FTN’s; Chris and Alyster made each other infinitely better, there could never be any serious suggestion that one was holding the other back. Maybe what FTN were doing would be the wake up call that Jackie needed?

Chris rounded the corner to see the restaurant back in sight. Alyster was on the sidewalk in front of the parking lot with something in his hand. A jerry can stood at his feet and when Chris got eyes on the van he saw that it had been moved to the middle of the parking lot. A line of dark liquid trailed from the back of the van to roughly a metre in front of Alyster’s feet. The smell meant it could only be one thing; gasoline.

“Hey dude.”

“Don’t “hey dude” me! You're torching it?!”

“Come on, bro! It just wouldn’t feel right if we didn’t set fire to something, mate. Admit it, you know I’m right.”

It was mostly the fact that this fire was going to be taking place right next to the site of his father’s legacy that bothered Chris, but he eventually relented, “Yeah, that’s fair. Whaddya got there anyway?”

“Their driver’s licences,” Alyster said, holding the open wallets of the two men and laughing at their mugshots, “Nat Attaccare and Giacomo Fenice… I guess we never truly learned whether it pays to be good or bad… Adios!”

Alyster tossed the wallets into the back of the van and then sparked up his lighter and dropped it down onto the trail in front of him. Within seconds, the flames had travelled up the path to the van and engulfed it. A crowd started to form as locals - many of them known to Chris - came to get a closer look. Chris rested a hand on Alyster’s shoulder, both men content with their handiwork, “Pays to be good or bad? Forget about it… it pays to be us.”




That night.

“Thank you, officers. Take care!”

Drew waved off the policeman as Dazzling Dave’s found itself closed for the second night in a row. Upon learning of the fire in the parking lot, Drew rushed over and then lost his mind about all of the missing booze from behind the bar. Having seethed enough and allowed enough time for the police and fire crews to leave, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. After waiting for a few seconds for the answer on the other end of his call to come, he spoke through gritted teeth;

“Get your fucking asses over here right now.”

Half an hour later, Chris and Alyster arrived at the restaurant. Together, they expressed emotions of shock, surprise and awe. Neither could act very well, however, so Drew saw through their facades immediately, “You guys want to tell me what happened here today?”

“We have no idea.”

“I wasn't here.”

“Well, we all know that’s nothin’ but bullshit. So let me tell you what the police were told happened here today, huh? Because the police think that two of my regulars came in here, stole a load of booze and then set their own van on fire in the parking lot!”

Still attempting to maintain their stance, Chris and Alyster could barely hold their laughs as the situation seemed to have worked out for them even better than they had hoped, “That’s pretty fucking crazy…. pfffffffHAHAHAHAAHA!”

Chris and Alyster almost fell to the floor with how much they were laughing at the turn of events. It took them a full two minutes to compose themselves, all the while Drew stood there with his hands on his hips, entirely unimpressed.

“Alright, how did the police come to that conclusion? I’ve got to know, man.”

“He told them,” Drew said whilst pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. Their attention turned to a figure sitting in the corner of the restaurant at a booth on their own, with their back to them. FTN approached the man and as they got closer, they instantly recognised who it was;

“Krash?!”

“When the fuck did you get here mate?”

“Yesterday.”

A proud grin formed on Alyster’s face underneath his mask as he patted Krash on the shoulder, pleased that he had the initiative to lie to the police despite almost certainly having been fully aware of Chris and his involvement in the day’s events. A kinder, sober Drew approached the three of them with a notepad in his hand, “As you’re here you might as well have something to eat… what will it be, gentlemen?”

Chris smiled at his brother, who nodded his head back. The tough love had yielded some early positive results and with Krash back, and a prospective Back in Business showdown with Ramon and Toner on the docket, things were definitely on the up for FTN.

And that, my friends… is undisputed.
 

Jimmy King

It’s Britney, bitch
Joined
Dec 12, 2010
Messages
18,844
Reaction score
14,331
Points
118
Age
39
Location
Slam Diego
Favorite Wrestler
oAYiXZo
Favorite Wrestler
eAVr0ua
Favorite Wrestler
johncena
Favorite Wrestler
DjUmJN2
Favorite Wrestler
nock3cf
Favorite Wrestler
eIHNFff
Favorite Sports Team
padres
Favorite Sports Team
5FIj30E
The Undisputed Alliance in...
The Undisputed Alliance rides again



@Fenix69
Sorry to everyone I let down. Especially to the city of Las Vegas, my people. I’m sorry I couldn’t get the job done, but I loved seeing you all come out and show love; thank you.

We move on though, as Nate always says to me, when one door closes another one will open. I’ll keep my head up and keep on grinding. This isn’t over yet, not by a long shot.

Jackson Fenix sent out that tweet as he sat in his locker room shortly after being eliminated from the Carnal Contendership match.

Did he believe that, though? Will that door open again? How much longer can he keep doing this?

Every time he has a shot at the big one, he finds a way to screw it up for himself. Every opportunity he’s ever had gets squandered.

Is he destined to be forever known as the guy that will never win when it counts?

Time and time again it happens, and he does his best to reassure himself, as well as his fans that he’s not down and out yet and he’s keeping his head up.

How much longer can he keep this optimistic attitude going?

Maybe Bad Fenix is right. Perhaps it is time to go back to his evil ways.

Look what it’s done for Jeremy; he’s a world champion now. He’ll be facing Krash in a rematch from last year’s Back in Business.

Jackson tries to shake it off and not think like that. He can’t resort to his old tactics because things haven’t been going his way.

It has been hard on him, though. He’s still down in the dumps. A loss is never easy, but this was his one shot, and it’s gone within a blink of an eye. He doesn’t hold anything against KATSU for eliminating him because he knows he would’ve done the same thing. It was every person for themselves in there; he knew what was at stake.

It still doesn’t help that he feels like he let everyone down. Himself, his family, his friends, his fans, and his hometown.

Keep on grinding.

He thinks to himself.

Keep on grinding. You can do this.

He looks up, and another door opens as he does so. However, it’s an actual door that opens in front of him, and Nate Savage enters the room. Nate is wearing a frown as he sits next to Jackson on the bench, and he puts his hand on Jackson’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, buddy, maybe next year.”

Jackson knows that Nate means well, and he’s trying to help ease the pain of a loss, but for some reason, that stings. Jackson does his best to hide it, but hearing “maybe next year” from his best friend stung.

“Look, I know now is probably not the best time, but I got word from Jon Russnow that at Fallout 040, The Undisputed Alliance will be in the main event. The winner of that match will earn a shot at the FWA Tag Team Championship at Back in Business.”


Nate holds his other hand in front of him, and a smile forms on his face.

“I can hear it now: Here are your winners and the NEW FWA Tag team champions, The Undisputed Alliance!”

Nate closes his eyes and continues to smile as he imagines it.

“How about that, huh? The Undisputed Alliance wins the big one in the Big Apple on the grandest stage of them all! I love the sound of that; what about you?”

“You love the sound of what?”


Nate’s smile vanishes, and he looks confused at Jackson.

“Weren’t you listening? We have a chance to earn a shot at gold at Back in Business!”

“Oh right, sorry, yeah, that’s great, but who do we have to get past?”

“FTN.”

“Oh…”

“What? Come on, don’t be like that! Yeah, our track record against both guys isn’t the best, but I have a good feeling about this one! I feel like time is on our side for once, and we could pull off the biggest upset of the century!”

“I don’t know, man. They are two former world champions and former tag team champions.”

“Yeah, so? We’re former tag team champions, too, remember?”


To be honest, Jackson didn’t remember that, which is sad now that he thinks about it.

“Come on; I know you’re feeling down now, which is totally understandable, but think of it this way: this is another door opening for us. When one door closes, another one opens! This is it, man! The Undisputed Alliance rides again!”

The Undisputed Alliance rides again but Jackson has a feeling it’ll be a bumpy ride.


********************


Fenix and Savage arrived at the Chicago airport a day before Fallout 040. Fenix is still feeling a bit down after coming up short in the Carnal Contendership match, despite the fact it’s been a few weeks since the event. Savage, on the other hand, is in a more chipper mood as of late, which some may find unusual, especially for those who have followed the careers of the UA for years.

Fenix is wearing an Xperienx Xtacee T-shirt and basic jeans, while Savage is wearing an Undisputed Alliance T-shirt with their logo plastered front and center. He is also wearing a pair of colorful shorts that clash with his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“I know you’re still feeling down after the Carnal Contendership match even though we have a big opportunity in front of us tomorrow at Fallout 040, so I came up with an idea to try to get you out of this funk you’re in and get you in the right frame of mind.”

“Nate, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I want to take it easy while we’re here and prepare for the match by watching matches with Peacock and Black.”

“Boring!”

“What? That’s always what you want to do, but we end up going with one of my ideas, which gets us into trouble of some kind. For once, I want to do what you want to do and prepare for them the easy way.”

“Jack, you don’t get it, do you? I don’t want to do that this time. Yeah, I know that’s usually what I want, but not today. I have an even better idea that’s way more fun.”

“What is it? Is it you eating an entire buffet while I watch?”


Nate looks a bit taken aback by that rude remark from his friend. He’s used to people mocking him for his weight, but he would’ve never expected it from his best friend, so it hurt him to hear that.

“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean that.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s nothing. Fat jokes, haha. They bounce right off my belly.”


Nate mimics something bouncing off of his belly.

“For real, though, I promise you I have something fun in store for us today.”

“Okay, fine; what is it?”


********************



AF1QipMgy4Cgsl7-R-zkbQqwmmXaHZfLxldC3mLocLZQ=s680-w680-h510



“The zoo?”

“Yeah, the zoo!”


This is not what Fenix was expecting when Nate said he had something fun planned for them.

“I don’t know man.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! We can compare some animals to Chris Peacock and Alyster Black like Alyster is as ugly as an elephant’s butt, which is why he wears that stupid mask!”


Nate can’t help but laugh at his own insult toward Alyster Black, while Jackson Fenix looks unamused.

“Do they have actual peacocks here?”

“I don’t think so, unfortunately.”

“Then what animal can we compare Chris Peacock to?”

“I don’t know, he’s also an elephant’s butt, I guess.”


Fenix still looks unamused.

“Come on, I thought you, of all people, would find that funny.”

“What? I’m not five years old, Nate.”

“Okay, I don’t know what your age has to do with finding something funny, but forget about it. Come on, I had Lone Shark help me arrange this day for us.”


Fenix would rather study matches for once, but to be nice, he decides to go along with Nate’s idea for the day.

“Okay, fine.”


********************


“Hey, chat, I’m here today at Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago, the day before Fallout 040. What am I doing at a zoo when we should be training? I don’t know, guys. This was Nate’s idea, but I’m not feeling it.”


Jackson Fenix is livestreaming for his fans on his Twitch channel, as well as his Instagram page. Fenix does his best to read the chat messages that are coming in fast.

“Where is Nate right now? He’s getting us some snacks and drinks. Yeah, I know, he likes to eat. Listen, chat; I think Nate is losing it. I dunno, man, there’s been something off about him lately.”

“Who are you talking to?”


Jackson gets so startled he nearly drops his phone on the ground, but he manages to keep it in his hands.

“Oh, I’m live streaming right now.”

Jackson moves his phone onto Nate so the chat can see him, and Nate waves half-heartedly at them while trying to keep hold of the drinks in his hands.

“What do you mean by saying I’m losing it? I thought you were having fun so far.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, but I am having fun.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I’m sorry, man, but this isn’t what I had in mind when I wanted to prepare for FTN.”

“I’m sorry, but I was just trying really hard to cheer you up after you lost the Carnal Contendership match. Look, I know it sucks, but you really need to move on, okay? It’s been weeks now. Get over it and focus on our match tomorrow.”


Jackson couldn’t believe Nate just said that.

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, Jack, get yourself together, man!”

“Can you believe this chat? He’s telling me to get over it! After everything I’ve done for him and all the times I’ve been there for him when he lost an important match. I never once told him to just get over it and move on.”

“Yeah, you’ve been there for me, but the thing is, I always got over it. You’re still moping about it and taking it out on me by body shaming me like your chat does.”

“How do you think I felt when you told me ‘maybe next year’? How do you think that felt for me, huh?”

“Come on, I didn’t mean anything by that, and you know it!”


There’s silence amongst them now as they realize people are looking at them. Two grown men are fighting like two children over a toy.

“Look, we shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t be going at each other like this, especially when we have a big match coming up. FTN will eat us alive if we’re not on the same page tomorrow night.”

“I need some space right now.”


Jackson gets up to leave, but Nate offers him one of the drinks.

“I got you a cherry slushie.”

Jackson ignores the drink and walks off, leaving Nate alone with two slushies in his hands.

“Fine, take all the time you need, buddy. I’ll be okay by myself.”

It's quiet except for the sound of Nate noisily slurping one of the slushies.


********************


“Can you believe that, chat? The nerve of Nate for telling me to get over it like it’s an easy thing to do.”


Fenix angrily ranted to his livestream chat while he stomped aimlessly around the zoo.

“Wait, are you guys on his side? What?! Come on, dude! Are you all for real right now?! You guys think I need to get over it too? Okay, bet.”

He abruptly ends the stream and angrily crosses his arms.

“Get over it? Pfft, I never saw Alyster telling Chris to get over something or the other way around.”

Jackson continues walking through the zoo until he reaches the exhibit of one of his favorite animals: a sloth. He watches the sloth slowly move around in its area until it reaches another sloth inside the area with it. The two sloths start to interact with each other and eventually embrace with a hug.

Jackson watched in awe at the interaction between the two creatures, and he began to think about how he had been treating Nate lately.

Nate was right; he should get over the loss. It sucks to lose, but it happens to everyone, and eventually, they get over it.

Brothers fought and this was one of those rare occasions where he and Nate fought. Jackson is certain not everything was peachy between FTN. Surely, they got into their fair share of disagreements, like when Alyster beat Chris for the FWA World Championship last year at Lights Out, there were a bit of hard feelings between them, but they seem to have put that behind them and are now dead set on regaining the FWA Tag Team Championships.

Fenix has lost to both Alyster and Chris on several different occasions, but Fallout 040 is going to be a different story. Once he and Nate are on the same page, there will be no stopping them.


********************


Nate Savage is all by himself at the lion exhibit of the zoo. He’s a big fan of lions and usually he’d be paying attention to the lion but he can’t help but think about what went down between him and Jackson.

Maybe he was being too hard on Jackson for not getting over the loss, and maybe he was being too pushy.

It wasn’t his intention to upset Jackson. This was supposed to be a fun outing for them, but it turned out to be a disaster, and it was all his fault. Everything was always Nate’s fault when it came to the team.

Most of their losses as a team came at his expense. He was usually the one to get pinned.

He was the reason that Undisputed Xperienx didn’t win the Trios Championship, and now those are being held by a trash panda and two luchadores.

“Hey, lions, how are you guys doing today?”

Nate begins to speak to the lions while no one else is around, even though the lions don’t understand him.

“I wish I could be more excited to see you guys today. Heck, I wish I wasn’t alone right now. I know, I know, technically I’m not alone because you guys are here, but you know what I mean...I think…”

Great, he’s talking to animals now. He supposes it can’t be worse than when Jackson wanted to speak to a dumpster one time. He chuckles to himself as he remembers that moment.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is I wish my best friend was here with me. I wish Jackson Fenix was here with me right now.”

He needs Jackson more than Jackson needs him, although Jackson would probably say the opposite, at least Nate thinks so.

They shouldn’t be fighting with each other. Not right now, not a day before a big match against FTN. Nate hated FTN and everything they stood for. He couldn’t stand Peacock and his stupid disco dancing, even though he doesn’t do that too much these days. He especially has a strong disdain for Alyster Black.

Alyster’s record breaking reign as X Champion came at the expense of Nate, because Nate was the person Alyster defeated to start that reign. Nate had an opportunity to end that reign nearly a year later, and he squandered it. He wanted nothing more than to rain on the parade for FTN and spoil their Back in Business plans.

He couldn’t do that alone; he needed Jackson.

Nate opens his phone and checks to see if Jackson is still live streaming, but it’s ended. He could text him, but he’s afraid that Jackson will ignore it.

Suddenly, he gets an idea but he has to figure out how to do his own live stream.

He opens the Instagram that Jackson set up for him. The profile has no pictures because Nate has never seen the use for it until now and now he doesn’t know how to work it without Jackson to help him.

“Hey lions, do you guys know how to start an Instagram live stream?”

Nate starts pressing a bunch of things until, eventually, a live stream starts.

“Wait, is this it? Is this a live stream? Am I doing it right? Hey, I did it! Hey, if anyone was watching Jackson’s stream earlier, do you know where he could be? What is his favorite animal?”

Nate should know this, but for some reason, he doesn’t.

“A sloth? Really? I mean, right, of course, I knew that. I totally knew sloths were his favorite animal.”

He ends the stream and makes his way to the sloth exhibit. Once he reaches the exhibit, he finds Jackson sitting alone on a bench.

“Hey.”

“Hey…”

“Listen, I’m sorry…”

“No, I’m sorry, Nate. I shouldn’t have treated you so poorly. You’re my best friend, and you’re just trying to look out for me. I should’ve been more appreciative of that, so I’m sorry.”


Nate sits next to Jackson and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have been so pushy and tried to force myself to get over something. I realize how much that match meant to you and how tough it must’ve been to lose. I’m sorry, man; I should’ve just let you heal on your own time.”


Jackson wraps his hand over Nate’s shoulder, and the two friends share a hug.

“I also remembered how much I hate FTN and how much I want to punch both of them in their stupid faces until there’s nothing left of them. I want to punch them so much that they become unrecognizable. I want to beat them so badly, and I realized that I’m going to do that, and then I need my best friend by my side.”

“Dude, there’s nothing that I’d love more than to superkick both of those jerks with you at my side. Let’s show FTN who the hell we are and remind the world who we are.”

“We are the Undisputed Alliance, and we ride again!”

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride for FTN!”

“That is undisputed!”

“Hey, that’s my line!”
 

Wiseman

O.J.A.S.
Joined
Sep 14, 2022
Messages
9,255
Reaction score
5,422
Points
233
Location
Burbs of Pennsylvania
Favorite Wrestler
chrisjericho
Favorite Wrestler
braywyatt
Favorite Wrestler
ajstyles
Favorite Wrestler
danielbryan
Favorite Wrestler
eddiekingston
Favorite Wrestler
coltcabana
Favorite Sports Team
2JJnnx8
Death of a Championship
Starring LDS: Legendary Detective Agency

A Real Dick Story
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a blistering cold night. I had just finished finding out just how much I could save on my car insurance from Bob who was gracious enough to give me a call out of the blue, one random night. I lit my nineteenth cigarette of the day as my mind was racing as I tried to make sense of the recent events of the last few weeks. For you to know those events, you’ll need to know just who I am and where I live.

Johnny is sitting in a dank, bland room. Not really all that impressive. He sits behind a wooden desk, clad with a few things that would be to organize things like pens and such. The chair he sits on is a cherry, leather, executive, desk chair. In front of the room are two other chairs that face Johnny. Around the room are just a few bookshelves, adorned with books. There are a handful of filing cabinets. As well as boxes on the floor filled with files.

I am Detective Johnny Johnson, I’m not a part of any corrupt civil police organization. No, I’m a lone wolf. Knowing full well that the best way for me to serve justice is without the constraints of the shitty civil system that we have here in the city. What city you might ask? That city is called Arkansas. It’s a bustling metropolis that one and a half million people call their home.

Now that the boring introduction is out of the way let me lay out why I am lighting up my nineteenth cigarette of the day, at this very moment. In my line of work, you tend to have run-ins with the worst of the worst. The real dregs of society. People who should have been aborted before their mother had the chance to push them out of their mossy cleft.

It just so happens that for the past few weeks, I’ve been dealing with the top of that pyramid. A person that makes you question why that person’s parent would have smothered their child with a pillow to save the rest of us from what they unleashed upon the rest of society. They call themselves only one thing, Trickster. Yeah, I know what you’re saying, it sounds like a damn comic book character, and guess what you’re right.

Truth be told, the things they have been doing, some of those things you would think only occur in comic books. To this date, they have been tied to at least four victims. The things they have done to those four people are disgusting, to say the least. Not only do they kill those people but they also find the ability to suck the very life out of them.

My objective, as I sit here alone in this office tonight, is to figure out how to stop this monster before it claims its next victim. I won’t lie, this case has my head running amuck. It almost feels like the Trickster leaves no clues to go on, yet somehow leaves some of the most grotesque scenes behind. Just then my phone rings, I’ve had better luck but perhaps this will lead me in some direction. I pick it up in anticipation of a crack in the case.

The scene shifts from that of Johnny just sitting in a dank, bland room. To that of a bearded, man on the other line of the phone. He happens to be sitting at a bar and is wearing a cowboy hat.


Johnny Johnson: Johnny Johnson, Legendary Detective Agency. What can I do for you?

Bearded Cowboy: Hee-HAW how you doing city slicker! I’m here to report a clue!

Johnny is taken aback for a second at the call as it is pretty forthright and on the nose.

Johnny Johnson: Oh, a clue about what? And can I have your name?

Bearded Cowboy: Afraid not, as I don’t trust no city folk. I’ll just say that I can be a trusted source since right now I’m fourteen beers and six shots of Jim Beam deep. Right now I would tell Pope to go to hell. But no, I would never tell you my name is Bommy Tedlam. I will tell you though how to catch that Trickster.

Johnny Johnson: You, some random hillbilly, not from the city where these murders are taking place going to tell me, a world-class detective how to catch this piece of trash?

Bommy Tedlam: As sure as a tick on a mustang's ass.


Johnny lets out a huge sigh.

Johnny Johnson: I’m listening.

Bommy Tedlam: Well as you should know this Trickster, they feed on blood, right.


Johnny slightly interrupts.

Johnny Johnson: Uhh, that hasn’t been proven.

Bommy Tedlam: Well let’s just say I know this is how it is. What you need to do is find yourself a goat. Tie that goat to some sort of pole and there you go. You got your bait for that monster.


Johnny lets out another huge sigh.

Johnny Johnson: First off, since this person is murdering people, why would a goat tempt them? Second, did you just get this entire idea from a movie about dinosaurs?

Bommy Tedlam: As sure as a sewer rat in a shit house trench, I know the goat will work.

Johnny Johnson: You know what Bommy, I like your moxie. For that reason alone I’ll jot this idea down and see about getting a goat.

Bommy Tedlam: You won’t be disappointed sure.

Johnny Johnson: I’m sure I won’t be. I’m hanging up now, however.

Bommy Tedlam: But I go….


Johnny hangs up before Bommy can get any more words out.

Just as I thought, a phone call that led nowhere. I’ve had cases like this before where it just felt like there was no way for me to overcome the odds. There was no way for me to defeat my opponent but just when it feels the bleakest, that’s when things turn around. As those thoughts go through my head, another phone call comes through. I pick it up, anticipating the worst.

The scene shifts again, this time from just Johnny in his office to now a moderately attractive, middle-aged woman on the other end of the phone.


Johnny Johnson: Legendary Detectiv….

Middle-Aged Woman: Shut up, I called you, I know who the hell you are.


Johnny’s eyes bulge out of their sockets, as a little anger begins to steam up.

Middle-Aged Woman: I need you to shut your mouth for once and open those ears of yours. I know it’s a near-impossible task for you, but you’re going to do it.

The woman pauses for a moment. Johnny thinks about talking for a second, but as he opens his mouth, he quickly shuts it.

Middle-Aged Woman: Good, I now have your attention. I’m going to assume you realize who this is from my voice and you have the ability to use your brain. So I’ll get right to the point. In the Trickster case, the Arkansas police department is in a stalemate with it. We have zero clues, we have zero suspects because of it and the mayor is down my neck to find this killer.

Johnny begins to sneer behind the phone as he begins to realize who is on the other line of the phone.

Johnny Johnson: Commissioner Gayheart, so nice to hear your voice. It’s been so long since the last time, what was it, the case of American Rose?

Commissioner Gayheart: Zip it, Johnny, we don’t have time for you to play around.


Johnny Johnson: Oh, I’m not playing around Sara. It’s just awful odd that any time you need me it’s only cause either it’s a high profile case that your incompetent police force can’t figure out or it’s to use me as your personal sex toy.

Commissioner Gayheart: You know those days of our rendezvous are long gone, Johnny. As far as me calling you for help with cases. It’s only because I know you have ways around the judicial system that the police force doesn’t. I know you’re willing to do a few things that aren’t exactly legal, for lack of a better term.

Johnny Johnson: Oh Commish, you do make a man blush. Enough of me thinking about old times though. Do you have anything for me to go on, that I might not already know?

Commissioner Gayheart: To put it bluntly, not really. If I had anything to go on, do you really think I would be coming to you? You’re my last straw, Johnny. The only thing that has been kept out of the press is that we believe most of the deaths, even with the rest of the physical signs, have been from poisoning. With that said, it’s always a leap but that usually leads to knowing one thing.


Johnny’s eyes bulge out from their sockets one more time.

Johnny Johnson: You think a woman has been doing these killings?

Commissioner Gayheart: Yes, the scenes have been brutal. Majority of the deaths, much of the spotlight from the killer has been on the victim's genitals. We even believe the entire thing could start from blunt force trauma to the testicles.

Johnny Johnson: That’s both disgusting and incredible.

Commissioner Gayheart: Glad one of us thinks that.

Johnny Johnson: Well listen Commish, unless the next thing you’re going to tell me is that you want me to come over to your place tonight with a bottle of red and loose ambitions, I think this call has come to an end.


There is a slight pause from both of them.

Johnny Johnson: Are you really thinking about it?

Commissioner Gayheart: Of course not, you disgust me, Johnny. I’d rather go down to the nearest bridge and find a hobo to have sex with than let you inside of me.


Johnny starts to steam a little bit from the Commish’s answer.

Johnny Jonson: Good, cause this young stud doesn’t need an old hag like yourself anymore.

The Commissioner rolls her eyes at Johnny’s retort.

Commissioner Gayheart: Of course, Johnny, of course. When you actually figure out something let me know right away.

The Commissioner hangs up the phone, and Johnny follows suit.

A female killer. Yes, historically speaking when murders occur by poisoning it usually is by the hand of a woman. But could a woman have really run through four, strong men like she has? I guess that’s where I come in. This is my mission now. To bring down Trickster. To bring down a killer that has been bashing in men’s balls in order to then poison them. What a sick bitch.

The real question is, am I the hero this city needs? Is Johnny Johnson the hero the city deserves? I guess only time will tell. I might be up against someone that is willing to kill, someone that is willing to maim a human in order to get what they want. Do they find pleasure in it? If they do, I feel it only means that I will need to do the same. I will need to leave every wholesome thought behind. I will need to find the deepest, darkest thoughts in my head and drudge them up from the depths of my soul. Bring those to the forefront and use them to battle this foe.

This enemy has given me no option. There can be no more victims. There can be no more fear. The time of Trickster might be upon us, but the time of Trickster ends now.