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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 3:54:10 GMT
PURE Championship Tournament Quarterfinal Match
Two (2) Role Plays Max
First Role Play Deadline: THURSDAY February 11th, 2016 @10:59 PM CST
Final Role Play Deadline: Wednesday February 17th, 2016 @ 10:59 PM CST
Segment Deadline: February 18th @ 7:00 AM CST
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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 3:54:53 GMT
“Pure Morning” plays over an bright cherry red screen as we transition into the garage recording studio of the Most Liberated Man in Professional Wrestling. Johnny is in jeans and an old Ed Hardy t-shirt, leaning back on a stool, already smoking a joint.
Johnny: “Through round one and into the Hateful Eight. I was more thinking Elite Eight, but we're still a month early for that reference and I do love me some Tarantino, so I'll run with it. Here's to making it to the... I don't know, Give-Me-More Four.”
Johnny takes a drag in toast.
Johnny: “I feel a little bad this week. Not physically, physically I'm healthy as can be, but I felt like maybe I would be letting the fans down this week. See, usually by the point I'm sitting down to plan these little adventures into Johnny Raike territory the person on the other end of my day job has already decided to make it personal. And then I get to just unload, tell them all the things about them that make them just not the person they think is staring 'em back in the mirror. And it's great, I love doing it, people love hearing it when it isn't about them. But sometimes I forget that other professionals actually can be found in professional wrestling. And then, well, I'm a little less in the mood to skewer them on the point of my wit.”
The American Wet Dream mimics stabbing the air, tip of the joint standing in for a blade. Johnny takes a hit and French inhales before blowing a perfect smoke ring, which lazy floats away behind him, slowly dissipating.
Johnny: “And I find with my main event match up ahead being against Stevie Harris that I'm not feeling the usual chagrin that most of my erstwhile peers inspire in me. I'm actually feeling excited. A fellow vet, someone who knows how to get the job done. I don't give a shit what reasons Harris has for being in the tourney, fame, power, or getting the best to come to him. I can respect it. Hell, Harris, I will say I respect your talent. I can even respect your methods. Knux didn't want to know who I was, Tyler's got some seasoning to attend to before he gets up here where I am, but Harris, you didn't get where you are by accident either. You didn't even get there from luck, though I will say you had an easier set of draws in that respect. Having a hundred pounds and a foot of height on people is a great advantage. But it's not like you're picking your own opponents. If you were, I flatter myself you wouldn't pick me.”
The Brutiful One gestures with his left hand and shakes his head, as if to say, 'of course.'
Johnny: “See, Harris for all that I respect you, for all that I can tell from one handshake and look in your eyes that you have the type of damage that is terribly dangerous for all around you, I'm not particularly scared of you. There is, of course, a background fear of anyone like you that seems more interested in trying to destroy than win; I've been around long enough to know that the fearless get the shit knocked out of them way more often. But you aren't my first potential sociopath. You're really not my first narcissist, but I'm not getting into Johnny's bedtime-childhood-abuse stories right now. My point is, I really think you should just drop your shit with me. We aren't mind gaming each other. Or, at least, I'm not currently planning to mind game you, and I'm really confident in the security of my mind to protect against what you might try. We could go that route, but I was so looking forward to a the challenge of skill on skill.”
An almost pleading look from Johnny Raike, gone as he takes his next hit. Johnny slowly exhales
Johnny: “And the thing is Stevie, I think you want that too. You're trying to pretend that you're looking past me, doing the same thing you did with Tapanga Britt. But I don't believe that you really think that will get to me. It gets the world tweeting, I chime in, one or both of the Bombtrax, more visibility, better ticket sales. More eyes watching you as you cross every line you can think of. Honey, I get that one. I love being the center of attention too, so I'll spar on Twitter all you want, but have you ever won a match, especially a main event match, because of what you Tweeted? Me either.”
The Thigh-High Thriller leans forward on his stool, giving the camera a tight lipped, conspiratorial smile.
Johnny: “I think you have a dirty little secret Harris, and I think it's that you respect me and what I can do just as much as I do for you. You aren't walking out to that ring without a damn good idea of who I am. Neither am I. But there's the hook right there, isn't it? Two of the more experienced boys, each with a background of being involved in some dirty, shady, nasty, violent shit. The world could not be more lucky that we both won at Wicked three. You lucky fucks get what might just be match up of the bracket, maybe even the whole tournament. I'm hard as diamond with excitement just thinking about it. I'll top, I'll bottom, but there's just something about pairing with another versatile that makes for such an amazing bout of antici...pation!”
Johnny throws his head back, his non joint holding hand idly flitting past his nipples. With a quick puff, The Beautiful Nightmare returns his focus to the camera.
Johnny: “Now. Having got that part completed, I would like to turn my attention to the greater PAW universe at large. Hi guys! Many of you I have not spoken to or about. I'm an east coaster and Astoria is so much more fun than Purity, except of course on the days that I am in Purity. Then we can call it a tie. But I don't spend too much time down in Louisiana. Don't get me wrong, the Park is easily the best thing going in the area. And just an FYI, we're having a special at the kissing booth, come by around 4:20 that's all you'll pay for a kiss! Plus other incentives that my excellent, well trained, mostly competent at dancing staff can tell you all about. And, segue almost as though I planned it, I would once again like to invite my coworkers to come take a shift in the booth; you can clean up on 8x10s, to say nothing of the kissing itself. Just keep in mind that you can't be stuck up about this, and if you're gonna try and pull the kiss on the cheek shit, then you better be giving away one hell of a freebie. People do not stand for that shit.”
The Hedonistic Hellcat gives a nod and a half shrug.
Johnny: “But, let's more on to some more personal messages. Constance and Philo are to be applauded for the effort they seem to now be putting forward to be the best in the business at what they do. Fits in with PAW, doesn't it? So that's a thumbs up. Thumbs up also to Tyler Keenan for that very painful first attempt at televised, or at least streamed, glory here in PAW. I feel honored to have shown you Full Frontal without taking off my skirt. Thumbs down, on that note, must now be given to Tapanga Britt. See, honey, I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but it looks like no one else ever did.”
The Sissyboy Savior clears his throat theatrically.
Johnny: “You can't tell the world that you're cool with people, and that we should all be who we are, you specifically can't say you're fine with transvestites and then put up a picture of a man in drag and invite the world to laugh. Step one, out or date or no, Harris was rocking those shoes, step two, he seemed to pretty clearly be in drag, and drag is not the same as transvestism, and step three that is literally hypocrisy. See, honey, I'm aware that a lot of time pretty girls don't get called on their shit because the people around them are too blinded by possible sex or social advancement, but I need you for neither, so consider your not-as-tight-as-mine ass called. ”
Johnny leans back on the stool and kicks a leg up, showing off his jean clad buttocks and flirting with the camera via a quick spank.
Johnny: “That's right, fuck the doom of Paris, I said it. Lets see, anything else? Loved the bit with the broom, Youth, but free tip: I have no interest in cleaning up Pure Amusement, so you might need to research a different weapon. Assuming Cross leaves you with the need to worry about me. That should be fun. Perhaps a slight apology in advance to the rest of PAW, because now that I've been put in the main event I will relinquish that spot only with great regret, and I aim to not give Sam and Munin the option to book anyone else there. Well, anyone not fighting me of course. Harris. Cross or Youth. Then the winner of the other side. Three main events anywhere in the country, and I'll be in all three of them, just see if I'm not. I've stepped into the spot light for all my faeries, freaks, and fuckbois out there, and I won't give it back. Let my glory reflect out into the world, to light the way for the other boys out there who are a little funny, for the girls who aren't girly, and those that looked at the binary and said fuck that."
Raike leans way forward, pointing and poking at himself for emphasis.
Johnny: I'm not just fighting for me in this tournament. For the first time in a long time I have others to live up to. Good. Because I'm up to the challenge, it's the fabulous peoples time out there, and it's my time in here, in Pure Amusement Wrestling. So keep watching, keep sending me love and hate, doubts and support, give me your everything and I will not turn away. My goal is gold, the story will be of our glory, and this pretty face will never be put in his place. Bring it on PAW, because the Panty Wearing Panty Dropper is ready!”
Johnny jumps up off the stool as he rants, ending on a Christ pose as the screen returns to cherry red and “Pure Morning” resumes, followed by the Raike in the Cash logo.
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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 3:55:35 GMT
“It’s like, can anyone even beat Press or Harris?”
The words came from the mouth of a fan after Wicked 3. Uttered in the parking lot, they were heard by a young man who passed the news onto Lola who in turn passed it onto Stevie. The mission was never to be a powerhouse or a force to be reckoned with yet the vicious streak in Stevie was only just getting started. It’d been five years since he had been in a wrestling ring, bad things happened there, things escalated, police were called and a man with dark side had to lie low. But this was it, his prime behind him, Stevie looked at the opportunity in front of him as one last chance to go out in a blaze of glory and he didn’t care who he bought down with him. There’s rumours circling that Genesis Hendrix has left the company. The reasons unclear but speculation high, it bought a grin to the face of Harris whenever he thought back on their encounter. “Plenty of men have bested me” casually sighed Stevie, sitting in the backseat of his ’85 Chevy Camero. Across from him sits Lola, a dedicated servant of sorts. Whilst devoted to him, their relationship has become very giving and taking over the long period of time they’ve been together. So much so that he allowed her to set up a social media account to promote and provoke, which she had taken much joy in taunting airheads like Tapanga Britt in recent weeks. We can’t see who’s driving the car but whoever it is has been ordered not to speak a word until they’re home. “These fans, they have fickle memories. That’s what I was counting on when I came here. There was a time when making them cheer me or boo me was all I cared about. It consumed me and I’ll never get those days back, I was nothing but a leech like the rest of those god forsaken fools we passed backstage. That’s what worries me so much about Raike, from the outside he seems like them but when I looked that man in the eyes, I saw that he believes what he’s selling. He’s the kind of wild card that will ruin everything if left unchecked.” Lola nods along, half paying attention to Stevie’s every word and half her brain focused on the phone in front of her, taking the moment to send out a tweet discounting Raike’s threat level in the match. “Are you listening?” She looks him in the eye, then holds the phone over to him. Stevie smirks. “Left unchecked? I’ll never leave anything unchecked for you.”“Johnny, he’s nothing. He’s not half the man you are… and judging by the way he dresses most of the time, he’s barely half a man although if I’m being honest, there’s a certain something there that makes my lady parts tingle.” Stevie pulls out a tobacco pouch from his front shirt pocket and begins to roll a cigarette. Raike was right, they are expensive. “Have you slept with him?” Lola is taken aback by the question. “Who I sleep with is none of your concern, you made that abundantly clear a long time ago.” “Good girl. If you’re planning on it, you’ve got two weeks before I add him to the list of pretty faces I’ve ruined in Pure Amusement for my pure entertainment.” Harris licks the paper to seal it, before sparking up in the car. “But I know you’re into the crushed and tormented types lately, you might have a better chance after I beat the joy from his soul. I plan on leaving that boy hanging in the most cartoonish of ways imaginable.”
“Then, if he’s lucky, I’ll sign an 8x10 and staple it to his chest, so he’ll always remember the day he realised that Stevie Harris is his maker and his destroyer.”
“Ooohh, I’m going to tweet that.” Harris reaches and places a hand over the phone to prevent her from doing so, shaking his head with a devious smile before exhaling, filling the car with a faint cloud of smoke. The driver up front coughs so Lola punches the back of the headrest. “I told you to shut up!”
Harris rolls a window down slightly and slouches back in his seat, his attention turns to the darkness outside. For a man they’d dubbed as sadistic, life was surely on the right track for Stevie Harris. And it felt wrong. We pick up some hours later as the car pulls up out the front of Sarrow Manor. Lola leans over and plants a seductive kiss on the cheek of Harris, leaving dark purple lipstick smeared, almost as if she’d marking her property . “Make sure you take care of that business, I’ll see you in Purity.” Stevie coldly closes the door behind him and walks towards the house, not looking back to see if his message was received because he knew it was, plain and simple. It’s late, so all the lights are out although the moonlight is slipping through some cracks in the windows to illuminate the residence. It’s not enough light to stop Stevie from stumbling over something in one of the rooms. “God DAMN it” he screams, staggering up towards a lightswitch, which reveals the broken remains of a Tapanga Britt canvas print that has been destroyed in a fit of rage and left in a heap. It’s kind of poetic, Harris thinks, twice in one night Tapanga has tried to trip him up but as it stands, she lies in a broken heap before him. Stevie didn’t get to leave burn marks all over her body like whoever decided to revamp this canvas clearly has, which is a bit sad. Harris turns the light off and makes his way up stairs, heading straight into the room of Bliss. The young woman is asleep, her window wide open filling the room with light that allows Stevie to see where he wants to go. He places a hand on the bottom of her ankle as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Bliss” he whispers to gently wake her. He tries it again, this time shaking with a bit more force. “Huh” Bliss begins to stir, her eyes drift to whatever is clutching her leg and once she sees Stevie she’s startled into open consciousness, adrenaline kicking in. She forces herself up and presses her back to the headboard, knees pressed into her chest like a little chid hiding in the closet from the monsters of the world. “Stevie… Wh-What are you doing back so early?” She asks, body trembling. “Now now Bliss, settle yourself. Lola and I just got back from the taping and she told me you were very good in my absence.” Bliss shifts her focus down to the tops of her knees, if it were daytime you’d see a rosy colour form across her cheekbones. “She said she asked you to look into Johnny Raike in the event of my prediction being right and darling, baby Jesus himself smiled down upon me in that ring tonight and guided my hand to victory.”
Bliss takes a slight gulp but begins to relax. The tightness in her body eases but her legs still stay pressed to her chest. “He’s dangerous, Stevie. I watched on Youtube, he’s... I don’t know, there’s just something. I don’t understand it. He’s just...” A tear runs down her cheek, glistening in the moonlight. Stevie quickly makes his way to her side, placing an arm around her. She’s warm. “There there.”
“He frightens me Stevie. Not because he’s scary but because…” She pauses, the words are difficult to force out but the tight grip he has is oddly reassuring. “I think he might hurt you.”
Harris lets out a small chuckle. “I assure you, he knows exactly the type of man I am. He knows that I will hurt him like I did the others if push comes to shove and he knows the type of hell I am capable of inflicting on him.” There’s a silence now, it lingers in the warm air. “But Stevie, he might know what type of man you are but do you know what type of man he really is?” They both lay still against the headboard, the words sinking in, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms. |
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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 3:56:16 GMT
Bliss wakes up early in the morning, groggily looking around. She’d fallen asleep in Stevie’s arms during the night and his absence has her worried somewhat. She could have sworn that he’d fallen asleep first and after the fight he had at Wicked the night before, surely a long sleep would cure the hurt. Bliss got out of bed, wrapping a silk robe loosely around her body since the house had a tendency to retain any and all warmth despite the winter weather. Down the hall she headed, checking on the upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms. No sign of Stevie aside from bandages covered in dried blood having been left in the sink. She hadn’t noticed them on him when he returned home but it was late and she wasn’t paying the same level of attention that she would have with fresh eyes. The stairs lead to the kitchen where she finds a greasy pan left on the stove top. A feint smell of meat lingers in the air. A plate with bacon scraps for her to clean sits in the sink – no cutlery present. “Stevie” She calls out, not too loud but still loud enough to captivate the attention of anyone inside the house. Bliss wanders to the foyer and peers through the windows running alongside the door, spotting Stevie’s Camero parked in its usual spot. “Stevie” she cries out again, still without answer. The eerie gothic surrealist inspired paintings throughout the house seem to be laughing at her as they lurch on their scattered hooks throughout the house’s many rooms. Bliss begins to rub the inside of her arm out of habit. If the paintings could speak they’d know where Stevie is. They might not tell her but she knows that they know the answer. After searching the entire house and looking through every window to the sunny and green compound yard, Bliss’ nerves begin to take more of a stranglehold. She makes her way to the room with the fire place, returning to her daily routine of keeping the fire going. It had reached the ember stage overnight so she poked at it, adding kindling from the nearly empty kindling basket. It’s a good thing Stevie’s back, she thought, because she’d have to start using items from around the house as kindling soon. In the background, we see Stevie walk into the door frame behind her unnoticed. He looks down at her, watching momentarily as she gazes at the jumping flames, her arm still rubbing the inside of her left arm. Without giving himself away, Stevie turns and walks off unnoticed, heading to another part of the large house. One of the rooms on the ground level is a study. A wall full of Kerouac’s, Dostoevsky’s and outdated encyclopaedias fill one side of the room. We come to find Stevie down the end of the study, perched behind a large desk, laptop out with the file Lola sent him on Johnny Raike. “I think I figured it out Johnny. It took some soul searching but finally I worked out why the Marc Maron of pro wrestling intimidates me so. It’s not your talent, although you are indeed a man of considerable talent as shown by your many accomplishment. It’s not your sexuality, I have spent large portions of my life around the sexually alternative scene and witnessed their struggles first hand. It’s not your attitude, I myself have, in reflection of my career, realised that I have indulged in multiple moments of flippant recklessness to the norms of society. I could go on and list attributes all day, Johnny. I won’t though because you know all this, the way I knew all this about myself many, many moons ago. What intimidates me about you Johnny, what makes my bones rattle at night, what makes my arm pits sweat in the middle of the night, is I see the same hungry determination in you that I myself had as a youngster.”
Harris leans in now, elbows planted firmly on the desk as he looks straight down the laptop camera. Fingers fully interlocked. “A little more flamboyant but the attitude is all there. The violent attributes, the not caring about the norms of society. You are your own self but you are also me. Maybe Tapanga Britt is right and last week’s results were predetermined but not by trickery, no sir, by a much higher order that we are too infantile to truly understand. Fate has bought you to me Johnny. He’s set you in front of me so I can see a reflection of my younger self. Fate has set me in front of you so you can glimpse into your future, the years and countless battles in and out of the ring stripping you of whatever it is that you think separates us two.”
“But make no mistake, there will be no mercy shown out of familiarity.” Stevie slams his fist down hard on the desk, then begins pointing at the screen as he continues. “Do you think my father ever stopped on account of the two of us having similar facial features? It was quite the opposite, had we messed up he would make an example of me to the other boys. ‘This is what I do to someone I care for’ he’d say while I took my licks and I thank him for that because it taught me the greatest lesson I ever did learn as a small boy. It’s a lesson I intend to pass on to you, Johnny. Tapanga, Genesis, they made the mistake of thinking everything would be fine afterwards and whilst I know that you understand the ramifications of the hell we are about to put each other through, I just want to make sure you understand that after this match one of two things will happen. I will have seen that you are what I think you are, a man capable of so much who will grow to learn to accept his fate as I once did. Or I will see that I am just a man, simple and humbled as I admit to having made a mistake on you. I’m hoping it’s the former… I’d hate to find out I was wrong and you’re nothing but a pretender to the throne on which I sit.”Stevie places a finger into his mouth, almost like how he fish hooked Tapanga Britt but he's actually just picking out a small thread of bacon that was stuck in his teeth.“There is a pretender who I must address so my apologies Johnny. I know your heart fluttered when you saw the length of this video and thought it would all be about you so I’ll try to make this quick. Ryan, you’re a boy stepping into a man’s world not having the common sense to realise that all the men are gone. You’ve probably noticed the paw prints around Pure Amusement, the wolves run it now and you’ve shown your weakness. There will be no mercy afforded to you or of those you care about. You’ve talked about being my shadow and ensuring my progression through the tournament which is so kind of you but we’ll see how strong minded you are and the strength of your word after Cross Recoba makes short work of you. Will you have the mental fortitude to step back and watch the predators of Pure Amusement tear each other to shreds or will you try and inject yourself, only to scamper off when one of the wolves nip at your hand?”“Hell, you’re still calling me Steve so you’re either going the 1990’s funny bad guy routine or you’re just too stupid to realise you’re getting the name of the guy you vowed to study relentlessly wrong. I’ve wasted this much time talking about you so I should probably make mention of the other tournament participants so they don’t feel bad. We’ve got the BombTrax. There’s Alex Cross who week in and week out shows why he’s better suited to MMA. There’s the BombTrax. Some food guy, Lola showed me a video of him eating on Youtube. Cross Recoba’s got more money than skill, whether that’s an insult or a compliment we’ll leave for the world to decide. And then there’s the BombTrax.”Stevie proceeds to hold the back of his three middle fingers to the camera because he’ll never be scarred of a Tim Burton movie. “I do say it’ll be interesting Johnny. That boy Ryan seems to think he’s going to be the right arm of Stevie Harris and strike you down in our match. I don’t intend to let the cuckold have any chance of doing so however if you’re capable of the things I think you’re capable of, it will be quite interesting to see what happens when we’re both physically incapable of defending ourselves to unwanted guests. I’ve asked Lola to be in attendance this week but she has other business to attend to, so when we dance child, if someone cuts in it won’t be for me.”
“I originally stated that I wasn’t in this tournament because I didn’t want to win some belt but because I wanted to get the 110 percent out of opponents. Tapanga Britt only bought 100 percent and now she and her boyfriend on the cusp of losing their sanity. I know you’re going to bring that extra ten percent, the true 10 that you are. It’s in your blood and soon I’ll be bathing in it. Win, lose or draw Johnny, you’re not leaving Wicked the same man you came in as.”
The door to Stevie’s study creeks open. Bliss pokes her head in and before she can speak, Stevie grabs a journal that sits on the edge of the desk and hurls it towards the door in frustration. Bliss, frightened, slams the door shut unaware of what crime she’d committed to provoke such a reaction. |
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Post by Lady Munin on Apr 8, 2016 3:57:08 GMT
An Indigo background and the familiar opening guitar cords of “Pure Morning” give way, as usual, to Johnny Raike. Less usual is the bedroom he is sitting in; light blue walls, four poster bed, large canvas of a photo realistic galleon sailing through a scene of pure white. Johnny is wearing a pair of green and red plaid lounge pants and nothing else, leaning back into a pile of pillows. Johnny smiles, though it's clear he's tired.
Johnny: “Well, isn't this a treat for all my attendant loyal followers, a rare glimpse into my bedroom. I don't usually like to let the world in here, we all need something that is ours and only ours, but since I'm still worn out from last night and only got off the train an hour ago...Well, I didn't really feel like getting everything set up out in my studio. As I understand there's a playback issue with the streaming, I will not reveal to you the winner of last nights match, but will just say that Gina Neon gets my seal of approval.”
Raike gives the camera a thumbs up.
Johnny: “But, always looking forward, eh? Next up on my agenda is Stevie Harris. And I had a chance to see what Stevie said about me a little earlier. I was flattered. Don't know if that was his goal, and I'm no less motivated to beat him for all that, but it is nice to see professionalism. I pride myself on it, seems Harris does too. Which is just so, so rare. I'm digging it. And, I believe, returning the compliment to someone who has also earned it.”
A tip of the head from Johnny to the camera.
Johnny: “And while I do so hate playing follow the lead, I too am going to take a moment to address Ryan McCullum. I'll do so right at the start of my video though, Stevie, distinguish myself from you.”
The American Wet Dream fixes the camera with a flat look.
Johnny: “I'm fully aware I'm reaching, just let me have this.”
The smile returns, Johnny fixing his hair as he starts to talk.
Johnny: “Now, in case you're wondering just why I need to talk to and about Ryan McCullum than let me first thank you for your Johnny Raike loyalty, and then enlighten you. Ryan McCullum, the so called Ice Man, has gotten one hell of a bug up his ass as regards the actions of Stevie Harris. Where do I fit in, I imagine I can hear you asking? Good question. Ryan, it seems, has decided his vengeance for his spray tanned little girlfriend is to beat on Harris and to do it in the Pure Amusement Championship match. How very white knight of you. That's certainly going to strike a blow at the patriarchy, little straight boy playing protector for his delicate little lamb...
The Hedonistic Hellcat makes a big show of trailing off to consider his words, mumbling for a moment.
Johnny: “Wait...”
Johnny continues his routine, counting on his fingers before shaking his head and slapping his hands back and forth, finally throwing up his arms.
Johnny: “Whatever. Anyway, in his fervor to get into a dick measuring contest with Stevie Harris it seems Ryan has issued some threats. So determined is he to have the whole world see his revenge, so dead set on needing to fight Stevie in the title match, that he has promised to interfere in our match should Harris look imperiled. And with Harris fighting little ol' me, that means Ryan McCullum is going to interfere in this match. And to that I say rethink your plan. Rethink it [i[reeeeeal[/i] hard."
The Party Queen of Queens reaches under the bed with a small grunt of effort and pulls out a Rocky Horror Picture Show lips tin. He removes a pre-rolled joint and lights up. Despite partaking in his usually relaxing past time, Johnny looks hard at the camera.
Johnny: “Stay with me on this one McCullum, I'll walk you though. You are currently livid with Harris for something he thought about doing. How red hot and bothered do you think I'll get if you actually follow through? You are prepping to piss of a man you admit you don't understand. What about that seems like the cold logic of a man with ice water in his veins? I warn you, I'm not good at forgiveness. To say nothing of the fact that you actually have to beat Cross Recoba, a man you don't seem at all focused on. Which is dumb. I've tangled with Cross, you'll get your ass beat if you don't zero in. Oh, and Cross? Not that you owe me jack shit, but if you could cripple McCullum and just render this whole thing moot I would consider it a favor.”
A pull of the joint, the ensuing cloud of smoke temporarily blocking the Thigh High Thriller's face. When it is visible again it is clear that Johnny is not kidding.
Johnny: “Whatever. This isn't about McCullum or his phobic girlfriend. He sticks his nose in my business and I will use my boots to drive it into his skull. If I decide to wear my heels, I'm not the one who'll end up stabbed in the eyes. But I'd actually like to talk about something else, something that I've been mulling over for awhile. See, Stevie Harris talked about us having a lot in common. Similar drive was his point, but I'd say it goes even deeper. We each are men who go for what we want regardless of public opinion. Each of us truly deserve to be called charismatic. Our sames will make this a main event for the ages, that's something to be sure of. But I'd like to talk about what's different. Bear with me, I'm gonna get roundabout.”
Johnny raises his eyes brows and nods, his expression almost seeming to say sorry about this. The Beautiful Nightmare takes a hit and then continues.
Johnny: “I was nine or ten when I started to realize that my penis had a use beyond waste management. And it noticed everything. Boys, girls, double for anyone in the so fun andro category. And, as I'm sure you all know, I've always been good looking. I got noticed right back. And I started early. I'll spare you the gory details before we all end on an FBI watchlist, but the short version is I learned I could use my body and my charm to get what I wanted. And dear Bowie I wanted. I was deprived of a lot as a child. Not in the monetary sense; keeping up with the Joneses was mom's favorite game. No, my deprivations were emotional. Support, advice, encouragement, not things to be often found at home. Occasionally I would do something that they would see as acceptable and I'd get a little praise. A lot of praise for a few weeks there, until I got kicked off the soccer team. Don't give a twelve year old cleats and expect him to not use them when slide tackling. But love? Oh, that I never had.”
Johnny takes another drag, tapping some ash out into a nearby tray.
Johnny: “Now, it's been twenty years since my awakening. And in that time I've chased love and acceptance in any number of ways. Sex, most commonly. Performance, a close second. And while I've learned to love myself wholly, truly and unequivocally, that need for the world to love me..."
A short, and surprisingly nontheatrical, sigh from the Brutiful One.
Johnny: “If there's anything that makes me less than one-hundred percent liberated it's that.”
A long drag, a plume of smoke blown right to the camera, and a return to a slightly subdued Johnny Raike.
Johnny: “I'm betting this little therapy session isn't shocking. Johnny's big reveal is that he's an attention whore? That's fact number one about me as far as most people in this world are concerned. Hell, it doesn't even distinguish me from Harris. But then, I did say roundabout.”
Raike cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders.
Johnny: “I've done a lot of shit in pursuit of getting what I needed. I make very few apologies, this isn't me coming out to make amends, this is just story time. And at this point in the story, I start to grow up. It waaaaaas...five months ago, out a bar in Queens. They don't sponsor me so I won't say the name, but on the night in questioned I got recognized. I'm notable in Queens, but not usually for my wrestling. I assumed the little twinky lad was looking for a night in the sheets, maybe one of my famous care packages, but no. He wanted to tell me that I was an inspiration. That he'd also struggled with his family, with society, all the little struggles that are well known to the sexual minority alphabet. And that I gave him hope. Made him feel like the world could be his. That when he saw me being fabulous as the day is long and dangerous as the night is dark he felt like all the doors opened.”
Johnny looks away from the camera, remembering that night. His smile is somewhere between rueful and disbelieving, as though he still isn't quite sure what to make of that night.
Johnny: “I'd like to tell you that incident was the flash of light on the road to Damascus, but really I just smiled, floated him a drink and got on with my life. For awhile I just carried that around as confirmation that I was truly the Sissyboy Savior. I mean, I was awesome. Am awesome. But I wasn't living out loud for others, I was doing it for me. And yet...”
Johnny trails into silence, eventually broken by the inhalation of another hit, and a slight cough.
Johnny: “I've come back to that night a lot. I'd been told things like that before, but this was the first time it had happened outside an arena, or Twitter, Facebook, all the social media stuff. I started to realize that the more I put myself out there the more it began to to be not just about me. I really was making an impact, visible where others felt they had to be hidden. There was a chance for my legacy to be more than a risque handful of Google results, a chance to matter.”
Johnny finishes his joint, putting the roach out in the Rocky Horror tin. He pulls his legs up to his chest and holds them there, something like pain showing in his eyes.
Johnny: “Honestly, I've struggled with this revelation more than more than just about anything else in my life. I call myself a Savior, an Icon, but coming face to face with the fact that lo and behold, and without quite realizing it, I truly am a beacon. Scary. Scary is the word I'd use. To make good on all I've claimed, I have to care about more than just myself. Something I haven't done much at all in my life. Not since I was about thirteen years old. It's daunting. I've been running from caring, well, probably my entire adult life. But not now, not anymore.”
The fire begins to return to Johnny's eyes, his voice regaining it's usual energy.
Johnny: “Harris, you got it in one. I do have a drive, I am dangerous. I think we understand each other insofar as either of us can be understood. We get it, we recognize like when we see it, no matter the form. But for me, the difference is now I have people I dare not disappoint. Scales as close as they are right now, that could make all the difference. And I know that beating you could open me up to a world of pain and hell. But honey, I've spent so much time in hell I might as well buy a summer house. We aren't going to scare each other. We are going to mangle one another. We'll do the dance of violence, but just remember as we do the steps that I know the dance backwards, wearing heels.”
A more usually bright, perky smile from the Panty Wearing Panty Dropper. He shudders, and like a snake shedding his skin seems to emerge brighter than before.
Johnny: “I will, Stevie, say this, to end on a more peppy note. McCullum decides to pull any shit and I'll hold him down and let you noose him up real good. And that's really all I have to say. See you Thursday, sweet cheeks!”
A signature finger wave from Johnny as his bedroom fades back into indigo, Pure Morning, and the Raike in the Cash logo.
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