Post by Lady Munin on Feb 26, 2016 6:36:45 GMT
Live from the Xayarena
Pure Entertainment Wrestling
Proudly Presents:
GENESIS HENDRIX versus STEVIE HARRIS
KIP CALHOUN versus SAUL LEDGETT
JAMIE WHEELER versus JAKE ORTON
JOHNNY RAIKE versus LUKE KNUX
WöLF BLïX versus TOMAS CASILLAS
Main Event
PRESS JONES versus CROSS RECOBA
Special Guest Referee: Flaming Youth
![]()
![]()
00 : 09 : 11
Pure Entertainment Wrestling
Proudly Presents:
Black.
A soft, woman’s voice hums the haunting melody of an old gospel song: Bringing in the Sheaves.
Fade in.
We’re in the plant portion of the freshly minted Xayarena. The camera focuses on her shadow which silhouettes onto the new grey concrete wall. She is focused intently downward on something she’s building with her hands on the floor. Her voice lilts up out of the melody she was just humming.
The shadow of the woman stops working. Unreal’s face rises into view. She looks satisfied downward at whatever she was working on, but a confused thought has crossed her face.
UNREAL: "What’s a ‘sheave’?"
She thinks with concerted effort.
UNREAL: "Is it sheep?"
A smile creeps onto her lips.
UNREAL: "Yeah. Must be sheep. Everyone in P.A.W. is a sheep."
She looks back down with her returned happy thought and busies herself once more. We push in on her shadow flash lit onto the wall as she constructs something involving wires.
UNREAL: "Bringing in the Sheep, bringing in the sheep, you should never fuck with mee-eee, Bringing in the Sheeeeeeeeep. Haha, live tweet our sex acts, will he?"
She lifts away from her handiwork with smug satisfaction. She zips up an over-packed duffel bag and slings it over her shoulder as she stands and surveys the object of her pride, which we can’t see yet, and chews gum noisily with a broad, satisfied grin.
UNREAL: "Heh. Score one for me. Sammy’s gonna love this."
A frown.
UNREAL: "Is this going too far?"
The frown disappears with a disinterested shrug.
UNREAL: "Meh. If anyone asks. Wasn’t me."
She saunters out of view with her duffel bag and a happy-go-lucky whistle of the chorus of her gospel song. The camera pans from the shadow that remains on the wall to the item that creates it, which she just placed. It is a large TNT bomb packed with elaborate wiring leading up the wall out of sight, presumably to connect with other similar devices. This one has a timer that read:
The seconds already began to tick down as up in the Xayarena fans gathered to their seats and wrestlers ran through their warm-ups, surely the P.A.W. taping of WICKED was about to commence. Unreal's voice reverberates down the hallway as she saunters off.
UNREAL: "Bringing in the Sheep. Bringing in the sheep. The people go EXPLODING, bringing in the sheep."
A soft, woman’s voice hums the haunting melody of an old gospel song: Bringing in the Sheaves.
Fade in.
We’re in the plant portion of the freshly minted Xayarena. The camera focuses on her shadow which silhouettes onto the new grey concrete wall. She is focused intently downward on something she’s building with her hands on the floor. Her voice lilts up out of the melody she was just humming.
"Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves. The people come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves. Wait."
The shadow of the woman stops working. Unreal’s face rises into view. She looks satisfied downward at whatever she was working on, but a confused thought has crossed her face.
UNREAL: "What’s a ‘sheave’?"
She thinks with concerted effort.
UNREAL: "Is it sheep?"
A smile creeps onto her lips.
UNREAL: "Yeah. Must be sheep. Everyone in P.A.W. is a sheep."
She looks back down with her returned happy thought and busies herself once more. We push in on her shadow flash lit onto the wall as she constructs something involving wires.
UNREAL: "Bringing in the Sheep, bringing in the sheep, you should never fuck with mee-eee, Bringing in the Sheeeeeeeeep. Haha, live tweet our sex acts, will he?"
She lifts away from her handiwork with smug satisfaction. She zips up an over-packed duffel bag and slings it over her shoulder as she stands and surveys the object of her pride, which we can’t see yet, and chews gum noisily with a broad, satisfied grin.
UNREAL: "Heh. Score one for me. Sammy’s gonna love this."
A frown.
UNREAL: "Is this going too far?"
The frown disappears with a disinterested shrug.
UNREAL: "Meh. If anyone asks. Wasn’t me."
She saunters out of view with her duffel bag and a happy-go-lucky whistle of the chorus of her gospel song. The camera pans from the shadow that remains on the wall to the item that creates it, which she just placed. It is a large TNT bomb packed with elaborate wiring leading up the wall out of sight, presumably to connect with other similar devices. This one has a timer that read:
2 : 00 : 00
The seconds already began to tick down as up in the Xayarena fans gathered to their seats and wrestlers ran through their warm-ups, surely the P.A.W. taping of WICKED was about to commence. Unreal's voice reverberates down the hallway as she saunters off.
UNREAL: "Bringing in the Sheep. Bringing in the sheep. The people go EXPLODING, bringing in the sheep."
The crowd inside of the Xayarena was hot tonight. It was not only the first show here, but also the official grand opening of Pure Amusement Theme Park. It looked as if everyone in the house was wearing new merch and most of them held homemade signs which were ready to be held up high.
They popped hard when simultaneously the house lights fell and “A Warrior’s Call” by Volbeat exploded from the p.a. system! On the big screen above the staging, and slightly smaller and on each side of it, the official P.A.W. logo hit the screens quickly followed by a rapid succession of the first event’s greatest hits and coolest misses.
The song played through, the house lights rose and the cameras centered on Constance Church, who sat alone at the broadcast table looking mildly out of place.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “....”
The music, which had just begun to fade, rises again as Constance blinks at the empty seat next to her. The music fades once more.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Uhm. Hi P.A.W…. Patrol. With Chase... and... that one dog... Or… you know what? Fuck this. I lack the energy to sell things right now. This is Wicked taping numero douze, and my play-by-play ‘partner' is conspicuously absent so… that’s right. 2 HOURS OF CONSTANCE, bitches!”
She laughs snidely at the camera. A Fan behind her reaches over the guard rail to show her a sign he’s made. Constance reads it.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Go. To. Hell. Constance?”
She glares at the ‘fan’, then at his sign.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “What is this then? An assessment of where I’m at in life? Thanks. Right back at ya', squirt. So yeah… now that we’ve got that covered I’ve been ditched. And… there you have it. That's like... the show.”
Just then the house lights fell and on the big screen above the staging we see seven men at the gorilla position. All are wearing identical masks and they each have on a different colored hoodie. The masked man in the black hoodie handed them each a brown paper bag that he pulled out of a backpack. The man in black finally spoke, when he did, even behind a mask, his voice was unmistakable.
PHILO B. POPE: “Purple hoodie, you got the Grand Daddy Purp. Red hoodie, you got Strawberry Cough..”
Inside of the Xayarena, the crowd watching this live roared their approval.
PHILO B. POPE: “White hoodie got White Widow. Green hoodie, you got Sour D. Orange hoodie, you got Mango. And blue hoodie, make sure my dude Checkers gets some of this Blue Cheese.”
Inside of the Xayarena, “The One” by Slaughterhouse hit the speakers and in a cloud smoke, Philo B. Pope makes his way down to his spot at ringside. Constance has her head down furiously writing something on the announce table, presumably her resume. She’s not paying attention to Philo’s grand entrance whatsoever. He made his way to the broadcast table and passed his blunt off to the fan behind Constance. Philo sat down, put on a headset and pulled his hoodie back up over them.
PHILO B. POPE: “What’s up motherfuckers? You found us!”
Constance looks up from her resume and is startled by the masked Philo beside her. She looks at him closely.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh, good. My keepers have unleashed Halloween 10 months early. Who are you supposed to be, little boy?”
PHILO B. POPE: “And we are live from the newly christened and newly opened Xayarena at Pure Amusement Theme Park in Purity, Louisiana. I am Philo B. Pope and with me, as always, is the lovely and lovable Constance Church.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “No, seriously. Who are you? Everyone knows Philo don’t talk good. Is this Cross RAcoba?”
She peers in at him through the eyes of the mask.
PHILO B. POPE: “And since she won’t, let me be the one to tell you all that Pure Amusement Wrestling is getting WICKED tonight. I am so excited for this show because we have some of the best matches booked anywhere right here for you tonight.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Okay. Now I KNOW you’re not Philo B. Pope. Philo smells way worse than you, and is like a whole foot taller. So enlighten us, masked one, who is ya? One of the new P.A.W. Peeps?”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’m glad you mentioned the new people here in Pure Amusement! Is there any promotion signing more talent right now than Lady Munin and Sam Xayachack?
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...Okay, seriously. Did they do something to you back there? Did they brainwash you? Is it the kush? Like… I feel like I’m watching One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest or something…are they gonna lobotomize me too?”
Constance looks nervously around herself for men in white shirts. Philo just lit up a blunt and inhaled deeply.
PHILO B. POPE: “And I feel like I’m going to have to drag you kicking and screaming towards success and respect. But I am prepared to do that, just like I am prepared to drag you kicking and screaming towards the run-down of tonight’s card.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I-I’m scared Philo. You mean we gotta call matches, and… OH GOSH…. I gotta pretend to care about these people?!”
He hit the blunt hard. No selling her.
PHILO B. POPE: “She started it. Genesis Hendrix jumped right in the middle of a crazy little thing Stevie Harris had planned and now, will she finish it? Or is she Stevie Harris’ next little plan?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...Uhm… Are you asking me… or them?”
Constance looks bewildered from Philo to the camera like she’s sitting in on a Twilight Zone episode.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Because the answer is… yes. To all of it…”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s because we all say yes to Bunny! That’s right everyone. Beautiful Bunny Calhoun’s baby boy Kip debuts tonight, and from what I hear...it’s all legit!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “OHHHH YEAH! The Duke boys-- er… Calhouns. I heard something like that. But is it, Philo? Is it All Legit? What if the power’s that be have something planned for that match like Wheeler did last week for Kip’s christening? Remember, Philo? Remember?”
She prods him nervously, hoping Philo’s just putting on an act!
PHILO B. POPE: “I remember. I’ve studied and I’ve taken notes. I, for one, will not be outdone or allow any other broadcaster to outshine me. So, get your fine ass in the spotlight with me.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That so?”
Constance is already sitting up straighter, holding a stack of papers upright in front of her like an old time-y news reporter.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well, that’s just the early rundown, wrasslin’ fans, cause P.A.W.’s got a hell of an EXPLOSIVE show planned, with plenty of surprises. So let’s see where this night takes us!”
She leans in to Philo with a callous whisper.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Beat that, you little trout-sniffer.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’ll just keep it all legit by not forgetting to mention Saul Ledgett. He is making a PURE debut tonight with Kip Calhoun in a match of men who, on paper, can’t be much more alike.
Before Constance could reply, the blood-curdling, shrill voice of Brandy Irving boomed throughout the Xayarena.
BRANDY IRVING: “SAAAAAAAM? HAS ANYBODY SEEN SAM TONIGHT!??!!”
On the big screen, we see Brandy. Behind her, the sound of a metal door slamming open is distinct and it makes interviewer, Brandy Irving, jump. Smiling, she waves her hand at the camera crew to follow her.
She stops when she sees that the first competitor in the ring is the violent Vixen herself, Genesis Hendrix. For the first time in days, she's not followed by a guy with a camera. She holds her head up confidently, slinging a gym bag over one shoulder of her jean jacket, the hood up covering her blonde, blue, and red highlighted hair.
She notices Brandy right away and nods her head at her in acknowledgement before walking right past her.
BRANDY IRVING: “Wait! Genesis!”
Genesis keeps walking as the smaller woman runs after her in heels that it's a wonder she doesn't fall over in. She finally reaches her and grabs her shoulder. This stops Genesis. She shrugs Brandy off and takes a deep sigh.
BRANDY IRVING: “Just a few questions? How 'bout it?”
GENESIS HENDRIX (in a dark voice): “Fine.”
Brandy smiles wide and once again motions her camera guy to come closer. Genesis turns, dropping her bag to the floor. It makes a rattling sound like it contains something other than ring gear. Brandy looks at it a second, her eyes going wide and then gives her head a bit of a shake and looks directly at Gen.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “I haven't got all day.”
BRANDY IRVING: “Right. Well I just wanted to get a few words from you about your match versus Stevie Harris. How confident are you that you're going to be able to win?”
Genesis smirks.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Let's put it this way bébé, I never enter a match and not have confidence in myself that I'm going to do exactly what I say I'm going to do. Steve Harris has no respect for women. He ignores facts and replaces them with his own deluded view. Reads things incorrectly and then makes assumptions. This all translates to a ring as well. He's underestimated me in the worst possible way and that... that is going to be his undoing. Little man couldn't handle that I got the one up on him in the ring last show. He assumes that I'm drunk all the time. He assumes that this…”
She gestures her hand up and down indicating herself and her outward appearance.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “That this is just an act that deep down I'm some stupid ignorant little girl that hasn't experienced life. That guy doesn't know half of what I have gone through and knows even less of what I'm capable off and it's all his own fault for not actually scouting his opponent. He accused me on Twitter of not being prepared, but really I think he should take a good long look in the mirror, and after our match when I pin his ass, he'll be doing just that wondering how this 'girl' got the upper hand.”
Brandy looks a little shocked at how blunt the woman is. She had no fear of her words or anybody it seemed.
BRANDY IRVING: “There are rumors that he's sadistic in the ring…”
Genesis laughs.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Then you know there are rumors of me being the same.”
Brandy shakes her head.
BRANDY IRVING: “Okay, rumors that he's just plain sadistic.”
Genesis raises her eyebrows as if to say, 'so... I am too'
BRANDY IRVING: “Okay... Well what about your new reality show? So is it true that some guy you don't even know just contacted you on twitter and said, 'Hey, want to do a tv show?'”
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Yup. I tried to tell him that getting me a show was a bad idea but he seemed to think I had the 'it factor'. I don't know what the hell that is but apparently I have it. Got me out of my contract with my agent so that's what I'm happy 'bout.”
Brandy, feeling awkward, now tries to think of what to say next but the two are faced with a moment of silence.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “We done here, or…”
Brandy snaps to attention.
BRANDY IRVING: “So, going forward, are your sights set on winning the title? I hear there's a possible tournament coming up.”
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Never had a title, never had a chance at a title. Titles are just pieces of leather and metal used for bragging rights. I don't need a title to make my mark around here, however if I'm put in this tournament then I'm going to plough through my competition simply because it's what I do. Title or no title. I win matches; one way or another I win.”
Brandy's eyes go wide again.
BRANDY IRVING: “By that, you mean... cheating?”
Genesis laughs again, and grabs her chin.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Bébé, don't play innocent. You probably know more about me than I know about myself you nosy little minx. I told you, titles and wins don't really mean the most to me, it's about making an impact and showing the world that no one is going to step all over Genesis Hendrix. If I gotta crack a few skulls to do that then that's what I'm going to do.”
Brandy smirks, appearing to warming up to the woman.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Now if you don't mind, ami, I gotta match to get ready for.”
Brandy nods.
BRANDY IRVING: “Thanks Genesis. By the way, do you know where Sam is?”
Genesis raises one eyebrow.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “How the fuck should, I know. Contrary to the rumours that Harris is spreading, I am not in Sam's crotch zipper. I'm sure if you look for and follow the scent of piss, you'll find him, as I'm sure that Unreal has him by the balls again somewhere.”
Genesis starts to walk away without saying goodbye. Brandy opens her mouth to say something but by the time something comes to mind, the vixen has rounded a corner. Her face changes to one of almost adoration for the woman. She snaps out of her reverie and then motions the camera to follow her in search of Xayachack as the cameras return to Philo and Constance at ringside.
They popped hard when simultaneously the house lights fell and “A Warrior’s Call” by Volbeat exploded from the p.a. system! On the big screen above the staging, and slightly smaller and on each side of it, the official P.A.W. logo hit the screens quickly followed by a rapid succession of the first event’s greatest hits and coolest misses.
The song played through, the house lights rose and the cameras centered on Constance Church, who sat alone at the broadcast table looking mildly out of place.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “....”
The music, which had just begun to fade, rises again as Constance blinks at the empty seat next to her. The music fades once more.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Uhm. Hi P.A.W…. Patrol. With Chase... and... that one dog... Or… you know what? Fuck this. I lack the energy to sell things right now. This is Wicked taping numero douze, and my play-by-play ‘partner' is conspicuously absent so… that’s right. 2 HOURS OF CONSTANCE, bitches!”
She laughs snidely at the camera. A Fan behind her reaches over the guard rail to show her a sign he’s made. Constance reads it.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Go. To. Hell. Constance?”
She glares at the ‘fan’, then at his sign.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “What is this then? An assessment of where I’m at in life? Thanks. Right back at ya', squirt. So yeah… now that we’ve got that covered I’ve been ditched. And… there you have it. That's like... the show.”
Just then the house lights fell and on the big screen above the staging we see seven men at the gorilla position. All are wearing identical masks and they each have on a different colored hoodie. The masked man in the black hoodie handed them each a brown paper bag that he pulled out of a backpack. The man in black finally spoke, when he did, even behind a mask, his voice was unmistakable.
PHILO B. POPE: “Purple hoodie, you got the Grand Daddy Purp. Red hoodie, you got Strawberry Cough..”
Inside of the Xayarena, the crowd watching this live roared their approval.
PHILO B. POPE: “White hoodie got White Widow. Green hoodie, you got Sour D. Orange hoodie, you got Mango. And blue hoodie, make sure my dude Checkers gets some of this Blue Cheese.”
Inside of the Xayarena, “The One” by Slaughterhouse hit the speakers and in a cloud smoke, Philo B. Pope makes his way down to his spot at ringside. Constance has her head down furiously writing something on the announce table, presumably her resume. She’s not paying attention to Philo’s grand entrance whatsoever. He made his way to the broadcast table and passed his blunt off to the fan behind Constance. Philo sat down, put on a headset and pulled his hoodie back up over them.
PHILO B. POPE: “What’s up motherfuckers? You found us!”
Constance looks up from her resume and is startled by the masked Philo beside her. She looks at him closely.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh, good. My keepers have unleashed Halloween 10 months early. Who are you supposed to be, little boy?”
PHILO B. POPE: “And we are live from the newly christened and newly opened Xayarena at Pure Amusement Theme Park in Purity, Louisiana. I am Philo B. Pope and with me, as always, is the lovely and lovable Constance Church.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “No, seriously. Who are you? Everyone knows Philo don’t talk good. Is this Cross RAcoba?”
She peers in at him through the eyes of the mask.
PHILO B. POPE: “And since she won’t, let me be the one to tell you all that Pure Amusement Wrestling is getting WICKED tonight. I am so excited for this show because we have some of the best matches booked anywhere right here for you tonight.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Okay. Now I KNOW you’re not Philo B. Pope. Philo smells way worse than you, and is like a whole foot taller. So enlighten us, masked one, who is ya? One of the new P.A.W. Peeps?”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’m glad you mentioned the new people here in Pure Amusement! Is there any promotion signing more talent right now than Lady Munin and Sam Xayachack?
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...Okay, seriously. Did they do something to you back there? Did they brainwash you? Is it the kush? Like… I feel like I’m watching One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest or something…are they gonna lobotomize me too?”
Constance looks nervously around herself for men in white shirts. Philo just lit up a blunt and inhaled deeply.
PHILO B. POPE: “And I feel like I’m going to have to drag you kicking and screaming towards success and respect. But I am prepared to do that, just like I am prepared to drag you kicking and screaming towards the run-down of tonight’s card.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I-I’m scared Philo. You mean we gotta call matches, and… OH GOSH…. I gotta pretend to care about these people?!”
He hit the blunt hard. No selling her.
PHILO B. POPE: “She started it. Genesis Hendrix jumped right in the middle of a crazy little thing Stevie Harris had planned and now, will she finish it? Or is she Stevie Harris’ next little plan?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...Uhm… Are you asking me… or them?”
Constance looks bewildered from Philo to the camera like she’s sitting in on a Twilight Zone episode.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Because the answer is… yes. To all of it…”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s because we all say yes to Bunny! That’s right everyone. Beautiful Bunny Calhoun’s baby boy Kip debuts tonight, and from what I hear...it’s all legit!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “OHHHH YEAH! The Duke boys-- er… Calhouns. I heard something like that. But is it, Philo? Is it All Legit? What if the power’s that be have something planned for that match like Wheeler did last week for Kip’s christening? Remember, Philo? Remember?”
She prods him nervously, hoping Philo’s just putting on an act!
PHILO B. POPE: “I remember. I’ve studied and I’ve taken notes. I, for one, will not be outdone or allow any other broadcaster to outshine me. So, get your fine ass in the spotlight with me.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That so?”
Constance is already sitting up straighter, holding a stack of papers upright in front of her like an old time-y news reporter.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well, that’s just the early rundown, wrasslin’ fans, cause P.A.W.’s got a hell of an EXPLOSIVE show planned, with plenty of surprises. So let’s see where this night takes us!”
She leans in to Philo with a callous whisper.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Beat that, you little trout-sniffer.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’ll just keep it all legit by not forgetting to mention Saul Ledgett. He is making a PURE debut tonight with Kip Calhoun in a match of men who, on paper, can’t be much more alike.
Before Constance could reply, the blood-curdling, shrill voice of Brandy Irving boomed throughout the Xayarena.
BRANDY IRVING: “SAAAAAAAM? HAS ANYBODY SEEN SAM TONIGHT!??!!”
On the big screen, we see Brandy. Behind her, the sound of a metal door slamming open is distinct and it makes interviewer, Brandy Irving, jump. Smiling, she waves her hand at the camera crew to follow her.
She stops when she sees that the first competitor in the ring is the violent Vixen herself, Genesis Hendrix. For the first time in days, she's not followed by a guy with a camera. She holds her head up confidently, slinging a gym bag over one shoulder of her jean jacket, the hood up covering her blonde, blue, and red highlighted hair.
She notices Brandy right away and nods her head at her in acknowledgement before walking right past her.
BRANDY IRVING: “Wait! Genesis!”
Genesis keeps walking as the smaller woman runs after her in heels that it's a wonder she doesn't fall over in. She finally reaches her and grabs her shoulder. This stops Genesis. She shrugs Brandy off and takes a deep sigh.
BRANDY IRVING: “Just a few questions? How 'bout it?”
GENESIS HENDRIX (in a dark voice): “Fine.”
Brandy smiles wide and once again motions her camera guy to come closer. Genesis turns, dropping her bag to the floor. It makes a rattling sound like it contains something other than ring gear. Brandy looks at it a second, her eyes going wide and then gives her head a bit of a shake and looks directly at Gen.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “I haven't got all day.”
BRANDY IRVING: “Right. Well I just wanted to get a few words from you about your match versus Stevie Harris. How confident are you that you're going to be able to win?”
Genesis smirks.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Let's put it this way bébé, I never enter a match and not have confidence in myself that I'm going to do exactly what I say I'm going to do. Steve Harris has no respect for women. He ignores facts and replaces them with his own deluded view. Reads things incorrectly and then makes assumptions. This all translates to a ring as well. He's underestimated me in the worst possible way and that... that is going to be his undoing. Little man couldn't handle that I got the one up on him in the ring last show. He assumes that I'm drunk all the time. He assumes that this…”
She gestures her hand up and down indicating herself and her outward appearance.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “That this is just an act that deep down I'm some stupid ignorant little girl that hasn't experienced life. That guy doesn't know half of what I have gone through and knows even less of what I'm capable off and it's all his own fault for not actually scouting his opponent. He accused me on Twitter of not being prepared, but really I think he should take a good long look in the mirror, and after our match when I pin his ass, he'll be doing just that wondering how this 'girl' got the upper hand.”
Brandy looks a little shocked at how blunt the woman is. She had no fear of her words or anybody it seemed.
BRANDY IRVING: “There are rumors that he's sadistic in the ring…”
Genesis laughs.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Then you know there are rumors of me being the same.”
Brandy shakes her head.
BRANDY IRVING: “Okay, rumors that he's just plain sadistic.”
Genesis raises her eyebrows as if to say, 'so... I am too'
BRANDY IRVING: “Okay... Well what about your new reality show? So is it true that some guy you don't even know just contacted you on twitter and said, 'Hey, want to do a tv show?'”
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Yup. I tried to tell him that getting me a show was a bad idea but he seemed to think I had the 'it factor'. I don't know what the hell that is but apparently I have it. Got me out of my contract with my agent so that's what I'm happy 'bout.”
Brandy, feeling awkward, now tries to think of what to say next but the two are faced with a moment of silence.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “We done here, or…”
Brandy snaps to attention.
BRANDY IRVING: “So, going forward, are your sights set on winning the title? I hear there's a possible tournament coming up.”
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Never had a title, never had a chance at a title. Titles are just pieces of leather and metal used for bragging rights. I don't need a title to make my mark around here, however if I'm put in this tournament then I'm going to plough through my competition simply because it's what I do. Title or no title. I win matches; one way or another I win.”
Brandy's eyes go wide again.
BRANDY IRVING: “By that, you mean... cheating?”
Genesis laughs again, and grabs her chin.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Bébé, don't play innocent. You probably know more about me than I know about myself you nosy little minx. I told you, titles and wins don't really mean the most to me, it's about making an impact and showing the world that no one is going to step all over Genesis Hendrix. If I gotta crack a few skulls to do that then that's what I'm going to do.”
Brandy smirks, appearing to warming up to the woman.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “Now if you don't mind, ami, I gotta match to get ready for.”
Brandy nods.
BRANDY IRVING: “Thanks Genesis. By the way, do you know where Sam is?”
Genesis raises one eyebrow.
GENESIS HENDRIX: “How the fuck should, I know. Contrary to the rumours that Harris is spreading, I am not in Sam's crotch zipper. I'm sure if you look for and follow the scent of piss, you'll find him, as I'm sure that Unreal has him by the balls again somewhere.”
Genesis starts to walk away without saying goodbye. Brandy opens her mouth to say something but by the time something comes to mind, the vixen has rounded a corner. Her face changes to one of almost adoration for the woman. She snaps out of her reverie and then motions the camera to follow her in search of Xayachack as the cameras return to Philo and Constance at ringside.
GENESIS HENDRIX versus STEVIE HARRIS
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Is that bitch for real? Stevie Harris probably has a bag of tricks at least three times the size of hers, and it’s got like… shit in it or something.”
“The Riverbed” by Gallows blasts out over the speakers. The beat really begins to kick in when Stevie Harris steps through, a scornful grin on his face as he looks out at the crowd. Hanging ominously from one hand is a hangman’s noose.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...or a hangman’s noose. Well, that could be… could be devastating…”
PHILO B. POPE: “This man is strong, cunning and he proved to Genesis a couple weeks ago that he can take a beating!”
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Making his way to the ring from parts unknown… STEVIE…. HARRISSSSSS!!!”
Stevie slowly makes his way down to the ring, eyeing off as many of the faces in the crowd as possible. It’s a mixed reaction. Once in the ring, Stevie glares Rhonda Armstrong into giving him her microphone. In his other hand, he holds the noose up to present for all to see.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hey… where did Stevie go? All I see is a hanging tree.”
She snickers to herself.
STEVIE HARRIS: "Genesissssss. Remember this? The Hangman’s gallows awaits darling. Come willingly or come kicking and screaming, it makes no difference to me."
The Initial Whir-Grind then distorted guitar of ’Chalk Outline’ by Three Days Grace kicks it’s way onto the speaker system.
Stevie reluctantly gives the microphone back to Rhonda.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Ladies and Gentleman our opening match of the evening is scheduled for ONE FALL. Introducing next…. From Paradis, Louisiana…. GENESISSSSSS HENDRIX!”
Genesis struts out onto the entrance ramp. She wears a jean jacket with built-in hoodie. She watches the crowd and smirks before heading to the ring.
PHILO B. POPE: “And now we find out if she is more impulsive or more methodical. What a match to kick-off WICKED. A good old fashioned grudge match.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You mean GRUNGE match. I know this type of music when I hear it.”
The Crowd gives a pretty mixed reaction as Genesis steps down to the ring. She jumps up to the apron and turns with her back to the ropes. She throws up two middle fingers to the crowd. Some cheer wildly! While others boo her. She loves it all. She throws back the hood before slipping through the second and third ropes. She throws off her jacket, and drops it to the outside. She then cracks her neck and pounds her fist into her palm glaring readily at Stevie Harris. Stevie’s in his corner, and he eyes off Genesis in her corner, and it’s a dead stare with stone-faced resolve between the two.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So, yeah, quick recap: She’s a hooker with a heart of gold, and he collects hearts from his victims, smelts them into gold, and wears them on his body. Did I miss anything?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Just the part about us being lucky that he didn’t ambush her in the parking lot, drag her into the bushes and smash a rock over her head. Kudos to both of them for keeping this all in the ring and official.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “There’s still time for the beating with the rock thing.”
Rhonda Armstrong slips from the ring, and the bell sounds. Stevie steps lively from his corner, Genesis moves with purpose out of his corner and the two meet in the middle. Harris fires a sudden and strong-looking punch at Genesis, but the Violent Vixen catches the arm, hooks it and drags Stevie unexpectedly down to the canvas and locks in a sudden and PAINFUL looking Kimura Lock!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Whaaaaat. Is she a ninja?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Hendrix dives into action by using all of Stevie’s size advantage against him!”
Genesis has it locked in, and you can see the exasperated expression of pain on Stevie Harris’ face as he writhes in agony. Genesis growls and tightens her hold.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Not a ninja… an anaconda… or a lemur… Dammit, she’s some sort of feisty animal, right?”
PHILO B. POPE: “An animal that will not allow Stevie Harris out of the center of the ring.”
The submission looks to be taking a toll on Stevie as he bundles his knees under him and struggles to break free to no avail! Genesis’ confidence builds and she really torques the hold only to find Stevie somehow twisting his own arm awkwardly while it is gripped firmly by Gen. He’s adjusting. Actually heaving himself, through sheer strength, up off the mat, almost to his knees. Gen is surprised, but still gripping his arm only to have Stevie suddenly SLAM Genesis Hendrix back down onto the canvas in an improvised rock bottom!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That son of a bitch is some sort of contortionist, Philo. Did you know he could dislocate his arms and shit like a Stretch Armstrong?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris going beast mode on Hendrix. That’s the type of strength parents tap into when they lift cars off of their kids, and right now Stevie is feeling it!”
Genesis doesn’t let go. Stevie is in as much pain as he was in initially, but he repeats, through sheer force of will, and lifts himself up to his knees, nearly breaking the lock. He’s about to slam Gen back down but she relinquishes the hold angrily and Stevie rolls free clutching his shoulder.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hmmm. He’s like some sort of… guy that breaks out of holds women put him in. I got nothing. But Genesis is gonna have to try harder than that if she wants to keep old Stevie down.”
PHILO B. POPE: “In the meantime, he better keep her away from it until it goes numb or he could be in some real trouble!”
Genesis is unfazed by Harris’ resilience and she lunges for him only to be greeted by a sudden shot to the midsection that doubles her over. Another. Then another as Stevie rises to his feet and drops Gen backwards with a sudden knee lift. Harris goes for the cover!
Harris almost laughs as he lifts out of it, and A Ref glares at him as Harris smirks at him and forces Genesis back up to her feet.
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t think Genesis is the one to be toyed with like that, Stevie.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh, please. Genesis can do what she likes. She’s a liberated woman. Why, let’s offer her a drink mid-match and watch chaos ensue, eh?”
Genesis is by no means a sitting duck; she acts quickly and takes Stevie down almost as quickly as he just took her down with a massive lariat. And Genesis unloads with a series of angry kicks to the fallen Harris that sees him rolling away, but Gen follows close and keeps laying stomps onto Harris before he makes his way out under the ring ropes leaving Gen inside the ring to glare after him.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Stevie Harris is smart. That is all.”
PHILO B. POPE: “And if she’s smart, she won’t follow him out there.”
Genesis grips the ring ropes and angrily cusses out Harris, which the camera mic doesn’t pick up, and Harris laughs it off as he rolls his shoulder. For the moment he keeps a distance from Gen before he shockingly charges in, grips the back of Gen’s legs and pulls, dropping Gen on her back and Stevie drags her right out onto the outside and suddenly flattens her with a clothesline to the concrete! A Ref starts the count as Harris gloats and circles the downed Gen Hendrix!
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris to the decision and full control of this match with that double-legged takedown!”
Harris drags Gen up by the hair and tosses her with disinterest into the ring before she can recover, and Harris rolls in after only to be greeted by a sudden kick to the face by Gen that halts Harris’ momentum. The kick gives her enough velocity to climb to a stand. Harris is quick on her tail though, and while Gen dusts off her hands evidently expecting that kick to have done more damage, Harris is in behind her and sets her up then down with an atomic drop that staggers Gen forward.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ha! Nevermind. Gen’s already drunk. And Stevie’s just threading the needle.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris keeps landing hard moves that have to be doing damage. Although, I think that kick Hendrix just landed hurt him more than he wants us all to know.”
Harris is at her again leaving little time for Gen to recover before he’s forcing her around to face him, and he takes angry pleasure in delivering her up and down with an inverted atomic drop that sends Genesis onto the canvas in pain!
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris is going for broke and hitting her right where it hurts the most.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You mean in the ring… where it counts? Good work research-boy.”
She snickers loudly.
Harris is a madman, first sending a number of boots down at Gen to keep her down then he hooks her leg and suddenly locks her into a wince-inducing Indian death lock!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh… Ow…. An Indian Death lock? Is Stevie serious? What did Gen do, interrupt his first match, and pour alcohol all over him or something?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “And he was probably more offended by that than he was the commentary we were offering to that match!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I assure you, you must be confusing me with that other Constance Church. My current version is 5.0. And I’m rad.”
Gen’s in the center of the ring and in obvious pain! And Harris is not letting up. He’s applying some serious pressure to Gen, and A Ref swings down to check on her. But Gen is fighting through it in spite of Stevie Harris ensuring the lock is as painful as it can possibly get!
PHILO B. POPE: “What will she do? Can she make it to the ropes? Can she roll them both over and reverse the pressure?”
Gen looks almost ready to tap, A Ref is checking on her as the Indian Deathlock drags on… but Stevie Harris suddenly relinquishes Gen and steps lively towards the fans with a snarky smirk on his face as Gen is in agony on the canvas.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh. Ew. Apparently not. Stevie wasn’t kidding about the whole ‘I’m going to make Genesis Hendrix pay’ thing. Shit.”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s twice now that he has taken his foot off the gas!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s because he’s putting this match on cruise control so Stevie can learn Gen some manners!”
Harris turns back to Gen with a cocky hop to his step, looking to live up to his promise of severely harming her. He lays some confident boots to Gen where she lays, making sure to hit her knees, then her mid section, then her chin strategically.
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris showing no mercy tonight. In his attacks and with his taunting.”
Harris is firmly in the driver’s seat as he aims down to grab Gen and drag her back to her feet. And Genesis Hendrix is definitely feeling Harris’ onslaught as he drops to a knee and sends a powerful punch into Gen’s midsection that staggers the poor woman.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeah… I really think we should sneak a mickey into the ring for Gen, or something. If this were Mario Brothers, Gen is in serious need of a flower… a mushroom… or… a block with many coins in it….”
Harris unloads with another, taking methodical delight in dismantling Genesis before she grabs his wrist, effectively halting his punch; Stevie is stunned as she quickly executes a step-up enziguri! Harris is down, and that looked like it took a lot of energy on Genesis’ part to execute as both competitors remain on the canvas. The crowd is on it’s feet.
PHILO B. POPE: “And we have arrived at the intersection of pins and needles!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Screw mushrooms. Bitch found a raccoon suit! Go, Go Power Gen.”
Stevie Harris is the first up, but he’s at his knees when a fire-eyed Genesis is at him and toppling him back to the canvas onto his back and she delivers furious mounted punch after punch!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “AND she’s got a star mode! Check me out, Philo. I’m scoring the nerd demographic.”
Constance leaves about a second for Philo before she puts her hand over his headset mic.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “AND she calls that her GENESIS MODE signature. How you like me now, Philo Bitch? Cause I’m all scholarly and studied up on Genesis, Deuteronomy, and Exodus, PLUS Gen’s moveset, and cause of THAT she and I are going for drinks after the match and YOU’RE not invited. COUNT IT.”
She fakes throwing a basketball through a hoop as Philo just shakes his head and hits the blunt.
Harris is taking an absolute pounding, Genesis draws blood from Harris’ nose before he drives both knees up into her backside as she sits up ready to lay one more punch and he suddenly delivers a wicked throat punch that stuns Genesis with enough time for Harris to literally turn the tables on her, finding himself on top and delivering his own vicious shots that rapidly bloody Genesis’ lip!
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris back in beast mode in an attempt to counter Genesis mode!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Philo… I must be honest. Stevie Harris is starting to scare me.”
The anger in the ring is palpable as Genesis fires her own shots right back at Harris, and suddenly neither is in control, Genesis manages to snake her way out from under Harris and the two are on their knees trading punches before Harris fires another throat thrust that drops Genesis back down. Harris is bloodied, but by no means took the worse from that exchange as Genesis looks stunned as she uses her hand to check her mouth only to see blood. The very sight enrages her, as Stevie Harris is rising to his feet with his grin still plastered to his face.
PHILO B. POPE: “He seems to be enjoying himself!”
Genesis is up, and Harris is resting casually on the ring ropes, which only serves to anger Genesis more. She moves at him, and Harris gingerly goes to sidestep her, but she capitalizes on Harris’ self-confidence with a sudden front face head chancery, tying Harris up.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So what? Stevie’s being way too cavalier with Genesis.”
PHILO B. POPE: “If you ask me, and you did, yes. He’s been way too easy on her! There is no one on this roster you can take as lightly as he is seemingly taking Genesis!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And she almost killed a guy in the ring. What’s Stevie got? Exactly. Not like he’s the deranged leader of a cult or something behind the scenes.”
Harris centers his equilibrium and delivers another sudden inverted atomic drop that has Genesis staggered with a wince only to be met by a massive clothesline that drives her down.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Harris makes the cover. Is this guy for real going to win this match like THAT?”
Gen kicks out, but Harris looks like he was about ready to release the cover on his own, and he smirks at A Ref who glares right back at him. Harris is leisurely about dragging Gen right back up to her feet, this time sending several knees into her side, and firing a brutal kidney shot after each knee thrust to keep Genesis winded, and then launches into a strong salvo of POWERFUL Knee lifts that are definitely not doing Gen any favors!
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris with a flurry of stiff high knee strikes. Is he finally going to go for it?”
Gen’s definitely feeling it. Harris gives the crowd an arrogant smirk as he sets Gen into position for a suplex and hoists her up for a vertical, letting the blood drain to her head…. AND THEN DOWN! The ring quakes! Gen is in a bad way as Harris sits up thirsty for more, and he gives an antagonistic throat slash out to the crowd!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Way to give the psychopath ideas, Philo. This one’s done for. And I never got to get Gen drunk mid-match. Sucks.”
PHILO B. POPE: “The crows are circling..”
Harris is up and stalking the very pained Genesis Hendrix. He lifts her back to her feet, and Gen stumbles right into Harris’ waiting grip. And he sets her up into a piledriver clutch. The crowd is on its feet, some aghast!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “No…. Not like that… Gen isn’t even drunk, yet.”
And Stevie Harris has her up and makes an authoritative show of PILEDRIVING Genesis down into the canvas! Stevie Harris arrogantly plants her and sets up the cover. A Ref swoops in for the count.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How the fuck long do Star Modes last in Super Mario Brothers anyways?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “I do not believe what I just saw! Genesis just showed some true grit kicking out of the Feast of Crows! But nobody is more shocked than Stevie Harris!
Harris can’t believe it, and neither can the masses in the Xayarena. He drags Genesis back to her feet, she’s obviously been put through the ringer, and the next punch she fires is weak, but enough to surprise Harris who stumbles backward, which is enough to buoy Gen just enough to shoulder block Harris and DRIVE HIM right into the corner.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Damn. Star mode, Raccoon suit, now what the hell else does she have in her bag of tricks? Say, wasn’t there a frog suit? I can’t seem to apply any more Mario shit to this match... Somebody tweet me out of this hole I’ve dug.”
Constance checks the twitter feed on her phone.
Harris fires a double-axe handle across Gen’s back in retaliation, which sends her to one knee, but Gen’s not backing down. She slams her shoulder into Harris once… twice!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...What the hell is a Smash Bros? Seriously. I have the nerdiest followers. I'm OLD SCHOOL. This can’t be like Double Dragon can it? Street Fighter maybe? Any of these wrestlers have a signature called the ‘Hadoken’?”
Harris is still a little stunned at Gen’s resilience. She hastens him out of the corner, leaps onto the turnbuckle and is leaping out of there in a flash with her flying thrust kick and Harris is down!
PHILO B. POPE: “Hendrix just gave Harris a mouthful of ‘Retribution’!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “OF COURSE! It’s NINJA GAIDEN!!! Thanks, Genie.”
Gen is all momentum and fury as she moves to get Harris back on his feet and cement her control but he lays into her with a fierce knife-edge chop, then another, Stevie Harris is back on his feet and swings for an all too brutal looking fence punch that would have taken Genesis’ head clean off if she didn’t catch it and smoothly flow it into a Judo arm drag that sends Harris skidding across the canvas.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Nice. Stevie Harris is about to have his own little bout of lesson-learnin’ courtesy of Shinobi Gen Hendrix.”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s because she hasn’t taken her foot off the gas since she showed up in P.A.W. two weeks ago. Hendrix is all forward, no reverse!”
Genesis’ rage is boundless, and she’s on Harris in a heartbeat, laying into the already bloody-nosed man with another furious array of punches, getting off him, dropping a vicious knee, then down for another series of mounted punches, another knee, completing a brutal series. And Harris’ has lost his smile as Genesis has definitely gone overboard on this one!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Harris, if he’s lucky, is leaving here in a body bag. Another modified bit of ‘Genesis Mode’ and I’m not sure Harris is conscious.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Hendrix is one well-rounded brawling wrestler but...her anger has taken control of her right now!”
Now it’s Gen’s turn to drag Harris unwillingly to his feet. Harris looks almost punch-drunk as Gen lays into him with another flurry before she hits the ropes running and bounces back hard towards him to nail him with a swinging neckbreaker! She goes for the cover!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And that rage is about to win her this match.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Or not. I was just playing.”
PHILO B. POPE: “But you can’t get much closer than that!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s what I said!”
Gen is just as bewildered as Harris was as she watches him roll away from her warpath and drag himself to his feet by the ropes. With gritted teeth she charges at him, aiming a clothesline, but at the last second Harris ducks and helps Genesis Hendrix spill over the ropes to the outside! The crowd is in an uproar as Harris is winded and being held up by the ropes. And Genesis looks exhausted on the outside in a heap.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Whoa. Sorry about your luck, Hendrix. I’ve decided to root for Stevie from now on cause I’m growing convinced he’s a cyborg sent back in time to kill Genesis Hendrix.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’m growing more and more convinced that Xayachack should’ve booked this match for the main event! They are both giving it all they’ve got to kick off WICKED!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Pheh. This is just the beginning.”
Genesis slowly recovers on the outside, Harris, blood and all, is still catching a second wind. As Genesis gets to her feet, Harris stirs, catches sight of her, stumbles then LEAPS over the ropes with a sudden cross body block that Gen would have caught if the sheer weight of Harris didn’t force her back into the guardrail. Both competitors tumble over the guardrail and splash into the fans! A Ref starts the count as both of these competitors look down and out among the raucous fans who by now are going nuts at the show these two have put on so far!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You’ve got to be kidding me. Harris isn’t even a high flyer!”
Philo stands at the broadcast table and turns to the crowd, inciting them into and leading a very loud “HOLY SHIT!” chant.
Genesis is the first to stir, slowly crawling her way back onto ringside.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So… Is NOW the time I give her the drink, or…?”
Harris uses a fan for leverage to get to his feet, and Genesis is on her feet too only to get caught suddenly unawares by Harris who charges in behind her with a double axe handle that drapes her onto the ring apron!
PHILO B. POPE: “If you are just getting to your seats you have missed the beginning of World War 3!”
Harris grips Genesis firmly, swings her around and KNOCKS her into the ring post, which she crumples across!
PHILO B. POPE: “Someone get back inside! Don’t let it end like this!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Are you kidding? These two got nothing left. They’d be doing themselves and whatever medical staff this shitho- I mean.. lovely establishment has a favor.”
Harris doesn’t waste anymore time before unceremoniously rolling Gen into the ring and following her onto the apron and stepping inside just as A Ref was ready to call this match a DQ!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Is it just me, or does A Ref look disappointed?”
PHILO B. POPE: “It’s just you because the only people looking disappointed are the ones without tickets to this here thing we do.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh. Well. I liked my exposition better than your straight answer. C’mon! Join me in anthropomorphizing our masked Referee--oh… forgot. Solidarity, right oh Masked Philo?”
You can tell Stevie’s winded as he takes his time to move along the ring apron, sizing Genesis up as she now uses the ropes to bring her to her feet on the opposite side of the ring. Stevie Harris steps into the ring. Genesis charges him, Harris swings a clothesline, Gen blocks it, ducks under his arm, places a well-fired kick right to Harris’ gut then SLAMS Harris with a beautifully executed stunner that SHOCKS the crowd into a roar! she goes in for a very confident cover as REF slides into position to make the count!
PHILO B. POPE: “FOXHOLE!”
Harris lifts a shoulder just in the nick of time!
PHILO B. POPE: “This is unbelievable! Harris tougher than a six dollar steak from the Waffle House and Hendrix kicks harder than cheap well whiskey!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How the hell…? Seriously. When did this company become the Cyborg Fighting Circuit-- Philo… I just had an AMAZING idea. Ready? We make… ROBOTS… and make them have WARS with each other on LIVE television! We’ll make a fortune and ditch this stupid Cyborg league.”
Gen is obviously not happy with Harris’ resilience either. She’s sat up and glaring down at Harris who laughs, in spite of blood and definite bruises and pains all over his battered body. A Ref looks at Gen defensively, he can tell the Hellcat is getting brutally angry. She stands, and looks about ready to make her way outside to add a little hardcore flavor only to find Stevie hooking her and rolling her up for a sudden roll-up pin!
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris with a school boy!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Gen almost had this stolen from under her.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’d have been pissed for this one to end like that!”
Harris is exhausted. Both wrestlers lay in the center of the ring panting for lost breath. A Ref stands over them, checking on either uncertainly. A Ref starts in the count!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I bet A Ref’s gonna be disappointed if he doesn’t make it to ten this time.”
Neither wrestler is moving much beyond trying to catch their breath!
PHILO B. POPE: “There is no way REF makes it to ten!”
Harris shifts onto his back, but he might be toast at this point.
Gen lies in a heap, but she’s showing signs of stirring!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Maybe in Ref’s mind ten comes after six…? Maybe?”
Gen lifts her head, and crawls for the ropes, Harris similarly rolls himself onto all fours, and A Ref halts his count. Gen drags herself onto a wobbly stand with the help of the ropes, and Harris rises on his own power but definitely looks like he’s walked through hell and arrived right back in a wrestling ring with Genesis Hendrix. The two lock eyes, and Gen and Harris meet in the center of the ring and somehow find the energy and gumption to start trading blows. Fierce blows, too! Gen rocks Harris! Harris rocks Gen!
PHILO B. POPE: “Like rock-em sock-em robots!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “RIGHT? Now you’re talking. We can totally package that and sell it, right? It’ll be our ticket to the gravy train!”
The two warriors trade blows, and then Harris manages to grab Gen’s wrist when she swings a punch, he maneuvers behind her and locks in a sudden and unexpected SLEEPER HOLD!!!!
PHILO B. POPE: “Can I even call this one the “Stranglehold”? Or if I say that does The BombTrax music cue?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I think even the BombTrax would be scared to enter this battlefield.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris has his Stranglehold in deep and tight. This looks bad for Hendrix!”
Gen is fading fast! This has been a gauntlet of a match! Both hands lifted, elbows starting to dip, A Ref moves in to check on Gen as Stevie’s caught a second wind and is grinning up a storm at his newfound power position.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How the shit-eating grin does that bastard keep waking up like that? Does he have rechargeable batteries up his ass or something?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “Ego and pride come before the fall, Stevie Harris.”
Even though Gen looks to be succumbing, she fires a nasty elbow into Stevie Harris that shakes him, but not quite loose. He redoubles his efforts; only to find another elbow shot that sees Harris’ grip loosening. Then another! And another, enough to get Harris to release the sleeper. Gen turns and fires a fierce haymaker that staggers Harris. Another, and another! Gen is unloading and Harris is powerless to resist, left stunned in the center of the ring as Gen charges for the ropes for some momentum.
PHILO B. POPE: “Hendrix just hit Harris like he said it was ‘LAST CALL!’ And for someone, it’s about to be!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Just between me and you… I stopped cheering for Stevie like 3 seconds ago. I’m all Hendrix now, baby!”
Gen rebounds and returns, aiming a nasty lariat set to take Harris’ head off, but he ducks that, scoops Gen and SLAMS her to the mat with a wicked Military press slam! And Gen is PLANTED!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I mean Stevie. STEVIE HARRIS IS KING! I’m sorry for whatever Evil Constance said last show… I LOVE YOU!”
Stevie staggers to his feet, and this time, far less arrogantly than before slashes his throat. With far less theatrics, and far quicker than he did before, Harris staggers Hendrix up to her feet, sets her into a piledriver clutch! Gen is definitely not in good shape as Harris sets her up… AND NAILS Her with another Piledriver!
PHILO B. POPE: “FEAST OF CROWS ONE MORE AGAIN!!!”
Harris goes for the pin!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ouch… Did you know they call a group of Crows a Murder, Philo? Is that what just happened? Did Stevie just MURDER Genesis Hendrix? Good thing this ain’t live or we’d be cancelled.”
Philo leaps out of his seat clapping loudly with his hands held up high encouraging the crowd to do the same.
PHILO B. POPE: “Nice motherfucking match you two! Way to start the show off right!”
Harris looks stunned he got the pin. Hendrix could be out cold as Harris staggers to his feet and needs the ropes to hold him up as Rhonda Armstrong enters.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Here is your winner… STEVIE…. HARRIS!!!!”
Unbeknownst to anyone, Harris has grabbed his noose and brought it back over to Genesis. She’s very nearly unconscious, and he’s threatening to coil it around her neck with a wicked cackle.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Whoa, dude. I was kidding about the murder bit. Can he do that?”
PHILO B. POPE: “He better not. Dude, it was a fair fight. Now, it’s over.”
4Loco pre-empts Harris by stepping up onto the ring apron and intimidating Harris inside the ring who throws up his hands in defense, the noose narrowly missing it’s chance to be wrapped around Gen’s throat. But Harris still intimates the potential for violence, and it drives 4Loco halfway into the ring.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Gonna be bad news if this shit goes down…”
Stevie rolls out to ringside damn fast. And 4Loco glares at him as he steals his way walking backwards on shaky, weakened legs up the ramp with a haughty grin. He can be heard to promise.
STEVIE HARRIS: “Next time, Genie… Next time…”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Who is this guy, Doctor Claw from Inspector Gadget or some shit?! Dude’s just evil.”
PHILO B. POPE: “And not only that, dude’s got the first win of the night, and the first win of his Pure Amusement career.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Seriously. Do we even need another match after that?”
The lights dim on the ring, and we are serenaded with the opening sounds of Mike Ness's "Misery Loves Company."
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Okay… so maybe we need whatever the hell this is going to be instead.”
From behind the curtain emerges the newly signed "Righteous" Ian Wright, wearing a white t-shirt with red and blue lettering that reads "Make America Wright Again." He holds a microphone in one hand, and has a gym bag draped over his shoulder.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please welcome, Ian Wright!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “If I pretend not to know who this is… do you think he’ll give me his phone number??”
PHILO B. POPE: “And if I have to tell another motherfucker to take it backstage and give me a minute in between matches…”
The fans do not respond kindly to the Righteous One. He pays them no mind, instead an all-business expression on his face. He enters the ring, motions for Rhonda to give him his space, and circles the ring with the mic in hand, waiting for a lull in the jeers that may never come.
Finally, Ian finds an opportunity to address the crowd.
IAN WRIGHT: “My fellow neighbors of Purity, I come here this evening with a message of hope…”
Ian lets the words sink in, with grandiose expectations that each and every person in the audience is hanging on his every word.
IAN WRIGHT: “I come here this evening with five little words that you can cling to…”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “The. Show. Is. Almost. Over?”
Ian paces back and forth a couple more times, making them wait for it.
IAN WRIGHT: “Never. Fear. Ian is here.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I was close. Wait… that’s not fiv- Nah. Nevermind. He’s right. Gotta keep ya' honest, Ian!”
The fans are dissatisfied with the message, and they are not shy about voicing their dissatisfaction. It's like their jeers have gone right over Ian's head.”
IAN WRIGHT: “That's right, say it with me-- never fear, Ian is here...When your son comes home with a tattoo on his neck of a marijuana leaf because of something he seen on Thursday night down at the arena, never fear-- Ian is here....”
More boos.
PHILO B. POPE: “Just look for the kids in the official Philo B. Pope mask and choose your flavor.”
IAN WRIGHT: “When your daughter comes home and tells you she needs a right over to the Puritan clinic down on Grand Ave near the farmer's market because of some wrestler she met over on Knux's Castle, never fear-- Ian is here.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How the hell does he know so much about me?!”
Now the boos have turned into an "Ian sucks!" chant. Ian shakes his head in disgust.
IAN WRIGHT: “When your loved one-- your son, daughter, brother, sister, grandma for that matter-- comes back from a night at Wicked as a potty-mouthed, belligerent miscreant that you no longer recognize-- never fear, Ian is here! You see, I know what you are going through. I feel your pain. I too am a fellow citizen of Purity. That's right, I am a Puritan at heart-- and you can’t have "Puritan" without "Ian"-- you'd just have ‘Purt.’”
Ian lets his logic sink in with the crowd-- who have no idea what the hell he's talking about.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You know… he has a point when you think of it. You literally CAN NOT spell the word without his name in it. Well, at least not without that sequence of letters...”
IAN WRIGHT: “The point is that I too have to live in a blemished, cursed, stained community like the rest of you, and it's all do to these hooligans who have moved into our neighborhood to peddle their vices and compromise everything that you and I stand for! I'm talking about sex addicts like Luke Knux--”
Big pop from the crowd.
IAN WRIGHT: “I'm talking about dopeheads like Philo Pope.”
Another big pop from the crowd.
PHILO B. POPE: “And the ‘B’ he forgot, stands for this dude is ‘BORING’!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Shut up. This is informative.”
IAN WRIGHT: “I'm talking about violence junkies like Jake Orton and Steve Harris and Frost, rotting the minds of our youth. I'm talking about people like Press and Flaming Youth-- who in the H-E-Double Hockey sticks wants their youth to be flaming!?!”
Ian feels himself getting worked up, so he takes a moment to calm himself.
IAN WRIGHT: “For those of you who share my message, my beliefs, my vision, I have five words for you-- never fear, Ian is here!”
Ian pauses for effect.
IAN WRIGHT: “And for the rest of you, I have five words as well-- get out of my city.”
Ian drops the mic and exits the ring.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: "Do you think someone should tell him this is actually a township?"
As Ian Wright heads back up the ramp towards backstage, Philo smirks and lights a blunt.
PHILO B. POPE: “Who let that dude in here, anyway? Xayachack and Munin gave out too many free tickets..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And that hurts their bottom line, the dolts. So… we’ve watched the most epic match ever watched on this earth, and now we learned that Ian Wright is the janitor of Purity, Louisiana. Philo, what’s next?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “Well if no one has anything to say backstage, then Saul Ledgitt and Kip Calhoun debut in P.A.W.”
“The Riverbed” by Gallows blasts out over the speakers. The beat really begins to kick in when Stevie Harris steps through, a scornful grin on his face as he looks out at the crowd. Hanging ominously from one hand is a hangman’s noose.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...or a hangman’s noose. Well, that could be… could be devastating…”
PHILO B. POPE: “This man is strong, cunning and he proved to Genesis a couple weeks ago that he can take a beating!”
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Making his way to the ring from parts unknown… STEVIE…. HARRISSSSSS!!!”
Stevie slowly makes his way down to the ring, eyeing off as many of the faces in the crowd as possible. It’s a mixed reaction. Once in the ring, Stevie glares Rhonda Armstrong into giving him her microphone. In his other hand, he holds the noose up to present for all to see.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hey… where did Stevie go? All I see is a hanging tree.”
She snickers to herself.
STEVIE HARRIS: "Genesissssss. Remember this? The Hangman’s gallows awaits darling. Come willingly or come kicking and screaming, it makes no difference to me."
The Initial Whir-Grind then distorted guitar of ’Chalk Outline’ by Three Days Grace kicks it’s way onto the speaker system.
Stevie reluctantly gives the microphone back to Rhonda.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Ladies and Gentleman our opening match of the evening is scheduled for ONE FALL. Introducing next…. From Paradis, Louisiana…. GENESISSSSSS HENDRIX!”
Genesis struts out onto the entrance ramp. She wears a jean jacket with built-in hoodie. She watches the crowd and smirks before heading to the ring.
PHILO B. POPE: “And now we find out if she is more impulsive or more methodical. What a match to kick-off WICKED. A good old fashioned grudge match.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You mean GRUNGE match. I know this type of music when I hear it.”
The Crowd gives a pretty mixed reaction as Genesis steps down to the ring. She jumps up to the apron and turns with her back to the ropes. She throws up two middle fingers to the crowd. Some cheer wildly! While others boo her. She loves it all. She throws back the hood before slipping through the second and third ropes. She throws off her jacket, and drops it to the outside. She then cracks her neck and pounds her fist into her palm glaring readily at Stevie Harris. Stevie’s in his corner, and he eyes off Genesis in her corner, and it’s a dead stare with stone-faced resolve between the two.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So, yeah, quick recap: She’s a hooker with a heart of gold, and he collects hearts from his victims, smelts them into gold, and wears them on his body. Did I miss anything?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Just the part about us being lucky that he didn’t ambush her in the parking lot, drag her into the bushes and smash a rock over her head. Kudos to both of them for keeping this all in the ring and official.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “There’s still time for the beating with the rock thing.”
Rhonda Armstrong slips from the ring, and the bell sounds. Stevie steps lively from his corner, Genesis moves with purpose out of his corner and the two meet in the middle. Harris fires a sudden and strong-looking punch at Genesis, but the Violent Vixen catches the arm, hooks it and drags Stevie unexpectedly down to the canvas and locks in a sudden and PAINFUL looking Kimura Lock!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Whaaaaat. Is she a ninja?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Hendrix dives into action by using all of Stevie’s size advantage against him!”
Genesis has it locked in, and you can see the exasperated expression of pain on Stevie Harris’ face as he writhes in agony. Genesis growls and tightens her hold.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Not a ninja… an anaconda… or a lemur… Dammit, she’s some sort of feisty animal, right?”
PHILO B. POPE: “An animal that will not allow Stevie Harris out of the center of the ring.”
The submission looks to be taking a toll on Stevie as he bundles his knees under him and struggles to break free to no avail! Genesis’ confidence builds and she really torques the hold only to find Stevie somehow twisting his own arm awkwardly while it is gripped firmly by Gen. He’s adjusting. Actually heaving himself, through sheer strength, up off the mat, almost to his knees. Gen is surprised, but still gripping his arm only to have Stevie suddenly SLAM Genesis Hendrix back down onto the canvas in an improvised rock bottom!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That son of a bitch is some sort of contortionist, Philo. Did you know he could dislocate his arms and shit like a Stretch Armstrong?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris going beast mode on Hendrix. That’s the type of strength parents tap into when they lift cars off of their kids, and right now Stevie is feeling it!”
Genesis doesn’t let go. Stevie is in as much pain as he was in initially, but he repeats, through sheer force of will, and lifts himself up to his knees, nearly breaking the lock. He’s about to slam Gen back down but she relinquishes the hold angrily and Stevie rolls free clutching his shoulder.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hmmm. He’s like some sort of… guy that breaks out of holds women put him in. I got nothing. But Genesis is gonna have to try harder than that if she wants to keep old Stevie down.”
PHILO B. POPE: “In the meantime, he better keep her away from it until it goes numb or he could be in some real trouble!”
Genesis is unfazed by Harris’ resilience and she lunges for him only to be greeted by a sudden shot to the midsection that doubles her over. Another. Then another as Stevie rises to his feet and drops Gen backwards with a sudden knee lift. Harris goes for the cover!
1….
Harris almost laughs as he lifts out of it, and A Ref glares at him as Harris smirks at him and forces Genesis back up to her feet.
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t think Genesis is the one to be toyed with like that, Stevie.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh, please. Genesis can do what she likes. She’s a liberated woman. Why, let’s offer her a drink mid-match and watch chaos ensue, eh?”
Genesis is by no means a sitting duck; she acts quickly and takes Stevie down almost as quickly as he just took her down with a massive lariat. And Genesis unloads with a series of angry kicks to the fallen Harris that sees him rolling away, but Gen follows close and keeps laying stomps onto Harris before he makes his way out under the ring ropes leaving Gen inside the ring to glare after him.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Stevie Harris is smart. That is all.”
PHILO B. POPE: “And if she’s smart, she won’t follow him out there.”
Genesis grips the ring ropes and angrily cusses out Harris, which the camera mic doesn’t pick up, and Harris laughs it off as he rolls his shoulder. For the moment he keeps a distance from Gen before he shockingly charges in, grips the back of Gen’s legs and pulls, dropping Gen on her back and Stevie drags her right out onto the outside and suddenly flattens her with a clothesline to the concrete! A Ref starts the count as Harris gloats and circles the downed Gen Hendrix!
1…
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Doesn’t look like she has much choice, Philo.” 2…
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris to the decision and full control of this match with that double-legged takedown!”
3….
Harris drags Gen up by the hair and tosses her with disinterest into the ring before she can recover, and Harris rolls in after only to be greeted by a sudden kick to the face by Gen that halts Harris’ momentum. The kick gives her enough velocity to climb to a stand. Harris is quick on her tail though, and while Gen dusts off her hands evidently expecting that kick to have done more damage, Harris is in behind her and sets her up then down with an atomic drop that staggers Gen forward.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ha! Nevermind. Gen’s already drunk. And Stevie’s just threading the needle.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris keeps landing hard moves that have to be doing damage. Although, I think that kick Hendrix just landed hurt him more than he wants us all to know.”
Harris is at her again leaving little time for Gen to recover before he’s forcing her around to face him, and he takes angry pleasure in delivering her up and down with an inverted atomic drop that sends Genesis onto the canvas in pain!
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris is going for broke and hitting her right where it hurts the most.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You mean in the ring… where it counts? Good work research-boy.”
She snickers loudly.
Harris is a madman, first sending a number of boots down at Gen to keep her down then he hooks her leg and suddenly locks her into a wince-inducing Indian death lock!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh… Ow…. An Indian Death lock? Is Stevie serious? What did Gen do, interrupt his first match, and pour alcohol all over him or something?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “And he was probably more offended by that than he was the commentary we were offering to that match!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I assure you, you must be confusing me with that other Constance Church. My current version is 5.0. And I’m rad.”
Gen’s in the center of the ring and in obvious pain! And Harris is not letting up. He’s applying some serious pressure to Gen, and A Ref swings down to check on her. But Gen is fighting through it in spite of Stevie Harris ensuring the lock is as painful as it can possibly get!
PHILO B. POPE: “What will she do? Can she make it to the ropes? Can she roll them both over and reverse the pressure?”
Gen looks almost ready to tap, A Ref is checking on her as the Indian Deathlock drags on… but Stevie Harris suddenly relinquishes Gen and steps lively towards the fans with a snarky smirk on his face as Gen is in agony on the canvas.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh. Ew. Apparently not. Stevie wasn’t kidding about the whole ‘I’m going to make Genesis Hendrix pay’ thing. Shit.”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s twice now that he has taken his foot off the gas!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s because he’s putting this match on cruise control so Stevie can learn Gen some manners!”
Harris turns back to Gen with a cocky hop to his step, looking to live up to his promise of severely harming her. He lays some confident boots to Gen where she lays, making sure to hit her knees, then her mid section, then her chin strategically.
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris showing no mercy tonight. In his attacks and with his taunting.”
Harris is firmly in the driver’s seat as he aims down to grab Gen and drag her back to her feet. And Genesis Hendrix is definitely feeling Harris’ onslaught as he drops to a knee and sends a powerful punch into Gen’s midsection that staggers the poor woman.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeah… I really think we should sneak a mickey into the ring for Gen, or something. If this were Mario Brothers, Gen is in serious need of a flower… a mushroom… or… a block with many coins in it….”
Harris unloads with another, taking methodical delight in dismantling Genesis before she grabs his wrist, effectively halting his punch; Stevie is stunned as she quickly executes a step-up enziguri! Harris is down, and that looked like it took a lot of energy on Genesis’ part to execute as both competitors remain on the canvas. The crowd is on it’s feet.
PHILO B. POPE: “And we have arrived at the intersection of pins and needles!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Screw mushrooms. Bitch found a raccoon suit! Go, Go Power Gen.”
Stevie Harris is the first up, but he’s at his knees when a fire-eyed Genesis is at him and toppling him back to the canvas onto his back and she delivers furious mounted punch after punch!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “AND she’s got a star mode! Check me out, Philo. I’m scoring the nerd demographic.”
Constance leaves about a second for Philo before she puts her hand over his headset mic.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “AND she calls that her GENESIS MODE signature. How you like me now, Philo Bitch? Cause I’m all scholarly and studied up on Genesis, Deuteronomy, and Exodus, PLUS Gen’s moveset, and cause of THAT she and I are going for drinks after the match and YOU’RE not invited. COUNT IT.”
She fakes throwing a basketball through a hoop as Philo just shakes his head and hits the blunt.
Harris is taking an absolute pounding, Genesis draws blood from Harris’ nose before he drives both knees up into her backside as she sits up ready to lay one more punch and he suddenly delivers a wicked throat punch that stuns Genesis with enough time for Harris to literally turn the tables on her, finding himself on top and delivering his own vicious shots that rapidly bloody Genesis’ lip!
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris back in beast mode in an attempt to counter Genesis mode!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Philo… I must be honest. Stevie Harris is starting to scare me.”
The anger in the ring is palpable as Genesis fires her own shots right back at Harris, and suddenly neither is in control, Genesis manages to snake her way out from under Harris and the two are on their knees trading punches before Harris fires another throat thrust that drops Genesis back down. Harris is bloodied, but by no means took the worse from that exchange as Genesis looks stunned as she uses her hand to check her mouth only to see blood. The very sight enrages her, as Stevie Harris is rising to his feet with his grin still plastered to his face.
PHILO B. POPE: “He seems to be enjoying himself!”
Genesis is up, and Harris is resting casually on the ring ropes, which only serves to anger Genesis more. She moves at him, and Harris gingerly goes to sidestep her, but she capitalizes on Harris’ self-confidence with a sudden front face head chancery, tying Harris up.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So what? Stevie’s being way too cavalier with Genesis.”
PHILO B. POPE: “If you ask me, and you did, yes. He’s been way too easy on her! There is no one on this roster you can take as lightly as he is seemingly taking Genesis!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And she almost killed a guy in the ring. What’s Stevie got? Exactly. Not like he’s the deranged leader of a cult or something behind the scenes.”
Harris centers his equilibrium and delivers another sudden inverted atomic drop that has Genesis staggered with a wince only to be met by a massive clothesline that drives her down.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Harris makes the cover. Is this guy for real going to win this match like THAT?”
1….
2….
2….
Gen kicks out, but Harris looks like he was about ready to release the cover on his own, and he smirks at A Ref who glares right back at him. Harris is leisurely about dragging Gen right back up to her feet, this time sending several knees into her side, and firing a brutal kidney shot after each knee thrust to keep Genesis winded, and then launches into a strong salvo of POWERFUL Knee lifts that are definitely not doing Gen any favors!
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris with a flurry of stiff high knee strikes. Is he finally going to go for it?”
Gen’s definitely feeling it. Harris gives the crowd an arrogant smirk as he sets Gen into position for a suplex and hoists her up for a vertical, letting the blood drain to her head…. AND THEN DOWN! The ring quakes! Gen is in a bad way as Harris sits up thirsty for more, and he gives an antagonistic throat slash out to the crowd!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Way to give the psychopath ideas, Philo. This one’s done for. And I never got to get Gen drunk mid-match. Sucks.”
PHILO B. POPE: “The crows are circling..”
Harris is up and stalking the very pained Genesis Hendrix. He lifts her back to her feet, and Gen stumbles right into Harris’ waiting grip. And he sets her up into a piledriver clutch. The crowd is on its feet, some aghast!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “No…. Not like that… Gen isn’t even drunk, yet.”
And Stevie Harris has her up and makes an authoritative show of PILEDRIVING Genesis down into the canvas! Stevie Harris arrogantly plants her and sets up the cover. A Ref swoops in for the count.
1…
2…
KICKOUT!!!
2…
KICKOUT!!!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How the fuck long do Star Modes last in Super Mario Brothers anyways?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “I do not believe what I just saw! Genesis just showed some true grit kicking out of the Feast of Crows! But nobody is more shocked than Stevie Harris!
Harris can’t believe it, and neither can the masses in the Xayarena. He drags Genesis back to her feet, she’s obviously been put through the ringer, and the next punch she fires is weak, but enough to surprise Harris who stumbles backward, which is enough to buoy Gen just enough to shoulder block Harris and DRIVE HIM right into the corner.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Damn. Star mode, Raccoon suit, now what the hell else does she have in her bag of tricks? Say, wasn’t there a frog suit? I can’t seem to apply any more Mario shit to this match... Somebody tweet me out of this hole I’ve dug.”
Constance checks the twitter feed on her phone.
Harris fires a double-axe handle across Gen’s back in retaliation, which sends her to one knee, but Gen’s not backing down. She slams her shoulder into Harris once… twice!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...What the hell is a Smash Bros? Seriously. I have the nerdiest followers. I'm OLD SCHOOL. This can’t be like Double Dragon can it? Street Fighter maybe? Any of these wrestlers have a signature called the ‘Hadoken’?”
Harris is still a little stunned at Gen’s resilience. She hastens him out of the corner, leaps onto the turnbuckle and is leaping out of there in a flash with her flying thrust kick and Harris is down!
PHILO B. POPE: “Hendrix just gave Harris a mouthful of ‘Retribution’!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “OF COURSE! It’s NINJA GAIDEN!!! Thanks, Genie.”
Gen is all momentum and fury as she moves to get Harris back on his feet and cement her control but he lays into her with a fierce knife-edge chop, then another, Stevie Harris is back on his feet and swings for an all too brutal looking fence punch that would have taken Genesis’ head clean off if she didn’t catch it and smoothly flow it into a Judo arm drag that sends Harris skidding across the canvas.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Nice. Stevie Harris is about to have his own little bout of lesson-learnin’ courtesy of Shinobi Gen Hendrix.”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s because she hasn’t taken her foot off the gas since she showed up in P.A.W. two weeks ago. Hendrix is all forward, no reverse!”
Genesis’ rage is boundless, and she’s on Harris in a heartbeat, laying into the already bloody-nosed man with another furious array of punches, getting off him, dropping a vicious knee, then down for another series of mounted punches, another knee, completing a brutal series. And Harris’ has lost his smile as Genesis has definitely gone overboard on this one!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Harris, if he’s lucky, is leaving here in a body bag. Another modified bit of ‘Genesis Mode’ and I’m not sure Harris is conscious.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Hendrix is one well-rounded brawling wrestler but...her anger has taken control of her right now!”
Now it’s Gen’s turn to drag Harris unwillingly to his feet. Harris looks almost punch-drunk as Gen lays into him with another flurry before she hits the ropes running and bounces back hard towards him to nail him with a swinging neckbreaker! She goes for the cover!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And that rage is about to win her this match.”
1….
2….
KICKOUT!
2….
KICKOUT!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Or not. I was just playing.”
PHILO B. POPE: “But you can’t get much closer than that!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s what I said!”
Gen is just as bewildered as Harris was as she watches him roll away from her warpath and drag himself to his feet by the ropes. With gritted teeth she charges at him, aiming a clothesline, but at the last second Harris ducks and helps Genesis Hendrix spill over the ropes to the outside! The crowd is in an uproar as Harris is winded and being held up by the ropes. And Genesis looks exhausted on the outside in a heap.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Whoa. Sorry about your luck, Hendrix. I’ve decided to root for Stevie from now on cause I’m growing convinced he’s a cyborg sent back in time to kill Genesis Hendrix.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’m growing more and more convinced that Xayachack should’ve booked this match for the main event! They are both giving it all they’ve got to kick off WICKED!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Pheh. This is just the beginning.”
Genesis slowly recovers on the outside, Harris, blood and all, is still catching a second wind. As Genesis gets to her feet, Harris stirs, catches sight of her, stumbles then LEAPS over the ropes with a sudden cross body block that Gen would have caught if the sheer weight of Harris didn’t force her back into the guardrail. Both competitors tumble over the guardrail and splash into the fans! A Ref starts the count as both of these competitors look down and out among the raucous fans who by now are going nuts at the show these two have put on so far!
1….
2….
2….
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You’ve got to be kidding me. Harris isn’t even a high flyer!”
3….
Philo stands at the broadcast table and turns to the crowd, inciting them into and leading a very loud “HOLY SHIT!” chant.
4….
5…
5…
Genesis is the first to stir, slowly crawling her way back onto ringside.
6….
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So… Is NOW the time I give her the drink, or…?”
Harris uses a fan for leverage to get to his feet, and Genesis is on her feet too only to get caught suddenly unawares by Harris who charges in behind her with a double axe handle that drapes her onto the ring apron!
PHILO B. POPE: “If you are just getting to your seats you have missed the beginning of World War 3!”
7….
8…
8…
Harris grips Genesis firmly, swings her around and KNOCKS her into the ring post, which she crumples across!
PHILO B. POPE: “Someone get back inside! Don’t let it end like this!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Are you kidding? These two got nothing left. They’d be doing themselves and whatever medical staff this shitho- I mean.. lovely establishment has a favor.”
9…..
Harris doesn’t waste anymore time before unceremoniously rolling Gen into the ring and following her onto the apron and stepping inside just as A Ref was ready to call this match a DQ!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Is it just me, or does A Ref look disappointed?”
PHILO B. POPE: “It’s just you because the only people looking disappointed are the ones without tickets to this here thing we do.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh. Well. I liked my exposition better than your straight answer. C’mon! Join me in anthropomorphizing our masked Referee--oh… forgot. Solidarity, right oh Masked Philo?”
You can tell Stevie’s winded as he takes his time to move along the ring apron, sizing Genesis up as she now uses the ropes to bring her to her feet on the opposite side of the ring. Stevie Harris steps into the ring. Genesis charges him, Harris swings a clothesline, Gen blocks it, ducks under his arm, places a well-fired kick right to Harris’ gut then SLAMS Harris with a beautifully executed stunner that SHOCKS the crowd into a roar! she goes in for a very confident cover as REF slides into position to make the count!
PHILO B. POPE: “FOXHOLE!”
1…
2…
3--- NO!
2…
3--- NO!
Harris lifts a shoulder just in the nick of time!
PHILO B. POPE: “This is unbelievable! Harris tougher than a six dollar steak from the Waffle House and Hendrix kicks harder than cheap well whiskey!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How the hell…? Seriously. When did this company become the Cyborg Fighting Circuit-- Philo… I just had an AMAZING idea. Ready? We make… ROBOTS… and make them have WARS with each other on LIVE television! We’ll make a fortune and ditch this stupid Cyborg league.”
Gen is obviously not happy with Harris’ resilience either. She’s sat up and glaring down at Harris who laughs, in spite of blood and definite bruises and pains all over his battered body. A Ref looks at Gen defensively, he can tell the Hellcat is getting brutally angry. She stands, and looks about ready to make her way outside to add a little hardcore flavor only to find Stevie hooking her and rolling her up for a sudden roll-up pin!
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris with a school boy!”
1…
2….
3—KICKOUT!
2….
3—KICKOUT!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Gen almost had this stolen from under her.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’d have been pissed for this one to end like that!”
Harris is exhausted. Both wrestlers lay in the center of the ring panting for lost breath. A Ref stands over them, checking on either uncertainly. A Ref starts in the count!
1….
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I bet A Ref’s gonna be disappointed if he doesn’t make it to ten this time.”
2…
Neither wrestler is moving much beyond trying to catch their breath!
3….
PHILO B. POPE: “There is no way REF makes it to ten!”
4…
Harris shifts onto his back, but he might be toast at this point.
5….
Gen lies in a heap, but she’s showing signs of stirring!
6…
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Maybe in Ref’s mind ten comes after six…? Maybe?”
7….
Gen lifts her head, and crawls for the ropes, Harris similarly rolls himself onto all fours, and A Ref halts his count. Gen drags herself onto a wobbly stand with the help of the ropes, and Harris rises on his own power but definitely looks like he’s walked through hell and arrived right back in a wrestling ring with Genesis Hendrix. The two lock eyes, and Gen and Harris meet in the center of the ring and somehow find the energy and gumption to start trading blows. Fierce blows, too! Gen rocks Harris! Harris rocks Gen!
PHILO B. POPE: “Like rock-em sock-em robots!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “RIGHT? Now you’re talking. We can totally package that and sell it, right? It’ll be our ticket to the gravy train!”
The two warriors trade blows, and then Harris manages to grab Gen’s wrist when she swings a punch, he maneuvers behind her and locks in a sudden and unexpected SLEEPER HOLD!!!!
PHILO B. POPE: “Can I even call this one the “Stranglehold”? Or if I say that does The BombTrax music cue?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I think even the BombTrax would be scared to enter this battlefield.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Harris has his Stranglehold in deep and tight. This looks bad for Hendrix!”
Gen is fading fast! This has been a gauntlet of a match! Both hands lifted, elbows starting to dip, A Ref moves in to check on Gen as Stevie’s caught a second wind and is grinning up a storm at his newfound power position.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How the shit-eating grin does that bastard keep waking up like that? Does he have rechargeable batteries up his ass or something?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “Ego and pride come before the fall, Stevie Harris.”
Even though Gen looks to be succumbing, she fires a nasty elbow into Stevie Harris that shakes him, but not quite loose. He redoubles his efforts; only to find another elbow shot that sees Harris’ grip loosening. Then another! And another, enough to get Harris to release the sleeper. Gen turns and fires a fierce haymaker that staggers Harris. Another, and another! Gen is unloading and Harris is powerless to resist, left stunned in the center of the ring as Gen charges for the ropes for some momentum.
PHILO B. POPE: “Hendrix just hit Harris like he said it was ‘LAST CALL!’ And for someone, it’s about to be!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Just between me and you… I stopped cheering for Stevie like 3 seconds ago. I’m all Hendrix now, baby!”
Gen rebounds and returns, aiming a nasty lariat set to take Harris’ head off, but he ducks that, scoops Gen and SLAMS her to the mat with a wicked Military press slam! And Gen is PLANTED!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I mean Stevie. STEVIE HARRIS IS KING! I’m sorry for whatever Evil Constance said last show… I LOVE YOU!”
Stevie staggers to his feet, and this time, far less arrogantly than before slashes his throat. With far less theatrics, and far quicker than he did before, Harris staggers Hendrix up to her feet, sets her into a piledriver clutch! Gen is definitely not in good shape as Harris sets her up… AND NAILS Her with another Piledriver!
PHILO B. POPE: “FEAST OF CROWS ONE MORE AGAIN!!!”
Harris goes for the pin!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ouch… Did you know they call a group of Crows a Murder, Philo? Is that what just happened? Did Stevie just MURDER Genesis Hendrix? Good thing this ain’t live or we’d be cancelled.”
1…
2…
3!!!!!
2…
3!!!!!
Philo leaps out of his seat clapping loudly with his hands held up high encouraging the crowd to do the same.
PHILO B. POPE: “Nice motherfucking match you two! Way to start the show off right!”
Harris looks stunned he got the pin. Hendrix could be out cold as Harris staggers to his feet and needs the ropes to hold him up as Rhonda Armstrong enters.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Here is your winner… STEVIE…. HARRIS!!!!”
Unbeknownst to anyone, Harris has grabbed his noose and brought it back over to Genesis. She’s very nearly unconscious, and he’s threatening to coil it around her neck with a wicked cackle.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Whoa, dude. I was kidding about the murder bit. Can he do that?”
PHILO B. POPE: “He better not. Dude, it was a fair fight. Now, it’s over.”
4Loco pre-empts Harris by stepping up onto the ring apron and intimidating Harris inside the ring who throws up his hands in defense, the noose narrowly missing it’s chance to be wrapped around Gen’s throat. But Harris still intimates the potential for violence, and it drives 4Loco halfway into the ring.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Gonna be bad news if this shit goes down…”
Stevie rolls out to ringside damn fast. And 4Loco glares at him as he steals his way walking backwards on shaky, weakened legs up the ramp with a haughty grin. He can be heard to promise.
STEVIE HARRIS: “Next time, Genie… Next time…”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Who is this guy, Doctor Claw from Inspector Gadget or some shit?! Dude’s just evil.”
PHILO B. POPE: “And not only that, dude’s got the first win of the night, and the first win of his Pure Amusement career.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Seriously. Do we even need another match after that?”
The lights dim on the ring, and we are serenaded with the opening sounds of Mike Ness's "Misery Loves Company."
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Okay… so maybe we need whatever the hell this is going to be instead.”
From behind the curtain emerges the newly signed "Righteous" Ian Wright, wearing a white t-shirt with red and blue lettering that reads "Make America Wright Again." He holds a microphone in one hand, and has a gym bag draped over his shoulder.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Ladies and gentlemen, at this time please welcome, Ian Wright!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “If I pretend not to know who this is… do you think he’ll give me his phone number??”
PHILO B. POPE: “And if I have to tell another motherfucker to take it backstage and give me a minute in between matches…”
The fans do not respond kindly to the Righteous One. He pays them no mind, instead an all-business expression on his face. He enters the ring, motions for Rhonda to give him his space, and circles the ring with the mic in hand, waiting for a lull in the jeers that may never come.
Finally, Ian finds an opportunity to address the crowd.
IAN WRIGHT: “My fellow neighbors of Purity, I come here this evening with a message of hope…”
Ian lets the words sink in, with grandiose expectations that each and every person in the audience is hanging on his every word.
IAN WRIGHT: “I come here this evening with five little words that you can cling to…”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “The. Show. Is. Almost. Over?”
Ian paces back and forth a couple more times, making them wait for it.
IAN WRIGHT: “Never. Fear. Ian is here.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I was close. Wait… that’s not fiv- Nah. Nevermind. He’s right. Gotta keep ya' honest, Ian!”
The fans are dissatisfied with the message, and they are not shy about voicing their dissatisfaction. It's like their jeers have gone right over Ian's head.”
IAN WRIGHT: “That's right, say it with me-- never fear, Ian is here...When your son comes home with a tattoo on his neck of a marijuana leaf because of something he seen on Thursday night down at the arena, never fear-- Ian is here....”
More boos.
PHILO B. POPE: “Just look for the kids in the official Philo B. Pope mask and choose your flavor.”
IAN WRIGHT: “When your daughter comes home and tells you she needs a right over to the Puritan clinic down on Grand Ave near the farmer's market because of some wrestler she met over on Knux's Castle, never fear-- Ian is here.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How the hell does he know so much about me?!”
Now the boos have turned into an "Ian sucks!" chant. Ian shakes his head in disgust.
IAN WRIGHT: “When your loved one-- your son, daughter, brother, sister, grandma for that matter-- comes back from a night at Wicked as a potty-mouthed, belligerent miscreant that you no longer recognize-- never fear, Ian is here! You see, I know what you are going through. I feel your pain. I too am a fellow citizen of Purity. That's right, I am a Puritan at heart-- and you can’t have "Puritan" without "Ian"-- you'd just have ‘Purt.’”
Ian lets his logic sink in with the crowd-- who have no idea what the hell he's talking about.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You know… he has a point when you think of it. You literally CAN NOT spell the word without his name in it. Well, at least not without that sequence of letters...”
IAN WRIGHT: “The point is that I too have to live in a blemished, cursed, stained community like the rest of you, and it's all do to these hooligans who have moved into our neighborhood to peddle their vices and compromise everything that you and I stand for! I'm talking about sex addicts like Luke Knux--”
Big pop from the crowd.
IAN WRIGHT: “I'm talking about dopeheads like Philo Pope.”
Another big pop from the crowd.
PHILO B. POPE: “And the ‘B’ he forgot, stands for this dude is ‘BORING’!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Shut up. This is informative.”
IAN WRIGHT: “I'm talking about violence junkies like Jake Orton and Steve Harris and Frost, rotting the minds of our youth. I'm talking about people like Press and Flaming Youth-- who in the H-E-Double Hockey sticks wants their youth to be flaming!?!”
Ian feels himself getting worked up, so he takes a moment to calm himself.
IAN WRIGHT: “For those of you who share my message, my beliefs, my vision, I have five words for you-- never fear, Ian is here!”
Ian pauses for effect.
IAN WRIGHT: “And for the rest of you, I have five words as well-- get out of my city.”
Ian drops the mic and exits the ring.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: "Do you think someone should tell him this is actually a township?"
As Ian Wright heads back up the ramp towards backstage, Philo smirks and lights a blunt.
PHILO B. POPE: “Who let that dude in here, anyway? Xayachack and Munin gave out too many free tickets..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And that hurts their bottom line, the dolts. So… we’ve watched the most epic match ever watched on this earth, and now we learned that Ian Wright is the janitor of Purity, Louisiana. Philo, what’s next?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “Well if no one has anything to say backstage, then Saul Ledgitt and Kip Calhoun debut in P.A.W.”
KIP CALHOUN versus SAUL LEDGETT
The familiar guitar riff of "Final Countdown" by Europe, an anthem representing pure 80's cheese, echoes through the arena, and that can mean only one thing.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Introducing first, accompanied by his father Hoss Calhoun, and his two associates Chazz Landry and “Oregon” Dave, standing 6’1 and a 1/2 inches, …. KIP…. CALHOUNNNNN!!!!!”
Kip Calhoun emerges from behind the curtain, a scowl upon his face-- a mixture of contempt and cockiness-- as he looks over the crowd. At his side, his father, Hoss Calhoun, all business, he feeds Kip words of encouragement as the two strut with confidence toward the ring. Behind them are the strutting lackeys themselves, Chazz Landry and “Oregon” Dave. Not one to ignore a taunt, Kip jaws at several fans along the way.
PHILO B. POPE: “C’mon Kip. We all know that fine Momma of yours raised you better than that!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “She’s got it going on, I heard. My boy Knuxy said so, and he doesn't lie.”
When they reach ringside, Kip works his way up the steps and into the ring, where he throws his hands in the air, walking a circle around the inside perimeter, to the dismay of all in attendance. Chazz Landry remains on the outside and moves to one side of the ring, “Oregon” Dave the other, both pound their knuckles into their palms hinting malice. Hoss Calhoun moves rather briskly towards the announce table.
PHILO B. POPE: “I actually meant that as a compliment..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. Kip’s Dad looks nothing like him. Bunny really DOES have it going on.”
Hoss is given a headset as he pulls up a seat next to Constance and Philo.
PHILO B. POPE: “Hoss Calhoun, welcome to ringside.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Spare me your falsity. I heard what you said. Both of you. And this is exactly why I came down here to ensure nobody interferes in my son’s match today. Not play by play. Not Color Commentary. And most of all not Saul Ledgett.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Whaaaaat? You know we have nothing but the utmost respect for you and your crazy family, Hoss-i-kins.”
Hoss shoots Constance a disparaging look. But before he can launch into a tirade “Guilty All The Same” by Linkin Park hits and blue and green flashes light up the arena. It doesn’t take long before out steps Saul Ledgett, something between a smirk and a scowl across his face as he stares at the ring ahead of him, taking his eyes from it only to look down at the briefcase in his hand, adjusting his tie as he calmly steps down toward the ring one foot after the other.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “And his opponent standing 6 foot 2 inches and tipping the scales at 233 pounds…. SAUL…. LEDGETT!
HOSS CALHOUN: “And there he is. The man himself. Let me tell you, the last wrestling lawyer I met is dead now. So I don’t expect big things from Mr. Ledgett.”
PHILO B. POPE: “And that makes you one of the very few who do not.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wait. Are you implying that you killed a man?”
HOSS CALHOUN: “No. Natural causes. But that lawyer never amounted to anything, and if this Saul Ledgett character is anything like that poor sod, neither will he.”
Saul walks around the ring flicking out his business cards at the fans, gesturing for them to call him, and ever mindful of “Oregon” Dave and Chazz Landry before rolling into the ring and thrusting both arms into the air, loosening his tie and removing his jacket, calmly folding it over the ropes in his corner.
Before the ring bell dings, Saul turns to catch Chazz Landry about to peek inside of his briefcase. Saul points him out with an angry shake of his head that sends Chazz backing off with arms raised defensively.
PHILO B. POPE: “Something tells me that this match is not going to be by the book..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Excuse me? By the book? What book? I write the book. And the book says this is match is ‘all legit’ so can it.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Reer.”
Saul looks ready to cross over the ropes and sock Landry in the mouth but Calhoun charges in behind him and bull rushes Saul right into the corner, and the ring bell dings!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. Kip’s rearing to go here.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “He ought to be. We’ve been preparing for this match morning, noon, and night. Thatta boy, Kip.”
Saul finds himself trapped with his back to Calhoun who quickly grips the back of his head and RAKES his eyes across the ropes then SLAMS his face into the turnbuckle and backs off with a cocky chuckle out at the fans, Kip eyes Hoss for approval as Saul winces and turns around in his corner to catch his breath.
PHILO B. POPE: “Oh, I think he is looking for another one of those, Hoss..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “The boy’s a fine wrestler, but he’s not overly bright. He gets that from his mother, I’m afraid.”
Chazz Landry, on the outside, slowly inches closer and Saul has to keep one pained eye on Chazz as he steps from his corner towards Kip.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “This is going to be the cheapest match ever. No offense, Hoss.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Hardly. This is what, in the big leagues, is called: 'strategy'. Maybe if some of the P.A.W. roster watches closely, they might learn a thing or two. Kip’s playing this game like a well-oiled chessmaster. And I’m afraid Mr. Ledgett’s just not going to be able to keep up.”
Saul rubs his eyes and draws Kip in for a collar and elbow tie-up which Kip mistakenly comes out the worse in as Saul manages to bear down on Kip and back him towards the ropes, and then sends out a LOUD knife edge chop that makes the fans wince.
PHILO B. POPE: “Now that’s going to leave a mark..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Now that’s cheap. Is he allowed to use the whole hand like that?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “It’s a knife-edge-- Nevermind. Sorry, Hoss. Yes. BAD SAUL! BAD! QUIT USING LEGITIMATE WRESTLING TACTICS AGAINST KIP CALHOUN!”
Backing up, Kip’s chest reddened from that massive chop, Saul has enough room to send in a series of stiff kicks to Kip’s midsection before moving in and sending Kip racing across the ring, rebounding off the ropes back to Saul as he aims a clothesline for Kip who ducks it, rebounds off the opposite ropes and catches Saul from behind, hooks the arms and delivers a massive belly-to-back suplex that Kip follows into a sudden schoolboy pin!
PHILO B. POPE: “Talk about cheap!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Slow counts. Kip had that.”
PHILO B. POPE: “REF is always on point with a perfect cadence to his count.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You tell him, Philo! Sorry, Hoss.”
Saul almost rolls out of the ring but catches himself just beneath the bottom rope when he sees “Oregon” Dave awaiting him. Kip is up and debating with A Ref about his “slow count”, giving “Oregon” Dave ample time to steal in for some punches. But the joke’s on him, Saul uses a foot to hook the back of “Oregon” Dave’s head and sends him careening across the ring steps awkwardly!
PHILO B. POPE: “S’all legit..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Oh come on! Can you believe that? Dave wasn’t going to cause much trouble.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s not what it looked like from where I'm sit-- Sorry, Hoss. You’re absolutely right.”
Saul is on his feet as Kip is half-pouting at his failed distraction. He lunges for Saul with a running elbow; Saul grabs the momentum and slams Kip across his knee with a sudden and jarring tilt-a-whirl backbreaker!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. Saul Ledgett is bad-ass-- I mean… oh, screw it. He is. Even you can admit it, Hoss-i-pooh.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Well done. But his foot should have been back a bit more. His form needs a lot of work. Like Kip’s here, obviously.”
Chazz Landry is back at Saul’s briefcase. And before Saul can follow up his assault on Kip, he’s forced to move over to the ring ropes closest Chazz to call him out.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He must have some really important documents in that briefcase to want to protect it so badly.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Knowing these lawyer types he’s probably keeping a sock full of dimes to sack my son with when the match isn’t going in his favor.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Which might not ever happen with Chazz and Dave in the way..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “S’all Legit.”
A Ref is trying to get Saul focused on the match, Saul’s angrily readying to leave the ring after Chazz who’s taunting Saul with his briefcase. Will he open it? Will he not? Any of these two options could happen in Chazz’ cunning plans.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Just open the damn thing. It’s probably just full of crackers and shredded paper or some shit.”
Chazz gives Kip plenty of time to get to his feet, a snarky grin on his face as he capitalizes on Saul’s distraction, charging at him from behind only to find Saul was aware of Kip the entire time, ducking and watching Kip nosedive right over the ropes into Chazz Landry! The two of them slam painfully onto the concrete with Chazz taking the brunt of the fall!
PHILO B. POPE: “That briefcase is smarter than Dave and Chazz combined!”
HOSS CALHOUN (chuckles): “You’re probably right.”
Saul is on the inside grinning at his cleverness, watching Kip pulling himself up after that nasty spill that may have crushed poor Chazz Landry into oblivion. A Ref starts the count.
Saul’s grinning from ear to ear, cockily rolling his shoulders and hopping in place in the ring. Hoss at the announce booth looks unimpressed.
HOSS CALHOUN: “I think that boy may be on performance enhancing drugs. Has he been psyche evaluated? Are there legitimate testing facilities at this site?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Let’s hope not!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ohhhh. I get it. Cause of all the weed.”
A Ref has gotten the count up to 4 on Kip who’s stalking the outside of the ring in a huff. “Oregon” Dave has made his way onto the ring apron behind Saul and grabbed his attention. As Saul assesses “Oregon” Dave’s threat level, Kip breaks A Ref’s count by hopping onto the opposite ring apron, and climbs inside unbeknownst to the distracted Saul. Kip has evil intent written all over him as he sneaks up on Saul.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Seriously… has anyone ever seen Spider-Man and Saul LEdgett in the same ring? This guy’s gotta have spider-sense to avoid all the traps awaiting him.
PHILO B. POPE: “Maybe they’re just everywhere and hard to miss..”
Kip swings in for a double axe handle, but Saul expects it, and ducks it letting Kip rush in at “Oregon” Dave, but this time Kip expected Saul’s reversal, and stops just short of taking down “Oregon” Dave.
HOSS CALHOUN: “Atta boy, Kip. You’re doing great.”
Kip turns on a dime, and gouges Saul’s eyes viciously.
PHILO B. POPE: “That kid is cheap. Good training him Hoss..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Well… he gets that from his momma.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Yeah. We heard. And saw. And sang along..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...Kippy’s mom… has GOTTTT IT GOING ON! -- Sorry, Hoss.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “That’s fine. The Wheeler kid will get his soon enough, right after Kip here dismantles Saul Ledgett, and clears a path right through to the P.A.W. Championship. Assuming the federationdoesn't collapse under mismanagement before then.”
Saul is pained, and Kip takes full advantage, tangling Saul into a suplex clutch, and driving him up for a snap suplex that Kip kips up out of and onto the fallen Saul and hooks the leg for a cover.
HOSS CALHOUN: “Say hello to your next Champeen, folks.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Not so fast there Hoss. That dude VACANT is still champ around these parts.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “And I’m sure he’s a fine wrestler, until my boy beats him for the belt. Atta boy, Kip!”
Kip slaps the mat in frustration at A Ref’s poor counting. By now Chazz Landry has fumbled his way to a grumpy stand and a sore neck, Saul’s briefcase is elsewhere. Saul stops himself from rolling out of the ring to recover, as “Oregon” Dave preps for a beatdown. Kip and A Ref argue, and Saul has enough time to use the ropes to bring him to his feet.
PHILO B. POPE: “Legit is up, Calhoun has his back to the action. Does he get that from his Momma, Hoss?”
HOSS CALHOUN: “I can only train the boy, I can’t make sure he learns, you know?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well, to be fair, emphasis on good training is the responsibility of the teacher, NOT the pupil. So if Kip sucks it’s kinda your fault, Hoss.”
The sight of Saul on his feet angers Kip and he lunges at him, hammering Saul to his knees with several shots to the chest and face. Kip stands Saul up and backs him into the corner, prepping a hammer toss only to find it suddenly reversed by Saul who slaps Kip into a belly-to-belly suplex that HAMMERS Kip into the canvas!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. Saul’s a powerhouse.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “He got lucky.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Maybe Kip is just light in the ass. And he did NOT get that from his Momma!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He’s got you there, Hoss.”
Saul doesn’t waste time, having eyes in the back of his head watching as “Oregon” Dave paces the outside angrily, and Chazz Landry’s recovered enough to be plotting a swift revenge. Saul traps Kip’s head and locks a dragon sleeper on in the center of the ring! Kip groans in agony!
PHILO B. POPE: “Ledgitt has that hold locked in tight. Calhoun is going nowhere!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Get in there, Dave!”
Both Chazz and “Oregon” Dave look for an opportunity to enter to rescue Kip. A Ref has slid in and is checking Kip as Saul watches the outside. Neither outside man can enter and Saul has a cheeky grin for both of them which keeps them at bay. Saul locked the hold in even tighter. Kip’s arm dangled limply as if he were about to lose consciousness when it suddenly raised and struck Ledgitt hard between the legs. As Saul dropped, Kip stood and is quick to capitalize, leaping onto the downed Saul and locking on a guillotine choke!
HOSS CALHOUN: “Like clockwork. Atta boy, Kip!”
PHILO B. POPE: “So Calhoun is a cheater. At least we know where he got that from..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Kippy’s mom has got--”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Let’s leave Kip’s mother at home where she belongs, shall we?”
Saul struggles, Kip has it locked on tight, Chazz and “Oregon” Dave are all ready to have the ring bell rung. But Saul’s determination to power through the hold is excruciating. Much to Kip’s dismay, first Saul manages to scoop him across the ring before lifting up to his knees, slooooooooowly, with a titanic struggle that has Kip nervously hanging on and pumping the hold for all it’s worth!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I’ve decided that Saul Ledgett has EARNED this win.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Aren’t you the one everybody hates?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well… the truth hurts. And I only ever speak the truth, Hossy-poops.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Ledgitt has at least earned our respect, which is more than I can say for...any Calhoun. Whether in attendance, or left at home.”
Saul, in tremendously excruciating pain, fights through Kip’s guillotine choke to shakily lift both he AND Kip up to a stand. Kip can sense the futility of keeping the hold on, and just as he’s got his feet firmly beneath him, Saul repositions enough to SNAP SUPLEX Kip over and the ring shudders. And Saul doesn’t let go, rolling and dragging an unsuspecting Kip back up to a stand with him!
PHILO B. POPE: “And who says Calhoun can’t get hit with “double jeopardy!??!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Oh, come on! Bad positioning, Kip. We covered this. This boy doesn’t learn.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But Saul did. See? THAT is impressive.”
ANOTHER SNAP SUPLEX! And Saul drags Kip up for one more only to find Kip’s blocking it with a well placed foot behind Saul’s shin! And just as unexpectedly, it’s Kip’s turn to suplex Saul!
HOSS CALHOUN: “Thatta boy, Kip. About time. As good a mat wrestler as they come. But make no mistake, Kip’s suplex game is as fine as any you’ll ever see.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “As fine as Jamie Wheeler’s?”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Please. If the kid can find the ring, he’ll show you the only thing he’s good at is losing.”
And he’s not done. Taking a page from Saul’s playbook, Kip rises with Saul in tow and executes another Snap suplex! And Kip goes for another, dragging Saul to his feet, but Saul, not to be outdone, slips out of Kip’s grip, shifts in and executes a northern lights suplex then transfers deftly into a bridging pin!
PHILO B. POPE: “If we can keep Chazz, Oregon Dave and the briefcase that’s smarter than them both out of the way, we have ourselves a match!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeah. What gives. I thought you Calhouns were supposed to be on the high ground, yet here you all are cheat-- I mean…'Strategizing'. Good work, Hoss! ATTA BOY, KIP!”
Constance eyes Hoss nervously who stares at vaguely. Kip manages out of the pin, but Saul isn’t about to let up. He drags Kip up to a stand and delivers a stiff roundhouse kick to the back of Kip’s head that topples him right back down. And Saul is all cocky celebration at having felled Kip.
HOSS CALHOUN: “This is ridiculous. Did someone check his boots? Are those steel-heeled?”
PHILO B. POPE: “They look about half as thick as “Oregon” Dave’s skull..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Score one for you, Philo. I can’t argue with you.”
Kip flounders like a fish out of water, the kick to the head did a lot of damage. Saul gets his dance on before charging for the ropes, staying ever-mindful of “Oregon” Dave who stalks him, then Saul rebounds and drops a STIFF elbow to the back of Kip that he could be accused of overselling!
PHILO B. POPE: “ELBOW DROP!!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “This is outrageous. If Kip had done his homework instead of playing videogames at the arcade you have here he wouldn’t be in this mess.”
And Saul isn’t done there, he’s up and leapfrogging the downed and all-but finished Kip to rebound off the other ropes, once again staying vigilant to avoid Chazz Landry, Saul returns and drops a big KNEE onto Kip’s kidney!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Sorry ‘bout your luck, Hoss. But your boy there is about to lose even with the goon squad helping out.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Match isn’t over yet.”
Saul is all energy now as he stands at Kip’s head, plants a boot or two, then reaches down and grabs Kip’s head and Saul grips Kip up into a tight Triangle choke that is his finisher!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And Justice For Saul. Great Metal album name. Maybe I’ll suggest it to Knuxy next time I see him.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Give me a break.”
Kip is struggling to breathe! A Ref swings in ready to signal for the bell! Hoss looks ready to intervene himself. Kip’s in pain, and it’s clear he can’t hold out longer. A Ref checks, and Saul is nodding his head in a growing affirmation that he’s got this! The crowd is roaring…. And then “Oregon” Dave slips in the ring out of A Ref’s view and TUGS at Saul’s leg, forcing him off the hold!
PHILO B. POPE: “Oh give me a fucking break!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Atta boy, Dave!”
Kip is in center ring, and Saul is angry at the interference. He’s pointing “Oregon” Dave out to A Ref who clearly didn’t see the interference.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. I never noticed it before. But heels are assholes. I need to think about how I’m living my life.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Depends on your definition of ‘heel’, sweetheart. In my mind, Saul Ledgett’s the bad guy for trying to hurt Kip. Fair is fair. He’s defending himself.”
Kip is in so much pain he’s not even on Saul’s radar who, instead, points out the circling Chazz Landry to A Ref, obviously making an impassioned, lawyerly plea for A Ref to see the simple scam these three are working.
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s the last one you need to worry about Ledgitt!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Seriously. How is he supposed to win?! There’s gorillas outside the ring… and a moron inside the ring… and poor A Ref has a MASK on. Sorry, Philo. It’s true.”
A Ref shrugs it off, there’s nothing he can do, and “Oregon” Dave steps onto the ring apron to argue his side of the story at A Ref. Saul isn’t hearing it and stomps away from the little conference over to the still out-of-it Kip, and stands him up. Kip is pretty well punch-drunk as Saul delivers a knife edge chop, then another, and another. The crowd is on it’s feet!
HOSS CALHOUN: “Come on, Kip! Stand up for yourself!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’d be a first!”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s the first thing he should’ve learned from his Daddy!”
Saul is buoyed by momentum and bounces off the nearby ropes. At this time, Chazz Landry has stepped onto the apron still wielding Saul’s briefcase without A Ref seeing it, Saul runs right into the edge of his briefcase hard right between the eyes sending Saul staggering unexpectedly right into a semi-recovered Kip who grips Saul into a Belly-To-Back Suplex! WHAM! And he follows it into a bridging pin!
PHILO B. POPE: “I OBJECT!!!”
“Oregon” Dave has conceded his argument and let A Ref get back to the action while Chazz Landry is down and away from the ring quick as a cat with A Ref none the wiser. Seeing Kip’s bridging pin, A Ref swings down for the cover!
HOSS CALHOUN: “Atta boy, Kip! Just like in practice!”
PHILO B. POPE: “This has got to be a mis-trial!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow… that is so unbelievably unfair. Way to screw Ledgett out of a legit win, Calhoun family.”
Kip is on his feet with a winning smile already lifting his arms before A Ref can signal for the bell.
PHILO B. POPE: “C’mon Hoss. You really want your son, your legacy, to begin his career in P.A.W. like this?”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Have you met my son? He’s lucky he’s not still in diapers right now. Besides, a win’s a win.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You really can’t argue with that logic.”
The bell dings and Chazz Landry and “Oregon” Dave are into the ring to hoist Kip onto their shoulders for a proud victory lap of the ring.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Here is your winner… KIP…. CALHOUN!!!!!!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Well, I’d say it’s been fun but… we all know it hasn’t. Thanks for disrespecting my marital situation routinely, and I look forward to the eventual legal quagmire this federation finds itself in after it squanders all it’s talent, and goes tits up before the end of the first fiscal quarter.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ouch… wait… YEAH! HAHAHAHAHA. SCREW YOU, P.A.W.!!!
Hoss removes his headset, fixes his suit jacket and tie and moves to join Kip, Chazz and “Oregon” Dave as they move up the ramp.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So glad he’s gone. I bet you need a smoke break after that, don’t you Philo?”
PHILO B. POPE: “A nice long one too..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wait for it…. Wait for it…. LOOK! THE RED LI--”
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Introducing first, accompanied by his father Hoss Calhoun, and his two associates Chazz Landry and “Oregon” Dave, standing 6’1 and a 1/2 inches, …. KIP…. CALHOUNNNNN!!!!!”
Kip Calhoun emerges from behind the curtain, a scowl upon his face-- a mixture of contempt and cockiness-- as he looks over the crowd. At his side, his father, Hoss Calhoun, all business, he feeds Kip words of encouragement as the two strut with confidence toward the ring. Behind them are the strutting lackeys themselves, Chazz Landry and “Oregon” Dave. Not one to ignore a taunt, Kip jaws at several fans along the way.
PHILO B. POPE: “C’mon Kip. We all know that fine Momma of yours raised you better than that!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “She’s got it going on, I heard. My boy Knuxy said so, and he doesn't lie.”
When they reach ringside, Kip works his way up the steps and into the ring, where he throws his hands in the air, walking a circle around the inside perimeter, to the dismay of all in attendance. Chazz Landry remains on the outside and moves to one side of the ring, “Oregon” Dave the other, both pound their knuckles into their palms hinting malice. Hoss Calhoun moves rather briskly towards the announce table.
PHILO B. POPE: “I actually meant that as a compliment..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. Kip’s Dad looks nothing like him. Bunny really DOES have it going on.”
Hoss is given a headset as he pulls up a seat next to Constance and Philo.
PHILO B. POPE: “Hoss Calhoun, welcome to ringside.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Spare me your falsity. I heard what you said. Both of you. And this is exactly why I came down here to ensure nobody interferes in my son’s match today. Not play by play. Not Color Commentary. And most of all not Saul Ledgett.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Whaaaaat? You know we have nothing but the utmost respect for you and your crazy family, Hoss-i-kins.”
Hoss shoots Constance a disparaging look. But before he can launch into a tirade “Guilty All The Same” by Linkin Park hits and blue and green flashes light up the arena. It doesn’t take long before out steps Saul Ledgett, something between a smirk and a scowl across his face as he stares at the ring ahead of him, taking his eyes from it only to look down at the briefcase in his hand, adjusting his tie as he calmly steps down toward the ring one foot after the other.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “And his opponent standing 6 foot 2 inches and tipping the scales at 233 pounds…. SAUL…. LEDGETT!
HOSS CALHOUN: “And there he is. The man himself. Let me tell you, the last wrestling lawyer I met is dead now. So I don’t expect big things from Mr. Ledgett.”
PHILO B. POPE: “And that makes you one of the very few who do not.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wait. Are you implying that you killed a man?”
HOSS CALHOUN: “No. Natural causes. But that lawyer never amounted to anything, and if this Saul Ledgett character is anything like that poor sod, neither will he.”
Saul walks around the ring flicking out his business cards at the fans, gesturing for them to call him, and ever mindful of “Oregon” Dave and Chazz Landry before rolling into the ring and thrusting both arms into the air, loosening his tie and removing his jacket, calmly folding it over the ropes in his corner.
Before the ring bell dings, Saul turns to catch Chazz Landry about to peek inside of his briefcase. Saul points him out with an angry shake of his head that sends Chazz backing off with arms raised defensively.
PHILO B. POPE: “Something tells me that this match is not going to be by the book..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Excuse me? By the book? What book? I write the book. And the book says this is match is ‘all legit’ so can it.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Reer.”
Saul looks ready to cross over the ropes and sock Landry in the mouth but Calhoun charges in behind him and bull rushes Saul right into the corner, and the ring bell dings!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. Kip’s rearing to go here.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “He ought to be. We’ve been preparing for this match morning, noon, and night. Thatta boy, Kip.”
Saul finds himself trapped with his back to Calhoun who quickly grips the back of his head and RAKES his eyes across the ropes then SLAMS his face into the turnbuckle and backs off with a cocky chuckle out at the fans, Kip eyes Hoss for approval as Saul winces and turns around in his corner to catch his breath.
PHILO B. POPE: “Oh, I think he is looking for another one of those, Hoss..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “The boy’s a fine wrestler, but he’s not overly bright. He gets that from his mother, I’m afraid.”
Chazz Landry, on the outside, slowly inches closer and Saul has to keep one pained eye on Chazz as he steps from his corner towards Kip.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “This is going to be the cheapest match ever. No offense, Hoss.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Hardly. This is what, in the big leagues, is called: 'strategy'. Maybe if some of the P.A.W. roster watches closely, they might learn a thing or two. Kip’s playing this game like a well-oiled chessmaster. And I’m afraid Mr. Ledgett’s just not going to be able to keep up.”
Saul rubs his eyes and draws Kip in for a collar and elbow tie-up which Kip mistakenly comes out the worse in as Saul manages to bear down on Kip and back him towards the ropes, and then sends out a LOUD knife edge chop that makes the fans wince.
PHILO B. POPE: “Now that’s going to leave a mark..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Now that’s cheap. Is he allowed to use the whole hand like that?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “It’s a knife-edge-- Nevermind. Sorry, Hoss. Yes. BAD SAUL! BAD! QUIT USING LEGITIMATE WRESTLING TACTICS AGAINST KIP CALHOUN!”
Backing up, Kip’s chest reddened from that massive chop, Saul has enough room to send in a series of stiff kicks to Kip’s midsection before moving in and sending Kip racing across the ring, rebounding off the ropes back to Saul as he aims a clothesline for Kip who ducks it, rebounds off the opposite ropes and catches Saul from behind, hooks the arms and delivers a massive belly-to-back suplex that Kip follows into a sudden schoolboy pin!
PHILO B. POPE: “Talk about cheap!”
1….
2…
KICKOUT
2…
KICKOUT
HOSS CALHOUN: “Slow counts. Kip had that.”
PHILO B. POPE: “REF is always on point with a perfect cadence to his count.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You tell him, Philo! Sorry, Hoss.”
Saul almost rolls out of the ring but catches himself just beneath the bottom rope when he sees “Oregon” Dave awaiting him. Kip is up and debating with A Ref about his “slow count”, giving “Oregon” Dave ample time to steal in for some punches. But the joke’s on him, Saul uses a foot to hook the back of “Oregon” Dave’s head and sends him careening across the ring steps awkwardly!
PHILO B. POPE: “S’all legit..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Oh come on! Can you believe that? Dave wasn’t going to cause much trouble.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s not what it looked like from where I'm sit-- Sorry, Hoss. You’re absolutely right.”
Saul is on his feet as Kip is half-pouting at his failed distraction. He lunges for Saul with a running elbow; Saul grabs the momentum and slams Kip across his knee with a sudden and jarring tilt-a-whirl backbreaker!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. Saul Ledgett is bad-ass-- I mean… oh, screw it. He is. Even you can admit it, Hoss-i-pooh.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Well done. But his foot should have been back a bit more. His form needs a lot of work. Like Kip’s here, obviously.”
Chazz Landry is back at Saul’s briefcase. And before Saul can follow up his assault on Kip, he’s forced to move over to the ring ropes closest Chazz to call him out.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He must have some really important documents in that briefcase to want to protect it so badly.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Knowing these lawyer types he’s probably keeping a sock full of dimes to sack my son with when the match isn’t going in his favor.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Which might not ever happen with Chazz and Dave in the way..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “S’all Legit.”
A Ref is trying to get Saul focused on the match, Saul’s angrily readying to leave the ring after Chazz who’s taunting Saul with his briefcase. Will he open it? Will he not? Any of these two options could happen in Chazz’ cunning plans.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Just open the damn thing. It’s probably just full of crackers and shredded paper or some shit.”
Chazz gives Kip plenty of time to get to his feet, a snarky grin on his face as he capitalizes on Saul’s distraction, charging at him from behind only to find Saul was aware of Kip the entire time, ducking and watching Kip nosedive right over the ropes into Chazz Landry! The two of them slam painfully onto the concrete with Chazz taking the brunt of the fall!
PHILO B. POPE: “That briefcase is smarter than Dave and Chazz combined!”
HOSS CALHOUN (chuckles): “You’re probably right.”
Saul is on the inside grinning at his cleverness, watching Kip pulling himself up after that nasty spill that may have crushed poor Chazz Landry into oblivion. A Ref starts the count.
1…..
2…
2…
Saul’s grinning from ear to ear, cockily rolling his shoulders and hopping in place in the ring. Hoss at the announce booth looks unimpressed.
HOSS CALHOUN: “I think that boy may be on performance enhancing drugs. Has he been psyche evaluated? Are there legitimate testing facilities at this site?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Let’s hope not!”
3…..
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ohhhh. I get it. Cause of all the weed.”
A Ref has gotten the count up to 4 on Kip who’s stalking the outside of the ring in a huff. “Oregon” Dave has made his way onto the ring apron behind Saul and grabbed his attention. As Saul assesses “Oregon” Dave’s threat level, Kip breaks A Ref’s count by hopping onto the opposite ring apron, and climbs inside unbeknownst to the distracted Saul. Kip has evil intent written all over him as he sneaks up on Saul.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Seriously… has anyone ever seen Spider-Man and Saul LEdgett in the same ring? This guy’s gotta have spider-sense to avoid all the traps awaiting him.
PHILO B. POPE: “Maybe they’re just everywhere and hard to miss..”
Kip swings in for a double axe handle, but Saul expects it, and ducks it letting Kip rush in at “Oregon” Dave, but this time Kip expected Saul’s reversal, and stops just short of taking down “Oregon” Dave.
HOSS CALHOUN: “Atta boy, Kip. You’re doing great.”
Kip turns on a dime, and gouges Saul’s eyes viciously.
PHILO B. POPE: “That kid is cheap. Good training him Hoss..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Well… he gets that from his momma.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Yeah. We heard. And saw. And sang along..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “...Kippy’s mom… has GOTTTT IT GOING ON! -- Sorry, Hoss.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “That’s fine. The Wheeler kid will get his soon enough, right after Kip here dismantles Saul Ledgett, and clears a path right through to the P.A.W. Championship. Assuming the federationdoesn't collapse under mismanagement before then.”
Saul is pained, and Kip takes full advantage, tangling Saul into a suplex clutch, and driving him up for a snap suplex that Kip kips up out of and onto the fallen Saul and hooks the leg for a cover.
HOSS CALHOUN: “Say hello to your next Champeen, folks.”
1….
2…
KICKOUT!
2…
KICKOUT!
PHILO B. POPE: “Not so fast there Hoss. That dude VACANT is still champ around these parts.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “And I’m sure he’s a fine wrestler, until my boy beats him for the belt. Atta boy, Kip!”
Kip slaps the mat in frustration at A Ref’s poor counting. By now Chazz Landry has fumbled his way to a grumpy stand and a sore neck, Saul’s briefcase is elsewhere. Saul stops himself from rolling out of the ring to recover, as “Oregon” Dave preps for a beatdown. Kip and A Ref argue, and Saul has enough time to use the ropes to bring him to his feet.
PHILO B. POPE: “Legit is up, Calhoun has his back to the action. Does he get that from his Momma, Hoss?”
HOSS CALHOUN: “I can only train the boy, I can’t make sure he learns, you know?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well, to be fair, emphasis on good training is the responsibility of the teacher, NOT the pupil. So if Kip sucks it’s kinda your fault, Hoss.”
The sight of Saul on his feet angers Kip and he lunges at him, hammering Saul to his knees with several shots to the chest and face. Kip stands Saul up and backs him into the corner, prepping a hammer toss only to find it suddenly reversed by Saul who slaps Kip into a belly-to-belly suplex that HAMMERS Kip into the canvas!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. Saul’s a powerhouse.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “He got lucky.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Maybe Kip is just light in the ass. And he did NOT get that from his Momma!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He’s got you there, Hoss.”
Saul doesn’t waste time, having eyes in the back of his head watching as “Oregon” Dave paces the outside angrily, and Chazz Landry’s recovered enough to be plotting a swift revenge. Saul traps Kip’s head and locks a dragon sleeper on in the center of the ring! Kip groans in agony!
PHILO B. POPE: “Ledgitt has that hold locked in tight. Calhoun is going nowhere!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Get in there, Dave!”
Both Chazz and “Oregon” Dave look for an opportunity to enter to rescue Kip. A Ref has slid in and is checking Kip as Saul watches the outside. Neither outside man can enter and Saul has a cheeky grin for both of them which keeps them at bay. Saul locked the hold in even tighter. Kip’s arm dangled limply as if he were about to lose consciousness when it suddenly raised and struck Ledgitt hard between the legs. As Saul dropped, Kip stood and is quick to capitalize, leaping onto the downed Saul and locking on a guillotine choke!
HOSS CALHOUN: “Like clockwork. Atta boy, Kip!”
PHILO B. POPE: “So Calhoun is a cheater. At least we know where he got that from..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Kippy’s mom has got--”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Let’s leave Kip’s mother at home where she belongs, shall we?”
Saul struggles, Kip has it locked on tight, Chazz and “Oregon” Dave are all ready to have the ring bell rung. But Saul’s determination to power through the hold is excruciating. Much to Kip’s dismay, first Saul manages to scoop him across the ring before lifting up to his knees, slooooooooowly, with a titanic struggle that has Kip nervously hanging on and pumping the hold for all it’s worth!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I’ve decided that Saul Ledgett has EARNED this win.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Aren’t you the one everybody hates?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well… the truth hurts. And I only ever speak the truth, Hossy-poops.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Ledgitt has at least earned our respect, which is more than I can say for...any Calhoun. Whether in attendance, or left at home.”
Saul, in tremendously excruciating pain, fights through Kip’s guillotine choke to shakily lift both he AND Kip up to a stand. Kip can sense the futility of keeping the hold on, and just as he’s got his feet firmly beneath him, Saul repositions enough to SNAP SUPLEX Kip over and the ring shudders. And Saul doesn’t let go, rolling and dragging an unsuspecting Kip back up to a stand with him!
PHILO B. POPE: “And who says Calhoun can’t get hit with “double jeopardy!??!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Oh, come on! Bad positioning, Kip. We covered this. This boy doesn’t learn.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But Saul did. See? THAT is impressive.”
ANOTHER SNAP SUPLEX! And Saul drags Kip up for one more only to find Kip’s blocking it with a well placed foot behind Saul’s shin! And just as unexpectedly, it’s Kip’s turn to suplex Saul!
HOSS CALHOUN: “Thatta boy, Kip. About time. As good a mat wrestler as they come. But make no mistake, Kip’s suplex game is as fine as any you’ll ever see.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “As fine as Jamie Wheeler’s?”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Please. If the kid can find the ring, he’ll show you the only thing he’s good at is losing.”
And he’s not done. Taking a page from Saul’s playbook, Kip rises with Saul in tow and executes another Snap suplex! And Kip goes for another, dragging Saul to his feet, but Saul, not to be outdone, slips out of Kip’s grip, shifts in and executes a northern lights suplex then transfers deftly into a bridging pin!
1…
2….
KICKOUT!
2….
KICKOUT!
PHILO B. POPE: “If we can keep Chazz, Oregon Dave and the briefcase that’s smarter than them both out of the way, we have ourselves a match!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeah. What gives. I thought you Calhouns were supposed to be on the high ground, yet here you all are cheat-- I mean…'Strategizing'. Good work, Hoss! ATTA BOY, KIP!”
Constance eyes Hoss nervously who stares at vaguely. Kip manages out of the pin, but Saul isn’t about to let up. He drags Kip up to a stand and delivers a stiff roundhouse kick to the back of Kip’s head that topples him right back down. And Saul is all cocky celebration at having felled Kip.
HOSS CALHOUN: “This is ridiculous. Did someone check his boots? Are those steel-heeled?”
PHILO B. POPE: “They look about half as thick as “Oregon” Dave’s skull..”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Score one for you, Philo. I can’t argue with you.”
Kip flounders like a fish out of water, the kick to the head did a lot of damage. Saul gets his dance on before charging for the ropes, staying ever-mindful of “Oregon” Dave who stalks him, then Saul rebounds and drops a STIFF elbow to the back of Kip that he could be accused of overselling!
PHILO B. POPE: “ELBOW DROP!!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “This is outrageous. If Kip had done his homework instead of playing videogames at the arcade you have here he wouldn’t be in this mess.”
And Saul isn’t done there, he’s up and leapfrogging the downed and all-but finished Kip to rebound off the other ropes, once again staying vigilant to avoid Chazz Landry, Saul returns and drops a big KNEE onto Kip’s kidney!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Sorry ‘bout your luck, Hoss. But your boy there is about to lose even with the goon squad helping out.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Match isn’t over yet.”
Saul is all energy now as he stands at Kip’s head, plants a boot or two, then reaches down and grabs Kip’s head and Saul grips Kip up into a tight Triangle choke that is his finisher!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And Justice For Saul. Great Metal album name. Maybe I’ll suggest it to Knuxy next time I see him.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Give me a break.”
Kip is struggling to breathe! A Ref swings in ready to signal for the bell! Hoss looks ready to intervene himself. Kip’s in pain, and it’s clear he can’t hold out longer. A Ref checks, and Saul is nodding his head in a growing affirmation that he’s got this! The crowd is roaring…. And then “Oregon” Dave slips in the ring out of A Ref’s view and TUGS at Saul’s leg, forcing him off the hold!
PHILO B. POPE: “Oh give me a fucking break!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Atta boy, Dave!”
Kip is in center ring, and Saul is angry at the interference. He’s pointing “Oregon” Dave out to A Ref who clearly didn’t see the interference.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. I never noticed it before. But heels are assholes. I need to think about how I’m living my life.”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Depends on your definition of ‘heel’, sweetheart. In my mind, Saul Ledgett’s the bad guy for trying to hurt Kip. Fair is fair. He’s defending himself.”
Kip is in so much pain he’s not even on Saul’s radar who, instead, points out the circling Chazz Landry to A Ref, obviously making an impassioned, lawyerly plea for A Ref to see the simple scam these three are working.
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s the last one you need to worry about Ledgitt!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Seriously. How is he supposed to win?! There’s gorillas outside the ring… and a moron inside the ring… and poor A Ref has a MASK on. Sorry, Philo. It’s true.”
A Ref shrugs it off, there’s nothing he can do, and “Oregon” Dave steps onto the ring apron to argue his side of the story at A Ref. Saul isn’t hearing it and stomps away from the little conference over to the still out-of-it Kip, and stands him up. Kip is pretty well punch-drunk as Saul delivers a knife edge chop, then another, and another. The crowd is on it’s feet!
HOSS CALHOUN: “Come on, Kip! Stand up for yourself!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’d be a first!”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s the first thing he should’ve learned from his Daddy!”
Saul is buoyed by momentum and bounces off the nearby ropes. At this time, Chazz Landry has stepped onto the apron still wielding Saul’s briefcase without A Ref seeing it, Saul runs right into the edge of his briefcase hard right between the eyes sending Saul staggering unexpectedly right into a semi-recovered Kip who grips Saul into a Belly-To-Back Suplex! WHAM! And he follows it into a bridging pin!
PHILO B. POPE: “I OBJECT!!!”
“Oregon” Dave has conceded his argument and let A Ref get back to the action while Chazz Landry is down and away from the ring quick as a cat with A Ref none the wiser. Seeing Kip’s bridging pin, A Ref swings down for the cover!
1…
HOSS CALHOUN: “Atta boy, Kip! Just like in practice!”
2…
PHILO B. POPE: “This has got to be a mis-trial!!!”
3…
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow… that is so unbelievably unfair. Way to screw Ledgett out of a legit win, Calhoun family.”
Kip is on his feet with a winning smile already lifting his arms before A Ref can signal for the bell.
PHILO B. POPE: “C’mon Hoss. You really want your son, your legacy, to begin his career in P.A.W. like this?”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Have you met my son? He’s lucky he’s not still in diapers right now. Besides, a win’s a win.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You really can’t argue with that logic.”
The bell dings and Chazz Landry and “Oregon” Dave are into the ring to hoist Kip onto their shoulders for a proud victory lap of the ring.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “Here is your winner… KIP…. CALHOUN!!!!!!”
HOSS CALHOUN: “Well, I’d say it’s been fun but… we all know it hasn’t. Thanks for disrespecting my marital situation routinely, and I look forward to the eventual legal quagmire this federation finds itself in after it squanders all it’s talent, and goes tits up before the end of the first fiscal quarter.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ouch… wait… YEAH! HAHAHAHAHA. SCREW YOU, P.A.W.!!!
Hoss removes his headset, fixes his suit jacket and tie and moves to join Kip, Chazz and “Oregon” Dave as they move up the ramp.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So glad he’s gone. I bet you need a smoke break after that, don’t you Philo?”
PHILO B. POPE: “A nice long one too..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wait for it…. Wait for it…. LOOK! THE RED LI--”
Munin pushed away her laptop with a sigh of disgust.
Once again she was in an office, she seemed to find herself in an office more often than not as of late. It wouldn't always be like this, she knew that she just needed to be patient. Some things made that easier to say than do though.
Like Alex…
Alone in her office and safe from prying eyes she allowed herself to slum into her chair. Resting her chin into the palm of her hand gazed dejectedly out her partially opened window.
Alex would recover, but would first have to go through physical therapy. How much physical therapy was anyone's guess at the moment. One thing was clear though…he didn't want her there.
She wished that didn't hurt, she wished that she didn't care, and if wishes were fishes...well you know the rest.
So instead of wallowing, she told herself it was for the best. It was better that he push her away now when they had agreed to be friends first, rather than later when they had become more.
Yes she was really starting to hate offices, they seemed to allow her mind to wander everywhere but where she needed it to go.
Maybe this was the consequence of having not smashed someone's face in for weeks.
With that thought she straightened in her chair and reopened her laptop. There was no time for self pity or moping. She had too many pieces on the chessboard to direct for that. One piece in particular was likely taking up far more of her attention than she should allow.
Unreal. An infuriating mystery and situation all rolled into one hazardous package. Munin's hands were partially tied as far as punishing the woman went. She hadn't attacked a non personnel, she had attacked another wrestler. There were no charges that could be filed nor actions that could be taken, without making it appear that Munin herself was playing favorites. The attack on Alex was considered nothing more than part of the business. The problem though was that it wasn't, or at least Munin highly doubted that it was. It felt...personal. So Munin would dig until she found her answers, and wait oh so patiently for the other woman to slip. She was no longer under contract as a wrestler and that meant any match or backstage interference could be dealt with...accordingly.
When life gives you lemons, you turn them into exploding lemons.
She smiled and began to look over invoices for the parks candy order once more. Pausing to type numbers into her laptop every few moments.
God, she would be happy when Leslie returned from...wherever the photoshoot CJ was supposed to be in was. Though, Leslie was sure to lecture her on using work and training to suppress feelings.
Her professional mask was firmly back in place when Cross Recoba walked into her office without knocking.
The suit perfectly fitting, the shirt tailored specifically to him, the demeanour seemed at odds to the last time we saw him. The cockiness seemed absent, the assuredness markedly toned down, if anything the superstar we saw at the WICKED tapings has been replaced by a man who’s pallor denotes that he clearly has something bothering him to the point of exhaustion.
LADY MUNIN: “Thanks for knocking, Cross…as you can appreciate from the paperwork I’m in the middle of something.”
She looks up from her invoices and is greeted by Recoba slamming down a poster advertising the upcoming show. The torn edges suggest it has been ripped down from inside the park. She meets his gaze as he gesticulates towards the advertisement.
CROSS RECOBA: “Anything you’d like to say? Maybe about how you’ve effectively sanctioned a lynching? How this new company isn’t based on competition but on connections? That you can, with a straight face, tell me that this was booked as anything other than a public punishment? I’m being punished for trying to make the show interactive, to ‘connect’ with the fans! Jamie Wheeler got cheered for showing the tail-end of a sex-tape! Genesis Hendrix just cut a rope like a civic opening! No other superstar got hands on with the audience – I should be getting a bonus! A raise!...”
Lady Munin’s gaze remains unaltered, Cross is now pacing around her office. He stops by a cabinet and lifts out a pack of cigarettes, he taps one on the top of the furniture three times in a manner that suggest this more about a ritual than a nicotine craving. She goes to speak but Recoba continues.
CROSS RECOBA: “…last week Raike came in here and managed to get a clause in his contract that prevented anyone going out of their way to maim him or end his career. Not two hours later you lost Alex Cross because your security couldn’t stop him being beaten so badly that an official statement hasn’t gone out…then, and this is the kicker, you book me in a match that you know I can’t possibly win. A match that may as well take place in a prison cell or a back alley for all it matters – and this…this is your main event?”
With a sigh, Munin allowed her papers to fall back onto her desk, knowing they were soon to be ignored.
She waited patiently with a look of polite disinterest firmly In place.
LADY MUNIN: “Are you finished?”
Without giving him the chance to answer she continued.
LADY MUNIN: “Good. Now I would like to assume that you are an intelligent man, so allow me to lay things out for you. Every person that was injured during the first Wicked show was contracted as a wrestler, or as someone who could potentially become involved in violence overflow. Everyone except the gentleman that you assaulted in front of his son.”
The whole time she spoke she kept her voice calm and even, but icy undertone was there. A voice ready to cut into him with a razored edge at any moment, and the control she used to keep it soft spoke volumes.
LADY MUNIN: “Do you have any idea how annoying it is to deal with insurance companies and the lawyers over a matter like this? I'm not going to even get into the bad press. You are lucky that I don't rip up your contract here and now.”
Picking up her pen, she began to all but ignore him for a moment. She allowed him a moment of shocked silence, before she continued.
LADY MUNIN: “If you don't like the nasty situation I created, then you should figure a way out if it. I can promise you that it won't be nearly as expensive as your mess was.”
She looked up at him then with an amused smile. Her mask of politeness was still firmly in place.
LADY MUNIN: “As for Raike, I did adjust his contract, and what of it? He had the forethought to ask for it.”
Recoba’s demeanour hasn’t been calmed by his boss’ words. He slams a closed fist against the wall in anger.
CROSS RECOBA: “What do your lawyers have to say about a match where you put a talent into a match where there is EVERY chance that I’m going to face a long period out on the sidelines! How does that even make sense to you? You’ve got an Amusement Park and a Wrestling Promotion that you NEED to become successful, and profitable, immediately or sooner – how does willingly putting me into a position where you will willingly put an asset, because regardless of what you think I am in the ring that is what I am on your financial statements, you willing put an asset into a position where they could become immediately unavailable to you? It’s stupidity, it’s spiting yourself – let me just tell you from someone who knows a thing or two about business – it’s a lose-lose situation!”
Recoba seems to be on the edge, his words becoming more desperate as he continues.
CROSS RECOBA: “If I don’t turn up, I lose out on the very generous contract I signed in the New Year, if I turn up I’m almost guaranteed to spend the night in some Louisiana hospital that probably isn’t even familiar with patients having medical insurance! If I get injured you lose another member of your roster, taking it to what? Four people in two shows that you’ve lost? If I win? Do I think you’d even give me a fair shot again in this place?...”
Recoba’s breaths are shallow and sharp, he manages to compose himself, just. He lights his next cigarette off the remainder of the first one, discarding it in a partially finished cup of water.
CROSS RECOBA: “The fact Raike HAD to ask to get it inserted in his contract should have been a warning sign! I’ll turn up, I’m contractually obliged, but if you don’t think that I won’t be on to my own lawyers about EVERYTHING that has been said today then you’re making another foolish move on your own part!”
LADY MUNIN: "Stick, stones etcetera, I would award anyone grievously injured in this company the same treatment as Raike. Contract or no contract, he just happened to ask for it in contract. As for you, you have been more of a liability than an asset thus far, but it is not my intention to destroy your career."
She gave him a pointed look that clearly said he was an idiot for needing the picture drawn out for him.
LADY MUNIN: "I have full faith in your ability to deal with the situation. Though one way or another you will pay."
She gave a slight emphasis on the word pay, before turning back to her work in a clear dismissal.
LADY MUNIN: "Good luck tonight."
Cross's only reply was to storm from the office with a fury that was beyond words.
Once again she was in an office, she seemed to find herself in an office more often than not as of late. It wouldn't always be like this, she knew that she just needed to be patient. Some things made that easier to say than do though.
Like Alex…
Alone in her office and safe from prying eyes she allowed herself to slum into her chair. Resting her chin into the palm of her hand gazed dejectedly out her partially opened window.
Alex would recover, but would first have to go through physical therapy. How much physical therapy was anyone's guess at the moment. One thing was clear though…he didn't want her there.
She wished that didn't hurt, she wished that she didn't care, and if wishes were fishes...well you know the rest.
So instead of wallowing, she told herself it was for the best. It was better that he push her away now when they had agreed to be friends first, rather than later when they had become more.
Yes she was really starting to hate offices, they seemed to allow her mind to wander everywhere but where she needed it to go.
Maybe this was the consequence of having not smashed someone's face in for weeks.
With that thought she straightened in her chair and reopened her laptop. There was no time for self pity or moping. She had too many pieces on the chessboard to direct for that. One piece in particular was likely taking up far more of her attention than she should allow.
Unreal. An infuriating mystery and situation all rolled into one hazardous package. Munin's hands were partially tied as far as punishing the woman went. She hadn't attacked a non personnel, she had attacked another wrestler. There were no charges that could be filed nor actions that could be taken, without making it appear that Munin herself was playing favorites. The attack on Alex was considered nothing more than part of the business. The problem though was that it wasn't, or at least Munin highly doubted that it was. It felt...personal. So Munin would dig until she found her answers, and wait oh so patiently for the other woman to slip. She was no longer under contract as a wrestler and that meant any match or backstage interference could be dealt with...accordingly.
When life gives you lemons, you turn them into exploding lemons.
She smiled and began to look over invoices for the parks candy order once more. Pausing to type numbers into her laptop every few moments.
God, she would be happy when Leslie returned from...wherever the photoshoot CJ was supposed to be in was. Though, Leslie was sure to lecture her on using work and training to suppress feelings.
Her professional mask was firmly back in place when Cross Recoba walked into her office without knocking.
The suit perfectly fitting, the shirt tailored specifically to him, the demeanour seemed at odds to the last time we saw him. The cockiness seemed absent, the assuredness markedly toned down, if anything the superstar we saw at the WICKED tapings has been replaced by a man who’s pallor denotes that he clearly has something bothering him to the point of exhaustion.
LADY MUNIN: “Thanks for knocking, Cross…as you can appreciate from the paperwork I’m in the middle of something.”
She looks up from her invoices and is greeted by Recoba slamming down a poster advertising the upcoming show. The torn edges suggest it has been ripped down from inside the park. She meets his gaze as he gesticulates towards the advertisement.
CROSS RECOBA: “Anything you’d like to say? Maybe about how you’ve effectively sanctioned a lynching? How this new company isn’t based on competition but on connections? That you can, with a straight face, tell me that this was booked as anything other than a public punishment? I’m being punished for trying to make the show interactive, to ‘connect’ with the fans! Jamie Wheeler got cheered for showing the tail-end of a sex-tape! Genesis Hendrix just cut a rope like a civic opening! No other superstar got hands on with the audience – I should be getting a bonus! A raise!...”
Lady Munin’s gaze remains unaltered, Cross is now pacing around her office. He stops by a cabinet and lifts out a pack of cigarettes, he taps one on the top of the furniture three times in a manner that suggest this more about a ritual than a nicotine craving. She goes to speak but Recoba continues.
CROSS RECOBA: “…last week Raike came in here and managed to get a clause in his contract that prevented anyone going out of their way to maim him or end his career. Not two hours later you lost Alex Cross because your security couldn’t stop him being beaten so badly that an official statement hasn’t gone out…then, and this is the kicker, you book me in a match that you know I can’t possibly win. A match that may as well take place in a prison cell or a back alley for all it matters – and this…this is your main event?”
With a sigh, Munin allowed her papers to fall back onto her desk, knowing they were soon to be ignored.
She waited patiently with a look of polite disinterest firmly In place.
LADY MUNIN: “Are you finished?”
Without giving him the chance to answer she continued.
LADY MUNIN: “Good. Now I would like to assume that you are an intelligent man, so allow me to lay things out for you. Every person that was injured during the first Wicked show was contracted as a wrestler, or as someone who could potentially become involved in violence overflow. Everyone except the gentleman that you assaulted in front of his son.”
The whole time she spoke she kept her voice calm and even, but icy undertone was there. A voice ready to cut into him with a razored edge at any moment, and the control she used to keep it soft spoke volumes.
LADY MUNIN: “Do you have any idea how annoying it is to deal with insurance companies and the lawyers over a matter like this? I'm not going to even get into the bad press. You are lucky that I don't rip up your contract here and now.”
Picking up her pen, she began to all but ignore him for a moment. She allowed him a moment of shocked silence, before she continued.
LADY MUNIN: “If you don't like the nasty situation I created, then you should figure a way out if it. I can promise you that it won't be nearly as expensive as your mess was.”
She looked up at him then with an amused smile. Her mask of politeness was still firmly in place.
LADY MUNIN: “As for Raike, I did adjust his contract, and what of it? He had the forethought to ask for it.”
Recoba’s demeanour hasn’t been calmed by his boss’ words. He slams a closed fist against the wall in anger.
CROSS RECOBA: “What do your lawyers have to say about a match where you put a talent into a match where there is EVERY chance that I’m going to face a long period out on the sidelines! How does that even make sense to you? You’ve got an Amusement Park and a Wrestling Promotion that you NEED to become successful, and profitable, immediately or sooner – how does willingly putting me into a position where you will willingly put an asset, because regardless of what you think I am in the ring that is what I am on your financial statements, you willing put an asset into a position where they could become immediately unavailable to you? It’s stupidity, it’s spiting yourself – let me just tell you from someone who knows a thing or two about business – it’s a lose-lose situation!”
Recoba seems to be on the edge, his words becoming more desperate as he continues.
CROSS RECOBA: “If I don’t turn up, I lose out on the very generous contract I signed in the New Year, if I turn up I’m almost guaranteed to spend the night in some Louisiana hospital that probably isn’t even familiar with patients having medical insurance! If I get injured you lose another member of your roster, taking it to what? Four people in two shows that you’ve lost? If I win? Do I think you’d even give me a fair shot again in this place?...”
Recoba’s breaths are shallow and sharp, he manages to compose himself, just. He lights his next cigarette off the remainder of the first one, discarding it in a partially finished cup of water.
CROSS RECOBA: “The fact Raike HAD to ask to get it inserted in his contract should have been a warning sign! I’ll turn up, I’m contractually obliged, but if you don’t think that I won’t be on to my own lawyers about EVERYTHING that has been said today then you’re making another foolish move on your own part!”
LADY MUNIN: "Stick, stones etcetera, I would award anyone grievously injured in this company the same treatment as Raike. Contract or no contract, he just happened to ask for it in contract. As for you, you have been more of a liability than an asset thus far, but it is not my intention to destroy your career."
She gave him a pointed look that clearly said he was an idiot for needing the picture drawn out for him.
LADY MUNIN: "I have full faith in your ability to deal with the situation. Though one way or another you will pay."
She gave a slight emphasis on the word pay, before turning back to her work in a clear dismissal.
LADY MUNIN: "Good luck tonight."
Cross's only reply was to storm from the office with a fury that was beyond words.
JAMIE WHEELER versus JAKE ORTON
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well that was engrossing. What’s up next?”
PHILO B. POPE: “We have even more debuts! It’s almost like no one wrestled at our first event!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeah… what the fuck. Did that first event even HAPPEN!?”
PHILO B. POPE: “There is evidence out front in the merch area for pretty cheap too. I forget exactly how much because I don’t have to pay for schwag.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s cool. I’ll go check it out the next time Cross Recoba comes down to beat some unlucky fan up.”
PHILO B. POPE: “After that last interlude, no one can argue that this show has already had too much Cross Recoba, or ‘Racoba” as it’s pronounced in Ft. Worth.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “OHHHHHH. I heard of that. Wait… he’s not coming down to beat us up right now is he? Lousy Racoba.”
PHILO B. POPE: “So..now that Recoba is momentarily behind us, and the Calhouns are behind us, I see his rival, Jamie Wheeler is up next.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “REALLY? He’s next?”
Constance fixes her hair, pulls out her mini cosmetics bag and does a last minute touch up, smacks on some red lipstick and prepares for Wheeler to potentially glance at her… or at someone behind her, whatever works.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a twenty minute time limit. "
The opening chords to Thousand Foot Krutch's "The Art of Breaking" bleeds through the speakers. At the top of the runway appears Jake Orton. He is met with a hail of boos from the crowd; and from the look of the snarl on his face, it is clear that the disdain is mutual.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "First, making his way to the ring..."
Orton starts the long walk toward the ring, shrugging off the hands of fans that try to get a pat on his arm. He is in a foul mood.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "From Dortmund, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Germany..."
Orton slides into the ring, pops to his feet.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "...weighing in at 249 pounds..."
Orton sprints toward the ropes, bouncing off of them to stay loose.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "...He is 'The Virus' Jake Ortonnnn!"
Orton hops to the second turnbuckle, facing the crowd. He throws his hands in the air, and then picks an argument with the first heckler he sets his eyes on.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Bad news, Orton. Don’t you know in this age of social media that type of behavior will cause an outrage quicker than he can say schweinhund?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “So far, I am wondering if Orton is even interested in much more than a Twitter war..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeesh. Is nothing sacred? Whatever happened to just harmlessly dropping cluster bombs and napalm on each other like the olden days?”
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "And his opponent..."
"Do not, tell me what I can or cannot do when I rock!" The familiar opening chant fills the arena, and is repeated over a hypnotic drum beat, as Jamie Wheeler appears at the top of the runway.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Being accompanied to the ring by Checkers..."
Indeed, Jamie Wheeler's partner in crime and hype man, the chubby, babyfaced Checkers, is at his side, holding up a large flag with a pot leaf on it. The fans respond with a huge pop for the duo.
Mort Goodman is nowhere to be found.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "...Hailing from Midland Park, New Jersey..."
Before advancing down the runway, Wheeler pauses to soak in the crowd. A smile consumes him, and within moments he begins his strut toward the ring. He stops along the way to shoot the shit with fans, and fuck with his naysayers.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Weighing in at 182 pounds..."
Wheeler pauses at ringside. He leans over toward Checkers, who shouts obscenity-laced words of encouragement toward his friend, slapping Wheeler hard across the face to psyche him up.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Here is Jamie Wheeeeeeelerrrrr!"
Wheeler slides into the ring, and Orton attempts to move in on him before the bell rings, but the ref runs interference, allowing Jamie to get to his feet. Jamie hangs back in the corner, bouncing up and down, his eyes locked on his opponent, who in the opposite corner, looks ready to pounce.
PHILO B. POPE: “Look at Checkers cheesin’. You know he got his hands on the ‘Blue Cheese’ already. It’s written all over his face!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But do you think Jamie saw me? Like, I swear he momentarily glanced at me when he blinked on his way down to the ring. You saw it, right?”
The bell rings, and both men move aggressively toward the center of the ring, set on a collision course. Orton unleashes a wild haymaker with malicious intentions, but Wheeler ducks it and goes right for a power double, scooping Orton up, lifting him high over his head, circles the ring with him, and then slams him down to the canvas. Wheeler receives a loud pop for his efforts, winding up on top of Orton on the ground, inside of the guard of the Virus.
PHILO B. POPE: “Wheeler taking Orton to school! High School to be specific!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You’re saying he goes for the cheerleader look? RAH RAH SHISH BOOM WHATEVER, FORGET WRESTLING THAT ORTON BASTARD AND KISS ME, DAMMIT!”
Wheeler begins to unload fists onto the grounded Orton-- left after right after left after right. After loosening Orton up, Wheeler locks in a cradle, placing Orton on his back, and the ref hits the canvas for a count of
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “OOOOO. Orton going down. Quickest match ever, too.”
Constance steals one of those number 1 foam fingers from a nearby fan, places it on her own hand and waves it around in favor of Jamie Wheeler.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “WOOOOOO, GO WHEELMAN!”
Orton has a hand on the ropes, which the ref picks up on. The ref starts prying Jamie off of Orton, but Wheeler, a newbie to the world of professional wrestling and its rule set, is confused by the stop in the action. Wheeler's confusion is enough for Orton to work his way to his knees behind Wheeler and deliver a low blow to the Jersey native that doubles Wheeler over and places Orton firmly in control.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ewww.”
Constance slides the foam finger off her hand, letting it fall to the floor well out of reach of it’s previous owner.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Serves anyone right for thinking Wheeler was number 1.”
Orton pops to his feet and pulls Wheeler up, staggering him with a series of chops that back Jamie into the corner. With Wheeler backed into the corner, Orton lifts his boot and presses it against Wheeler's throat. The ref begins a count on Orton, who breaks the hold at five. Wheeler scurries out of the corner, holding his throat, looking for a break, but Orton charges him and floors the skater with a vicious clothesline.
PHILO B. POPE: “Orton with a buzzkilling lariat!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “What’s with this bastard? Can’t he see Jamie Wheeler is… far-sighted or something? How else can you account for the fact he’s not currently over here talking to me instead of letting Jake Orton kick the shit out of him?”
It's clear that Wheeler is out of his element. Orton moves in and keeps Jamie grounded with a flurry of stomps to his back. Orton pulls Wheeler to his feet and grabs him for a suplex. Orton lifts Wheeler, but Wheeler manages to fall behind him, and grabs Orton for a German Suplex, which he executes out of desperation, and the crowd comes alive.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “YEAH! Where the hell did I drop that foam finger. GO WHEELER!”
Both men are on their back, and the ref commences a count on each of them. Both men work to their feet, Orton is a step ahead of Wheeler. Orton moves in on Wheeler with arms raised for a double axehandle, but Wheeler manages to land a kick to Orton's mid-section that doubles him over. Wheeler uses the opportunity to wrap up Orton's head, hook a leg, and roll him over with an inside cradle for a count of...
PHILO B. POPE: “Kickout by Orton!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Lucky. Seriously, though. I don’t think Jamie Wheeler’s prepared for the likes of Orton, Philo. And that makes me sad.”
Both men instinctively pop to their feet and charge one another. Wheeler shoots in for another double leg takedown as Orton comes in with a flying knee, and Orton gets the better of the attack as Wheeler's face takes the full force of the Virus's knee, leaving Jamie sprawled out on his back.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ouch. Screw the foam finger. I’m just going to safely cheer for Jake Orton from now on.”
Orton, instead of covering, uses the moment to catch his breath and strut about the ring. He looks out at the crowd with a cocky smirk. Finally, he returns his attention to Wheeler, pulling him to his feet and grabbing a front facelock, which Orton converts into an elevated DDT. Orton with a sloppy cover for a count of
PHILO B. POPE: “Kickout by Wheeler and that's as close as they come!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But you said that the LAST time it was as close as they come. Make up your DAMN mind, Philo.”
Orton is pissed and he slaps his hand three times, sending a message to the ref that he needs to get his shit together.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “One must wonder if those eyelet holes in A Ref’s mask are large enough to adequately envision the ring space. This is a problem. I’ll have to call the state wrestling commission and have them breathe down Munin’s neck about improper regulatory adherence.”
Orton back up, waiting for Wheeler to get to his feet. As Wheeler is on his way up, Orton charges at him for a clothesline. Wheeler ducks, and as Orton turns back into him, Wheeler meets Orton with a kick to the mid-section. Orton is hunched over, and Wheeler grabs Orton for a cradle suplex. He connects, and the ref hits the mat for a count of...
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t believe it!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh shush. Wheeler is impressive, but does he have the goods? Seriously, has anyone seen him in the shower? I’m asking for a friend.”
Kickout by Orton! Following the kickout, Wheeler mounts Orton and starts unloading with fists. Orton throws legs in the air, looking for a triangle, but Wheeler postures up to a solid base to counter Orton's submission attempts. With the first coming down hard, Orton turns to his stomach for refuge. Wheeler runs a double arm bar to put Orton on his back, but again, they're too close to the ropes for the ref to do anything but break them up. Wheeler is showing signs of frustration as he argues with the ref; and here comes Orton like a bulldozer charging at Jamie-- who catches Jake with a lateral drop that plants Orton firmly on his back!
PHILO B. POPE: “Wheeler just delivered the goods!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh, Philo. Who cares about wrestling when women everywhere wanna know how big Wheeler’s schlong is.”
Instead of going for a cover, Wheeler, perhaps getting wise to the situation, grabs his opponent's legs and pulls him to the center of the ring. However, in the process, Wheeler is met with an upkick by Orton that meets the master of the Wheelhouse square in the jaw.
PHILO B. POPE: “Orton just rejected whatever the size package Wheeler tried to deliver!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ouch… for sure. Orton’s mean. He’s not playing around.”
On the outside, Checkers is pacing back and forth. He stops to slap the mat in encouragement, and he manages to get a "Let's Go Wheeler" chant going.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And I lost my foam finger…”
Orton, meanwhile, has taken control again inside the ring, and pulls Jamie to his feet before sending him against the ropes. A momentous occasion-- Wheeler's first time bouncing off the ropes in a ring, he sails back, picking up speed that he's not accustomed to dealing with in this scenario, and he instinctively throws himself into the air, catching Orton with a high cross body block that sends both men spilling over the top rope to the ringside floor.
PHILO B. POPE: “Both men are down and out! Neither man is moving on the outside!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You know, for a greenhorn, Wheeler’s not half bad. If he wasn’t such a slacker, I bet he could fit himself in nicely right around this announce table and get to know me better.”
Checkers runs over to Jamie, and is trying to help him to his feet. Orton pulls himself up by the ringside apron and moves in on his opponent, pushing checkers out of the way. Checkers falls to the floor, and Orton ignores the pudgy druggy and pulls up Wheeler. Checkers pops to his feet, his Napolean Complex ignited, and he pushes Orton from behind.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “YA! Now we’re on the… wait… am I gonna get in trouble if I call him a Dwarf? What about Oompa Loompa? Little Guy? Whatever. GO CHECKERS!”
Orton turns his attention back to Checkers, and chases him around the ring. As the chase makes a full rotation, returning to the ringside area near Wheeler, Orton is met with a hip toss by Wheeler that sends Orton into the front row.
PHILO B. POPE: “Wheeler is holding nothing back in his pro debut against a guy who is said to have held more championships than I care to remember.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He’s the 360 time Checkers-Chasing champion in my book. For whatever it’s worth. Orton’s wasting time distracting himself with sidekicks.”
Meanwhile the ref has occupied himself with chastising Checkers for his involvement in the match.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oooo. A Ref is going for that Checkers-Chasing belt too!”
Checkers, not one for taking criticism from authority, is dropping verbal f-bombs on the ref. The distraction affords Orton the opportunity to grab a hot coffee from one of the fans and splash it into Wheeler's face. Wheeler scrambles blindly about the outside ring, and is met with a vicious chair shot-- certainly nothing he's ever experience during a high school match in New Jersey-- that levels him.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ow. Cross your fingers the Calhoun’s aren’t watching this for future tactics to use against Wheeler….”
PHILO B. POPE: “Oh they already know all those all tricks and now we know what Orton is all about.”
As the ref is finally able to turn a deaf ear to Checkers and return his focus to the match, Orton rolls Wheeler into the ring, and makes a cover for
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Good thing I ditched the foam finger. This would be embarrassing to pick the wrong horse again.”
The referee calls for the bell. Orton throws his hands in the air in victory. Meanwhile, Wheeler is busted open, a bloody mess. He rolls out of the ring, dazed a pissed off. Rhonda Armstrong takes to the ring.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of this contest-- Jake Ortonnn!!!!
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t know what was worse, what Chazz and ‘Oregon’ Dave did to Ledgitt, or what we have just witnessed here!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “A pretty sick drubbing at the hands of the more experienced Orton… Kinda depressing. I don’t think there’s much that could be sadder than a man losing to a cup of coffee. Unless, like… there was a guy who had his balls shut so tight in a woman’s vice-like grip he had to ask permission to do shit.”
PHILO B. POPE: “We have even more debuts! It’s almost like no one wrestled at our first event!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeah… what the fuck. Did that first event even HAPPEN!?”
PHILO B. POPE: “There is evidence out front in the merch area for pretty cheap too. I forget exactly how much because I don’t have to pay for schwag.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s cool. I’ll go check it out the next time Cross Recoba comes down to beat some unlucky fan up.”
PHILO B. POPE: “After that last interlude, no one can argue that this show has already had too much Cross Recoba, or ‘Racoba” as it’s pronounced in Ft. Worth.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “OHHHHHH. I heard of that. Wait… he’s not coming down to beat us up right now is he? Lousy Racoba.”
PHILO B. POPE: “So..now that Recoba is momentarily behind us, and the Calhouns are behind us, I see his rival, Jamie Wheeler is up next.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “REALLY? He’s next?”
Constance fixes her hair, pulls out her mini cosmetics bag and does a last minute touch up, smacks on some red lipstick and prepares for Wheeler to potentially glance at her… or at someone behind her, whatever works.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a twenty minute time limit. "
The opening chords to Thousand Foot Krutch's "The Art of Breaking" bleeds through the speakers. At the top of the runway appears Jake Orton. He is met with a hail of boos from the crowd; and from the look of the snarl on his face, it is clear that the disdain is mutual.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "First, making his way to the ring..."
Orton starts the long walk toward the ring, shrugging off the hands of fans that try to get a pat on his arm. He is in a foul mood.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "From Dortmund, Nordrhein-Westfalen, Germany..."
Orton slides into the ring, pops to his feet.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "...weighing in at 249 pounds..."
Orton sprints toward the ropes, bouncing off of them to stay loose.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "...He is 'The Virus' Jake Ortonnnn!"
Orton hops to the second turnbuckle, facing the crowd. He throws his hands in the air, and then picks an argument with the first heckler he sets his eyes on.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Bad news, Orton. Don’t you know in this age of social media that type of behavior will cause an outrage quicker than he can say schweinhund?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “So far, I am wondering if Orton is even interested in much more than a Twitter war..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeesh. Is nothing sacred? Whatever happened to just harmlessly dropping cluster bombs and napalm on each other like the olden days?”
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "And his opponent..."
"Do not, tell me what I can or cannot do when I rock!" The familiar opening chant fills the arena, and is repeated over a hypnotic drum beat, as Jamie Wheeler appears at the top of the runway.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Being accompanied to the ring by Checkers..."
Indeed, Jamie Wheeler's partner in crime and hype man, the chubby, babyfaced Checkers, is at his side, holding up a large flag with a pot leaf on it. The fans respond with a huge pop for the duo.
Mort Goodman is nowhere to be found.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "...Hailing from Midland Park, New Jersey..."
Before advancing down the runway, Wheeler pauses to soak in the crowd. A smile consumes him, and within moments he begins his strut toward the ring. He stops along the way to shoot the shit with fans, and fuck with his naysayers.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Weighing in at 182 pounds..."
Wheeler pauses at ringside. He leans over toward Checkers, who shouts obscenity-laced words of encouragement toward his friend, slapping Wheeler hard across the face to psyche him up.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Here is Jamie Wheeeeeeelerrrrr!"
Wheeler slides into the ring, and Orton attempts to move in on him before the bell rings, but the ref runs interference, allowing Jamie to get to his feet. Jamie hangs back in the corner, bouncing up and down, his eyes locked on his opponent, who in the opposite corner, looks ready to pounce.
PHILO B. POPE: “Look at Checkers cheesin’. You know he got his hands on the ‘Blue Cheese’ already. It’s written all over his face!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But do you think Jamie saw me? Like, I swear he momentarily glanced at me when he blinked on his way down to the ring. You saw it, right?”
The bell rings, and both men move aggressively toward the center of the ring, set on a collision course. Orton unleashes a wild haymaker with malicious intentions, but Wheeler ducks it and goes right for a power double, scooping Orton up, lifting him high over his head, circles the ring with him, and then slams him down to the canvas. Wheeler receives a loud pop for his efforts, winding up on top of Orton on the ground, inside of the guard of the Virus.
PHILO B. POPE: “Wheeler taking Orton to school! High School to be specific!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You’re saying he goes for the cheerleader look? RAH RAH SHISH BOOM WHATEVER, FORGET WRESTLING THAT ORTON BASTARD AND KISS ME, DAMMIT!”
Wheeler begins to unload fists onto the grounded Orton-- left after right after left after right. After loosening Orton up, Wheeler locks in a cradle, placing Orton on his back, and the ref hits the canvas for a count of
1...
2...
2...
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “OOOOO. Orton going down. Quickest match ever, too.”
Constance steals one of those number 1 foam fingers from a nearby fan, places it on her own hand and waves it around in favor of Jamie Wheeler.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “WOOOOOO, GO WHEELMAN!”
Orton has a hand on the ropes, which the ref picks up on. The ref starts prying Jamie off of Orton, but Wheeler, a newbie to the world of professional wrestling and its rule set, is confused by the stop in the action. Wheeler's confusion is enough for Orton to work his way to his knees behind Wheeler and deliver a low blow to the Jersey native that doubles Wheeler over and places Orton firmly in control.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ewww.”
Constance slides the foam finger off her hand, letting it fall to the floor well out of reach of it’s previous owner.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Serves anyone right for thinking Wheeler was number 1.”
Orton pops to his feet and pulls Wheeler up, staggering him with a series of chops that back Jamie into the corner. With Wheeler backed into the corner, Orton lifts his boot and presses it against Wheeler's throat. The ref begins a count on Orton, who breaks the hold at five. Wheeler scurries out of the corner, holding his throat, looking for a break, but Orton charges him and floors the skater with a vicious clothesline.
PHILO B. POPE: “Orton with a buzzkilling lariat!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “What’s with this bastard? Can’t he see Jamie Wheeler is… far-sighted or something? How else can you account for the fact he’s not currently over here talking to me instead of letting Jake Orton kick the shit out of him?”
It's clear that Wheeler is out of his element. Orton moves in and keeps Jamie grounded with a flurry of stomps to his back. Orton pulls Wheeler to his feet and grabs him for a suplex. Orton lifts Wheeler, but Wheeler manages to fall behind him, and grabs Orton for a German Suplex, which he executes out of desperation, and the crowd comes alive.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “YEAH! Where the hell did I drop that foam finger. GO WHEELER!”
Both men are on their back, and the ref commences a count on each of them. Both men work to their feet, Orton is a step ahead of Wheeler. Orton moves in on Wheeler with arms raised for a double axehandle, but Wheeler manages to land a kick to Orton's mid-section that doubles him over. Wheeler uses the opportunity to wrap up Orton's head, hook a leg, and roll him over with an inside cradle for a count of...
1...
2...
2...
PHILO B. POPE: “Kickout by Orton!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Lucky. Seriously, though. I don’t think Jamie Wheeler’s prepared for the likes of Orton, Philo. And that makes me sad.”
Both men instinctively pop to their feet and charge one another. Wheeler shoots in for another double leg takedown as Orton comes in with a flying knee, and Orton gets the better of the attack as Wheeler's face takes the full force of the Virus's knee, leaving Jamie sprawled out on his back.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ouch. Screw the foam finger. I’m just going to safely cheer for Jake Orton from now on.”
Orton, instead of covering, uses the moment to catch his breath and strut about the ring. He looks out at the crowd with a cocky smirk. Finally, he returns his attention to Wheeler, pulling him to his feet and grabbing a front facelock, which Orton converts into an elevated DDT. Orton with a sloppy cover for a count of
1...
2..
2..
PHILO B. POPE: “Kickout by Wheeler and that's as close as they come!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But you said that the LAST time it was as close as they come. Make up your DAMN mind, Philo.”
Orton is pissed and he slaps his hand three times, sending a message to the ref that he needs to get his shit together.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “One must wonder if those eyelet holes in A Ref’s mask are large enough to adequately envision the ring space. This is a problem. I’ll have to call the state wrestling commission and have them breathe down Munin’s neck about improper regulatory adherence.”
Orton back up, waiting for Wheeler to get to his feet. As Wheeler is on his way up, Orton charges at him for a clothesline. Wheeler ducks, and as Orton turns back into him, Wheeler meets Orton with a kick to the mid-section. Orton is hunched over, and Wheeler grabs Orton for a cradle suplex. He connects, and the ref hits the mat for a count of...
1...
2...
2...
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t believe it!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh shush. Wheeler is impressive, but does he have the goods? Seriously, has anyone seen him in the shower? I’m asking for a friend.”
Kickout by Orton! Following the kickout, Wheeler mounts Orton and starts unloading with fists. Orton throws legs in the air, looking for a triangle, but Wheeler postures up to a solid base to counter Orton's submission attempts. With the first coming down hard, Orton turns to his stomach for refuge. Wheeler runs a double arm bar to put Orton on his back, but again, they're too close to the ropes for the ref to do anything but break them up. Wheeler is showing signs of frustration as he argues with the ref; and here comes Orton like a bulldozer charging at Jamie-- who catches Jake with a lateral drop that plants Orton firmly on his back!
PHILO B. POPE: “Wheeler just delivered the goods!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh, Philo. Who cares about wrestling when women everywhere wanna know how big Wheeler’s schlong is.”
Instead of going for a cover, Wheeler, perhaps getting wise to the situation, grabs his opponent's legs and pulls him to the center of the ring. However, in the process, Wheeler is met with an upkick by Orton that meets the master of the Wheelhouse square in the jaw.
PHILO B. POPE: “Orton just rejected whatever the size package Wheeler tried to deliver!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ouch… for sure. Orton’s mean. He’s not playing around.”
On the outside, Checkers is pacing back and forth. He stops to slap the mat in encouragement, and he manages to get a "Let's Go Wheeler" chant going.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And I lost my foam finger…”
Orton, meanwhile, has taken control again inside the ring, and pulls Jamie to his feet before sending him against the ropes. A momentous occasion-- Wheeler's first time bouncing off the ropes in a ring, he sails back, picking up speed that he's not accustomed to dealing with in this scenario, and he instinctively throws himself into the air, catching Orton with a high cross body block that sends both men spilling over the top rope to the ringside floor.
PHILO B. POPE: “Both men are down and out! Neither man is moving on the outside!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You know, for a greenhorn, Wheeler’s not half bad. If he wasn’t such a slacker, I bet he could fit himself in nicely right around this announce table and get to know me better.”
Checkers runs over to Jamie, and is trying to help him to his feet. Orton pulls himself up by the ringside apron and moves in on his opponent, pushing checkers out of the way. Checkers falls to the floor, and Orton ignores the pudgy druggy and pulls up Wheeler. Checkers pops to his feet, his Napolean Complex ignited, and he pushes Orton from behind.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “YA! Now we’re on the… wait… am I gonna get in trouble if I call him a Dwarf? What about Oompa Loompa? Little Guy? Whatever. GO CHECKERS!”
Orton turns his attention back to Checkers, and chases him around the ring. As the chase makes a full rotation, returning to the ringside area near Wheeler, Orton is met with a hip toss by Wheeler that sends Orton into the front row.
PHILO B. POPE: “Wheeler is holding nothing back in his pro debut against a guy who is said to have held more championships than I care to remember.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He’s the 360 time Checkers-Chasing champion in my book. For whatever it’s worth. Orton’s wasting time distracting himself with sidekicks.”
Meanwhile the ref has occupied himself with chastising Checkers for his involvement in the match.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oooo. A Ref is going for that Checkers-Chasing belt too!”
Checkers, not one for taking criticism from authority, is dropping verbal f-bombs on the ref. The distraction affords Orton the opportunity to grab a hot coffee from one of the fans and splash it into Wheeler's face. Wheeler scrambles blindly about the outside ring, and is met with a vicious chair shot-- certainly nothing he's ever experience during a high school match in New Jersey-- that levels him.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ow. Cross your fingers the Calhoun’s aren’t watching this for future tactics to use against Wheeler….”
PHILO B. POPE: “Oh they already know all those all tricks and now we know what Orton is all about.”
As the ref is finally able to turn a deaf ear to Checkers and return his focus to the match, Orton rolls Wheeler into the ring, and makes a cover for
1..
2..
3!!
2..
3!!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Good thing I ditched the foam finger. This would be embarrassing to pick the wrong horse again.”
The referee calls for the bell. Orton throws his hands in the air in victory. Meanwhile, Wheeler is busted open, a bloody mess. He rolls out of the ring, dazed a pissed off. Rhonda Armstrong takes to the ring.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of this contest-- Jake Ortonnn!!!!
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t know what was worse, what Chazz and ‘Oregon’ Dave did to Ledgitt, or what we have just witnessed here!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “A pretty sick drubbing at the hands of the more experienced Orton… Kinda depressing. I don’t think there’s much that could be sadder than a man losing to a cup of coffee. Unless, like… there was a guy who had his balls shut so tight in a woman’s vice-like grip he had to ask permission to do shit.”
The downstairs of the House Of Fun is in full swing on this the first day of the Pure Amusement Park's official opening. Women in various stages of undress dance on tables, or on the main stage and men ogle them and freely relinquish their money. Music throbs through the building like a heartbeat. The sound of chit-chat, hoots and hollers, and glasses clinking and being served dims as you rise above it all and go upstairs to the office door that reads: “UN-REALLY THE MANAGER”.
Unreal’s hands are dirty as she opens the door and steps inside snickering to herself having just officially finished hiding wires that connected all of her bombs together and established all of them on the same timer. She'd buried this hub in the back grassy yard just behind her establishment for safe-keeping. And now she wiped at the dirt covering her hands.
UNREAL: “Heh. Burying shit. Only way someone’ll find it is if they dig. I love it when a plan comes together.”
She set her shovel down next to the door and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm as she moved with a roll in her shoulders towards the elegant sink behind her desk. She saw him first out of the corner of her eye and stopped mid-stride to glance over at the couch. Sam had been sitting there the whole time packing himself a bowl. She blinks and stands up straight and innocent, hiding her dirty hands behind her back.
UNREAL: “What the fuck are you doing here?”
The serenity Sam had been seeking and found was gone in an instant. He held up an index finger, trying to pause not only Unreal, but also his serenity, from leaving. He raised the glass bowl to his lips about to fire it up.
UNREAL: “Cut that shit!”
She crossed the distance between them in a flash and without care grabbed the 14” glass Sherlock pipe out of his hands, remembered the ‘evidence’ all over her palms from the dirt out back, and set the bowl behind her to hide both then glared at Sam with condescension.
UNREAL: “You think I’m letting you smoke this in here? After that ridiculous twitter shit you pulled this week? Bitch, you’re in MY house now.”
He stood, and scowled at her ready to fight.
SAM XAYACHACK: “What...the fuck? Don’t even play with me right now. Give it back.”
Her head shook with finality. Her eyes were wide, and serious, and unrelenting.
UNREAL: “No.”
Sam was at her throat literally in a second and put her in a side headlock and squeezed tightly. She bit him hard on his rib cage and clung to his pipe. As he released her, she bit down harder.
SAM XAYACHACK: “STOP!!”
Blood rushed to her head as she pulled away from him, careful to keep his pipe out of reach. She breathed loudly and angrily. A fuse had been lit, more than one technically, and now they stared one another down.
UNREAL: “You know? I don’t need to put up with this. You keep messing up my vibe everywhere you go. Ban me from wrestling? Keep me lurking in the fucking shadows like the Elephant Man or some shit. Take Twitter liberties with what I CHOOSE to allow you to do with me. Sexual or not. And now you’re going to get fucking HIGH in my office? You know I don’t smoke. You know I don’t play this shit, and here you fucking are. Well, I got news for you, Sammy. I got some shit in the works that’s going to fix you PERMANENT. You and your precious little P.A.W. Promotion. So maybe you might wanna rethink your actions before everything BLOWS up in your face, huh?”
SAM XAYACHACK: “Give my shit back so I can think straight.”
He stomped his foot like a defiant child.
SAM XAYACHACK: “Before you piss me off.”
She smirked, rubbing a dirty, conniving finger along his pipe behind her back trying to decide whether she was done with him or not.
UNREAL: “You want this? This is what you need, huh?”
She turned confidently. Her hips moved as if powered by hydraulics, careful to accent every jostle and tremor of her ass as she moved slowly and purposefully to keep his eyes glued to the OTHER thing in the room he had a vested interest in. She glanced with a wicked grin over her shoulder at him through strands of hair, trying not to betray any hint of what she planned before she stopped at the opened window and eyed him callously.
UNREAL: “Need a boost? A little blast-off to get your pathetic little motor running?”
Callously she ducked through the window and tossed his pipe out onto the back lawn behind her House of Fun where it landed safely, unbeknownst to Sam, and unbeknownst to her, right around where she’d been recently digging. She looked at him with smug satisfaction.
UNREAL: “Well there you go. Git.”
Unreal’s hands are dirty as she opens the door and steps inside snickering to herself having just officially finished hiding wires that connected all of her bombs together and established all of them on the same timer. She'd buried this hub in the back grassy yard just behind her establishment for safe-keeping. And now she wiped at the dirt covering her hands.
UNREAL: “Heh. Burying shit. Only way someone’ll find it is if they dig. I love it when a plan comes together.”
00 : 54 : 40
She set her shovel down next to the door and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her forearm as she moved with a roll in her shoulders towards the elegant sink behind her desk. She saw him first out of the corner of her eye and stopped mid-stride to glance over at the couch. Sam had been sitting there the whole time packing himself a bowl. She blinks and stands up straight and innocent, hiding her dirty hands behind her back.
UNREAL: “What the fuck are you doing here?”
The serenity Sam had been seeking and found was gone in an instant. He held up an index finger, trying to pause not only Unreal, but also his serenity, from leaving. He raised the glass bowl to his lips about to fire it up.
UNREAL: “Cut that shit!”
She crossed the distance between them in a flash and without care grabbed the 14” glass Sherlock pipe out of his hands, remembered the ‘evidence’ all over her palms from the dirt out back, and set the bowl behind her to hide both then glared at Sam with condescension.
UNREAL: “You think I’m letting you smoke this in here? After that ridiculous twitter shit you pulled this week? Bitch, you’re in MY house now.”
He stood, and scowled at her ready to fight.
SAM XAYACHACK: “What...the fuck? Don’t even play with me right now. Give it back.”
Her head shook with finality. Her eyes were wide, and serious, and unrelenting.
UNREAL: “No.”
Sam was at her throat literally in a second and put her in a side headlock and squeezed tightly. She bit him hard on his rib cage and clung to his pipe. As he released her, she bit down harder.
SAM XAYACHACK: “STOP!!”
Blood rushed to her head as she pulled away from him, careful to keep his pipe out of reach. She breathed loudly and angrily. A fuse had been lit, more than one technically, and now they stared one another down.
UNREAL: “You know? I don’t need to put up with this. You keep messing up my vibe everywhere you go. Ban me from wrestling? Keep me lurking in the fucking shadows like the Elephant Man or some shit. Take Twitter liberties with what I CHOOSE to allow you to do with me. Sexual or not. And now you’re going to get fucking HIGH in my office? You know I don’t smoke. You know I don’t play this shit, and here you fucking are. Well, I got news for you, Sammy. I got some shit in the works that’s going to fix you PERMANENT. You and your precious little P.A.W. Promotion. So maybe you might wanna rethink your actions before everything BLOWS up in your face, huh?”
SAM XAYACHACK: “Give my shit back so I can think straight.”
He stomped his foot like a defiant child.
SAM XAYACHACK: “Before you piss me off.”
She smirked, rubbing a dirty, conniving finger along his pipe behind her back trying to decide whether she was done with him or not.
UNREAL: “You want this? This is what you need, huh?”
She turned confidently. Her hips moved as if powered by hydraulics, careful to accent every jostle and tremor of her ass as she moved slowly and purposefully to keep his eyes glued to the OTHER thing in the room he had a vested interest in. She glanced with a wicked grin over her shoulder at him through strands of hair, trying not to betray any hint of what she planned before she stopped at the opened window and eyed him callously.
UNREAL: “Need a boost? A little blast-off to get your pathetic little motor running?”
Callously she ducked through the window and tossed his pipe out onto the back lawn behind her House of Fun where it landed safely, unbeknownst to Sam, and unbeknownst to her, right around where she’d been recently digging. She looked at him with smug satisfaction.
UNREAL: “Well there you go. Git.”
JOHNNY RAIKE versus LUKE KNUX
PHILO B. POPE: “That girl ain’t right..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I’m not saying shit. Cause… you know… what you just said.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t know why Sam...yeah you’re right. I’m not saying shit either.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Is like watching an old married couple though.”
As the lights go dim all throughout the arena the strains of the David Bowie classic "Starman" begins to play over the PA. Gradually, as the song build to the chorus, the lights begin to brighten until just before the chorus everything goes dark but for one spot light.
Out from the back steps a figure in a unitard full of bright colors and shapes, with matching arm warmers. He is heavily made up, with vibrant red-orange hair and a golden circle in the middle of his forehead. It takes most a few moments to recognize Johnny Raike, done up as he is in the visage of Ziggy Stardust.
PHILO B. POPE: “Bet you won’t say nothing about Halloween right now. Check The Sissyboy Savior out. He’s dead serious and full on Ziggy Stardust..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: ”Well… those who can’t… imitate. TAKE THAT, RAIKE!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA oh what’s the point.”
The American Wet Dream saunters to the ring, lip synching the song as he goes and stopping to pose for a pair of photos. He slides into the ring and poses in the corner, before taking off the wig he is wearing.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Introducing first, from Astoria, Queens, New York, weighing in at 'the hell if I'm telling you', he is the David Bowie of Professional Wrestling, JOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHNNNHNNYYYYYY!!!!! RAIKE!!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So, am I gonna get in trouble if I don’t pronounce his name right, or look at him funny?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Of course not. It’s pronounced...NUUUUUUKES.”
Slash ft. Myles Kennedy & The Conspirators 'World On Fire' hits the sound system and the lights go down. Smoke begins filling the stage as we hear the opening of the song. A few riffs of a guitar, then when the drums hit and lyrics kick in, Luke Knux comes out from the back in his usual attire. A cigarette hangs from his lips as he walks out staring down the crowd. He points over to the band playing his music and then raises the metal horns. He puts them down and begins down the ramp.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: ”Hailing from Castle Knux on Knuxy Island, weighing in at 190 pounds, he is the Suicidal Scumbag, LUKE KNNNNNUUXXXXXXX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “LUUUUUKE!!!! Am I saying it right???”
Luke is now at the end of the ramp as he stops to look around the arena. Knux takes the last hit of the cigarette and then tosses it on the ground and stomps it out. He runs and slides into the ring before hopping up to his feet and leaning over the ropes. He points to his head, fingers like a gun, and fires. He walks backwards and spins around before handing off his entrance gear. He then leans against the corner and waits for the match to begin.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow.. look at him, Philo? A bona fide ROCK… GOD… and some sort of queer astronaut. What is this business coming to?!”
REF calls for the bell and the two competitors circle each other. Raike’s tribute to his fallen idol is clearly throwing off the rock god standing across from him. Raike initiates the fight, rushing Luke with a barrage of kicks and quick punches. He backs Knux up against the ropes and whips him off real quick, running behind him so that when Knux hits the ropes, Raike is there to take him down with a leaping lung blower.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s funny… all of a sudden Luke doesn’t have that same lustre he once had in my eyes… I don’t know what it is.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Johnny Raike is a lot to take in. Especially when he is right in your face..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He’s David Bowie, Philo. Hello? Fashion Icon? Musical impressario? Visionary? What… Luke Knux would suddenly be off his game if Johnny had dressed up like Andy Warhol or something instead? Pheh. I think I’m over Luke-y.”
He rolls on top of him for a quick pin but Knux is able to break it before the referee can even slam a hand down. Quickly Raike’s back to his feet, taunting the rock superstar to get up. Knux doesn’t even get a chance to stand upright once he starts receiving a barrage of kicks to his midsection and quads. One connects to the back of Luke’s knee and causes it to buckle, leading to him falling down on one knee like he’s getting ready to propose. The Sissy Saviour feigns interest like an 18 year old virgin being asked to the prom by the quarterback but then immediately fakes leaning in for a kiss with the baby ace crusher. Raike tries for a cover but Knux has a foot on the ropes before he’s even mounted the pin, so REF refuses to even go down.
PHILO B. POPE: “Knux knows right where he is at all times inside of the squared circle like any veteran does..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hmmmm…. Luke needs… something… I bet it’s cause he didn’t meet me after the last show. That’s it.”
Johnny’s annoyed over the cheap trick and drags Luke away from the ropes. As he has a hold on Knux’s arm, the Suicidal Scumbag snaps a leg up and around real quick, rolling Raike forward into an armbar. It’s countered by Raike, turning the hold by twisting the arm then leaping over into a headlock.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Gotta admit, this might be the weirdest thing anyone’s ever seen in a wrestling ring. A guy in a sparkly gymnasts uniform and full-on face paint facing some sort of… I don’t even know what you’d CALL Luke Knux. A Vampire, maybe?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Vampires! Imagine that..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeah… hilarious. Silly fictional monsters. Even if Luke Knux is clearly sustained by the blood of the living… which could have been mine if he wasn’t currently residing in a REAL castle somewhere.”
Knux counters the headlock with an arm twist before it can be properly locked in and as he lets go, both hands make their way to the eyes of Johnny, raking his face! Both men are on their knees now, trying to get back up. Raike has a hand over his face which partially obstructs his view just long enough for Luke to shove him through the ring ropes he was ever so close to. The Suicidal Scumbag hops up to his feet and grabs a hold of the top rope as he waits for his opponent to get up, even finding time to locate a pretty girl in the crowd and impregnate her with a mere look. On the floor Raike is finally up. He sees Luke pull himself over the top rope with a suicide dive and decides to move out of the way allowing the rock star to crash hard.
PHILO B. POPE: “He’s going to have a hangover from that!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Did you see that? He just knocked that one girl up?! See it? Just by lookin at her! I can tell these things! What’s she got that I don’t got?!”
Raike rolls in and out of the ring to break the count, coming back out with a kick to the back of Knux’s head. He drags him to his feet and shoves him backwards into the barrier, which he follows up with a hard right handed chop to the chest. Knux tries to bail but he’s stopped and receives another chop on the outside sending him towards the barrier once again. Luke shoves him to create some distance but Raike’s right back on him with another hard chop, this time grabbing onto him after and tossing him back into the ring. The crowd cheers as both men are on their feet.
PHILO B. POPE: “I knew this was going to be more of a catfight than a wrestling match and here we are!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well… I mean… Raike’s not letting up. Gotta give him that. And Luke’s safely out past sunset so he won’t be disintegrating any time soon, this isn’t THAT bad…”
Knux is the first to strike with a series of elbow attacks. He pushes Raike back and whips him across the ring, running to meet him. Raike slides under and through Knux’s legs, continuing onto the otherside of the ring where he bounces off the ropes and is taken down almost instantly with a hard spinning heel kick.
PHILO B. POPE: “Fast paced action just took Raike’s head off!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Sure, but will he notice? And Knux? COME ON LUKE.. DO SOMETHING AWESOME!”
The Suicidal Scumbag begins to drag Raike up holding him in place for a gut wrench suplex. He tries to lift him but Raike is refusing to budge so Luke lands a few hard elbows to the back of his head, which does the trick as lifts and slams Raike down hard.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “DAMN RIGHT!”
Knux begins to head towards the turnbuckle although he notices that Raike is already on his hands and knees, so this time he runs in with a kick to Johnny’s ribs. Following that he’s on the attack quickly, butterflying Johnny’s arms behind his back and launching him up with a butterfly suplex!
PHILO B. POPE: “Knux is laying it all out there tonight! He is looking to utterly destroy Every Sissyboy’s Savior!”
Knux points to the turnbuckle and climbs it quickly, making sure to give that girl in the crowd another look, just in case security didn’t know which one to tap on the shoulder with a VIP pass to Castle Knux after the show.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “HE’S CHECKING OUT THAT ONE BITCH, AGAIN!!! I’ll kill her. I swear.”
Once he’s ready, to the roar of approval from the crowd, Knux leaps back and connects with a flawless moonsault.
PHILO B. POPE: “THREE!!!”
The Sissy Saviour is able to kick out at the last moment, not quite ready to give it up yet.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “NO!? Who figured the Thigh High Thriller had that kick out in him?”
Knux has other ideas and uses the brief moment after the pin to try and lock in the Suicidal Stretch. Johnny fights it as best he can, eventually pulling himself towards the ropes in the process, allowing himself to triumphantly grab a hold of the bottom rope. Raike pulls himself up on the ropes as REF holds Knux back in the interest of fair competition. As soon as Raike is up, Luke has pushed past REF to leap forwards, grabbing his opponents head in a front headlock position and with the help of the ring ropes, he bounces from the second to the third before rebounding off into the air, connecting with a springboard DDT that flattens Raike out on impact!
PHILO B. POPE: “Get the fuck out of here!!! Raike just kicked again?!!?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I’m starting to wonder if I wanna let that one bitch have Knux… I mean… he’s not even capable of keeping Raike down. Yeah, you know who you is, whore… yeah… that’s right. Uh oh. She’s eyeing me down. Oh… she’s coming over here. Pretend we’re calling the match, Philo.”
Raike is defiant in his kick out. His body shakes, pulsing with energy that is powering him on as Knux tries to wear him down with punches on the ground. Both are back up quickly, Johnny absorbing all the fists and elbows that are coming his way. Raike with a kick of his own now.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Say what you will about Raike… bastard can take a beating. Him and that Stevie guy should hook up. PLATONICALLY, I mean!”
A second connects to Knux’s chest quickly followed by a third. Knux is taken aback by this sudden surge and finds himself being irish whipped across the ring and coming face to face with a Pele kick on his way back which stumbles him a bit. A hard superkick from Raike forces him to stumble backwards, almost losing his footing completely.
PHILO B. POPE: “The hard rocker just got rocked!”
Knux is backed up in the corner, hanging onto the ropes to keep himself upright. Raike runs in with the Yakuza kick but Knux ducks under, hooking Raikes leg and within seconds powers Raike up high on his shoulders, turning and slamming Raike down into the turnbuckle with the Buckle Bomb! He grabs Raike in a headlock as he stumbles forward, signalling for the Scumbag Salute! Raike powers through it and lifts him up for a back body drop.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Shiiiiit. These two Knuxcases are gonna break some records for most twists and turns in a match. Get it? Knuxcases???”
They’re both up quickly, Raike sees that Knux is near the turnbuckle and runs in, nailing him with a front dropkick that bounces the man into the corner. He rolls backwards to his feet and charges in again, this time connecting with a vicious Yakuza kick.
PHILO B. POPE: “Now I know that’s going to give Knuxy a hangover! Or feel like it anyway!”
His leg lingering over the top rope momentarily, Raike pulls himself back into the ring fully as the rock and roll star stumbles forwards and right into the waiting arms of Johnny who caught him with a small package driver!
PHILO B. POPE: “JOHNNY’S FULL FRONTAL?!!?!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “WHAT?! NO WAY!”
PHILO B. POPE: “Wow! What an incredible match and a fitting tribute by Johnny Raike to the late, great David Bowie.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I know. Who knew Luke Knux wasn’t invincible?”
Just as Rhonda Armstrong raises the microphone to her lips to announce the winner, the opening strums of ‘Stranglehold’ by Ted Nugent echo throughout the arena, cutting her off.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wait.. Philo.. you said that word… but it was at least an hour ago, right? Are these two on some sort of time delay?”
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t know. Let’s hope they’re just here to get the main event started off..”
The BombTrax burst through the curtain before the breakdown has a chance to begin, stalking side by side down towards the ring, the ‘Press Pass’ firmly in the big man’s grip. Johnny Raike’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, and he can see mouthing ‘bullshit’, as Luke Knux rubs his head in confusion.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I thought Munin agreed to Raike’s contractual clause?! Looks like the BombTrax just don’t give a fuck!”
Rhonda promptly exits the ring, as 4Loco looks on quizzically, and checks his clipboard for the unannounced entrance. Both men reach the ring at the same time, and hops up on the apron as Press grabs the top rope, and rises up in one motion. Both men stare at the two men in the ring with baleful expressions, before easing between the bottom and middle rope.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “There are three things that scare Johnny Raike more than The BombTrax. One, of course, IS ME! Two, naturally, is nuclear war. And three… well forget the third cause the Damn BombTrax are in the ring and we don’t need to remember numbers no more!”
Johnny Raike is damn near beside himself as he shakes his head no, and balls his fists up, ready for a fight. Luke, more cautious, but not going to back down either, stands there waiting with a stoic expression.
PHILO B. POPE: “Would Raike ever team with Knux? Even in a moment like this?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “If the chips are down, sure. Or if the price is right. Or if Raike and Luke became best budz. Or if they got engaged. Or if they were tied together in a lasso. Or if they were caught hula hooping or… well… I’m sure this is a bad time for meaningless conjecture seeing as Raike’s about to get a huge cash payout from P.A.W. for whatever the BombTrax are about to do.”
Press allows a wicked grin in Raike’s direction, and then winks at the most liberated man in professional wrestling, and jerks his thumb towards the rampway.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He’s… hitchhiking maybe…?”
The BombTrax step aside, giving him plenty of room to exit. Raike stares at them for a second in surprise, but doesn’t hesitate to take the offered exit, diving between the ropes to land on the floor, and make his way up the rampway.
PHILO B. POPE: “Looks like Knux needs a partner, partner..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “No way. What did Knux do to them?!”
When the two men turn back to face Luke Knux, its obvious he wasn’t expecting that, the realization dawning on him that they were here for him. Luke shrugged, and then with lightning speed dove towards the two men. He caught Youth around the midsection, trying to drive him to the ground, but only knocking him into the ropes. Both of the smaller men began trading blows, Youth taking shots to the ribs by Knux, and Luke taking blows to the back of the head by Youth.
PHILO B. POPE: “This is ridiculous! I can not believe what I’m seeing.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH (with a loud, disappointed sigh): “Was nice knowing ya, Luke.”
The fighting spirit, however, isn’t allowed to last, as Press steps in and plants a vicious chair shot across Luke’s back. The Rock N’ Rolla slumps to his knees, and is dragged over to a corner where the two begin a series of stomps and punches that is nothing short of a mugging.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well.. admiring you from a distance, rather. These buggers are all but gonna disfigure him. And we have the best, and or worst, seats in the house!”
Press drags Knux out from the corner, and sends him hard into the opposite side with a vicious Irish whip, and when he impacts with the turnbuckle, he’s sent stumbling back out only to meet the heel of Youth’s boot in a massive super kick. Luke hits the mat hard, reaching up to grip at his throbbing jaw, as Youth drops down over top of him, reigning right hands down into the man’s face.
PHILO B. POPE: “That kick had a whiplash like effect on the neck of Luke Knux. He is in serious trouble..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Duh. It’s the BombTrax. Just be glad Luke’s body is cushioning most of the blows from hitting his sexy brain.”
Press tosses his ‘Press Pass’ off to the side, and exits the ring over near the announce table.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Uhhhh.. why is that Rhino getting so close to our car, Philo…?”
Youth pulls himself up off of Knux, and begins stomping at him, each boot sending him closer and closer to the ring apron, until with a final kick he’s sent sprawling to the floor.
PHILO B. POPE: “They’re getting a little too close for comfort!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You got a window you can roll up or something? Tell him we don’t want any.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I want off this ride!”
Press jerks the Rock God up to his feet by a fistful of hair, and drags him over to bang his head off the announce table.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “SCREW THIS NEW AND IMPROVED CRAP, I’M OUT.”
As Constance and Philo vacate their station, Press pulls Luke away from the table, tucks his head between his legs, and then hoists him up, and drives him down in a perfectly executed Press Release Powerbomb. The table explodes into a million pieces upon impact, and all that remains of Luke Knux is a lifeless crumpled form amongst the wreckage.
PHILO B. POPE: “HOLY SHIT!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “MY RESUME!”
Youth, after retrieving the ‘Press Pass’ and exiting the ring, takes a mic from the production area, and tosses it to Press. The big man hovers over the prone body at his feet, and looks out at the mass that is the Pure faithful.
PRESS: “You know, this wasn’t really apart of the plan.”
He points down to Knux, a remorseful expression on his face.
PRESS: “I mean, after all, I’m a fan of the Scumbags! I love Rock music! Last show, during the concert, me and Youth sat off stage with a few beers, and thought, man, this guy’s going to be a legend. Nah, Luke, we don’t really have a problem with you.”
Press smirked, and then turned his attention towards the announce team, specifically Constance Church.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He must mean you, Philo.”
PRESS: “You know, I thought our first show was pretty good. We went out there and did something that few in this business care about anymore, and that’s making everyone look like a star. Making sure everyone in the match got over. But as we sat on our couch watching the DVD, we heard this constant malignant tumor pipe in throughout the entire fucking show, without a monochrome of respect for the individuals trying to put forth their effort. Matter of fact, this cunt didn’t seem to have a kind word for anyone except for one individual.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I called you a Yeti! Where I come from that’s the next best thing to being called the damned President… Help me out, Philo, seriously. I'm too young and pretty to die.”
Press smirked, and waved his hand to indicate the crumpled humanity at his feet. He then slowly strode towards the announce team, who shrank back from his presence, and came to a stop to loom over Constance Church.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Eeep..”
PRESS: “You see, Constance, poor old Knuxy here was an exclamation point for you, since he seems to be the only one around here to cream your Twinkie. It’s a friendly reminder, to you from us, that the next time you call one of our matches you’d best put some forethought into the bullshit you usher out of your mouth, or the next person that gets through a table around here could be you.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “....”
He turned to make his exit, tossing the mic back to Youth, who sauntered over with a grin.
FLAMING YOUTH: “And before you go running to Sam & Munin with tears in your eyes, and all that…make sure to read the fine print in your contract. You’re on-air talent. It’d be all legal. And just let me say, Philo…….You the man!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I-That… uh... I’m not afrai- Uhm.. Philo… you coward! You're supposed to be my announce partner!”
Youth throws his fist out to Philo who bumps it with his own, and Youth joins Press as they trek back up the ramp. Constance moves in beside Philo who simply shrugs.
PHILO B. POPE: “I sure hope someone, anyone, has something planned backstage!”
And you couldn’t have timed it better, or worse. The lights dim in the Xayarena as the crowd wait in anticipation; the camera shows smartphones illuminating in the dark. The crowd don’t have to wait too long as the opening chords to Joe Walsh’s ‘Turn to Stone’ resound across the arena. The crowd waste no time in booing the imminent arrival of the PAW Superstar they know uses the music.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You’ve got to be kidding… NOW? Know what? I need to use the was- Wait… Those… MEN will listen to me say it… WAIT… Can the BombTrax read minds? Are they doing it right now? HELP ME, PHILO! I SWEAR I’LL BE GOOD!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I’m not saying shit. Cause… you know… what you just said.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t know why Sam...yeah you’re right. I’m not saying shit either.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Is like watching an old married couple though.”
As the lights go dim all throughout the arena the strains of the David Bowie classic "Starman" begins to play over the PA. Gradually, as the song build to the chorus, the lights begin to brighten until just before the chorus everything goes dark but for one spot light.
"There's a Starman, Waiting in the Sky. He'd like to come and meet us, but he thinks he'd blow our minds..."
Out from the back steps a figure in a unitard full of bright colors and shapes, with matching arm warmers. He is heavily made up, with vibrant red-orange hair and a golden circle in the middle of his forehead. It takes most a few moments to recognize Johnny Raike, done up as he is in the visage of Ziggy Stardust.
PHILO B. POPE: “Bet you won’t say nothing about Halloween right now. Check The Sissyboy Savior out. He’s dead serious and full on Ziggy Stardust..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: ”Well… those who can’t… imitate. TAKE THAT, RAIKE!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA oh what’s the point.”
The American Wet Dream saunters to the ring, lip synching the song as he goes and stopping to pose for a pair of photos. He slides into the ring and poses in the corner, before taking off the wig he is wearing.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Introducing first, from Astoria, Queens, New York, weighing in at 'the hell if I'm telling you', he is the David Bowie of Professional Wrestling, JOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHNNNHNNYYYYYY!!!!! RAIKE!!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “So, am I gonna get in trouble if I don’t pronounce his name right, or look at him funny?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Of course not. It’s pronounced...NUUUUUUKES.”
Slash ft. Myles Kennedy & The Conspirators 'World On Fire' hits the sound system and the lights go down. Smoke begins filling the stage as we hear the opening of the song. A few riffs of a guitar, then when the drums hit and lyrics kick in, Luke Knux comes out from the back in his usual attire. A cigarette hangs from his lips as he walks out staring down the crowd. He points over to the band playing his music and then raises the metal horns. He puts them down and begins down the ramp.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: ”Hailing from Castle Knux on Knuxy Island, weighing in at 190 pounds, he is the Suicidal Scumbag, LUKE KNNNNNUUXXXXXXX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “LUUUUUKE!!!! Am I saying it right???”
Luke is now at the end of the ramp as he stops to look around the arena. Knux takes the last hit of the cigarette and then tosses it on the ground and stomps it out. He runs and slides into the ring before hopping up to his feet and leaning over the ropes. He points to his head, fingers like a gun, and fires. He walks backwards and spins around before handing off his entrance gear. He then leans against the corner and waits for the match to begin.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow.. look at him, Philo? A bona fide ROCK… GOD… and some sort of queer astronaut. What is this business coming to?!”
REF calls for the bell and the two competitors circle each other. Raike’s tribute to his fallen idol is clearly throwing off the rock god standing across from him. Raike initiates the fight, rushing Luke with a barrage of kicks and quick punches. He backs Knux up against the ropes and whips him off real quick, running behind him so that when Knux hits the ropes, Raike is there to take him down with a leaping lung blower.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “That’s funny… all of a sudden Luke doesn’t have that same lustre he once had in my eyes… I don’t know what it is.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Johnny Raike is a lot to take in. Especially when he is right in your face..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He’s David Bowie, Philo. Hello? Fashion Icon? Musical impressario? Visionary? What… Luke Knux would suddenly be off his game if Johnny had dressed up like Andy Warhol or something instead? Pheh. I think I’m over Luke-y.”
He rolls on top of him for a quick pin but Knux is able to break it before the referee can even slam a hand down. Quickly Raike’s back to his feet, taunting the rock superstar to get up. Knux doesn’t even get a chance to stand upright once he starts receiving a barrage of kicks to his midsection and quads. One connects to the back of Luke’s knee and causes it to buckle, leading to him falling down on one knee like he’s getting ready to propose. The Sissy Saviour feigns interest like an 18 year old virgin being asked to the prom by the quarterback but then immediately fakes leaning in for a kiss with the baby ace crusher. Raike tries for a cover but Knux has a foot on the ropes before he’s even mounted the pin, so REF refuses to even go down.
PHILO B. POPE: “Knux knows right where he is at all times inside of the squared circle like any veteran does..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hmmmm…. Luke needs… something… I bet it’s cause he didn’t meet me after the last show. That’s it.”
Johnny’s annoyed over the cheap trick and drags Luke away from the ropes. As he has a hold on Knux’s arm, the Suicidal Scumbag snaps a leg up and around real quick, rolling Raike forward into an armbar. It’s countered by Raike, turning the hold by twisting the arm then leaping over into a headlock.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Gotta admit, this might be the weirdest thing anyone’s ever seen in a wrestling ring. A guy in a sparkly gymnasts uniform and full-on face paint facing some sort of… I don’t even know what you’d CALL Luke Knux. A Vampire, maybe?”
PHILO B. POPE: “Vampires! Imagine that..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeah… hilarious. Silly fictional monsters. Even if Luke Knux is clearly sustained by the blood of the living… which could have been mine if he wasn’t currently residing in a REAL castle somewhere.”
Knux counters the headlock with an arm twist before it can be properly locked in and as he lets go, both hands make their way to the eyes of Johnny, raking his face! Both men are on their knees now, trying to get back up. Raike has a hand over his face which partially obstructs his view just long enough for Luke to shove him through the ring ropes he was ever so close to. The Suicidal Scumbag hops up to his feet and grabs a hold of the top rope as he waits for his opponent to get up, even finding time to locate a pretty girl in the crowd and impregnate her with a mere look. On the floor Raike is finally up. He sees Luke pull himself over the top rope with a suicide dive and decides to move out of the way allowing the rock star to crash hard.
PHILO B. POPE: “He’s going to have a hangover from that!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Did you see that? He just knocked that one girl up?! See it? Just by lookin at her! I can tell these things! What’s she got that I don’t got?!”
Raike rolls in and out of the ring to break the count, coming back out with a kick to the back of Knux’s head. He drags him to his feet and shoves him backwards into the barrier, which he follows up with a hard right handed chop to the chest. Knux tries to bail but he’s stopped and receives another chop on the outside sending him towards the barrier once again. Luke shoves him to create some distance but Raike’s right back on him with another hard chop, this time grabbing onto him after and tossing him back into the ring. The crowd cheers as both men are on their feet.
PHILO B. POPE: “I knew this was going to be more of a catfight than a wrestling match and here we are!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well… I mean… Raike’s not letting up. Gotta give him that. And Luke’s safely out past sunset so he won’t be disintegrating any time soon, this isn’t THAT bad…”
Knux is the first to strike with a series of elbow attacks. He pushes Raike back and whips him across the ring, running to meet him. Raike slides under and through Knux’s legs, continuing onto the otherside of the ring where he bounces off the ropes and is taken down almost instantly with a hard spinning heel kick.
PHILO B. POPE: “Fast paced action just took Raike’s head off!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Sure, but will he notice? And Knux? COME ON LUKE.. DO SOMETHING AWESOME!”
The Suicidal Scumbag begins to drag Raike up holding him in place for a gut wrench suplex. He tries to lift him but Raike is refusing to budge so Luke lands a few hard elbows to the back of his head, which does the trick as lifts and slams Raike down hard.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “DAMN RIGHT!”
Knux begins to head towards the turnbuckle although he notices that Raike is already on his hands and knees, so this time he runs in with a kick to Johnny’s ribs. Following that he’s on the attack quickly, butterflying Johnny’s arms behind his back and launching him up with a butterfly suplex!
PHILO B. POPE: “Knux is laying it all out there tonight! He is looking to utterly destroy Every Sissyboy’s Savior!”
Knux points to the turnbuckle and climbs it quickly, making sure to give that girl in the crowd another look, just in case security didn’t know which one to tap on the shoulder with a VIP pass to Castle Knux after the show.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “HE’S CHECKING OUT THAT ONE BITCH, AGAIN!!! I’ll kill her. I swear.”
Once he’s ready, to the roar of approval from the crowd, Knux leaps back and connects with a flawless moonsault.
1...
2....
2....
PHILO B. POPE: “THREE!!!”
The Sissy Saviour is able to kick out at the last moment, not quite ready to give it up yet.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “NO!? Who figured the Thigh High Thriller had that kick out in him?”
Knux has other ideas and uses the brief moment after the pin to try and lock in the Suicidal Stretch. Johnny fights it as best he can, eventually pulling himself towards the ropes in the process, allowing himself to triumphantly grab a hold of the bottom rope. Raike pulls himself up on the ropes as REF holds Knux back in the interest of fair competition. As soon as Raike is up, Luke has pushed past REF to leap forwards, grabbing his opponents head in a front headlock position and with the help of the ring ropes, he bounces from the second to the third before rebounding off into the air, connecting with a springboard DDT that flattens Raike out on impact!
1...
2...
Kickout!
2...
Kickout!
PHILO B. POPE: “Get the fuck out of here!!! Raike just kicked again?!!?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I’m starting to wonder if I wanna let that one bitch have Knux… I mean… he’s not even capable of keeping Raike down. Yeah, you know who you is, whore… yeah… that’s right. Uh oh. She’s eyeing me down. Oh… she’s coming over here. Pretend we’re calling the match, Philo.”
Raike is defiant in his kick out. His body shakes, pulsing with energy that is powering him on as Knux tries to wear him down with punches on the ground. Both are back up quickly, Johnny absorbing all the fists and elbows that are coming his way. Raike with a kick of his own now.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Say what you will about Raike… bastard can take a beating. Him and that Stevie guy should hook up. PLATONICALLY, I mean!”
A second connects to Knux’s chest quickly followed by a third. Knux is taken aback by this sudden surge and finds himself being irish whipped across the ring and coming face to face with a Pele kick on his way back which stumbles him a bit. A hard superkick from Raike forces him to stumble backwards, almost losing his footing completely.
PHILO B. POPE: “The hard rocker just got rocked!”
Knux is backed up in the corner, hanging onto the ropes to keep himself upright. Raike runs in with the Yakuza kick but Knux ducks under, hooking Raikes leg and within seconds powers Raike up high on his shoulders, turning and slamming Raike down into the turnbuckle with the Buckle Bomb! He grabs Raike in a headlock as he stumbles forward, signalling for the Scumbag Salute! Raike powers through it and lifts him up for a back body drop.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Shiiiiit. These two Knuxcases are gonna break some records for most twists and turns in a match. Get it? Knuxcases???”
They’re both up quickly, Raike sees that Knux is near the turnbuckle and runs in, nailing him with a front dropkick that bounces the man into the corner. He rolls backwards to his feet and charges in again, this time connecting with a vicious Yakuza kick.
PHILO B. POPE: “Now I know that’s going to give Knuxy a hangover! Or feel like it anyway!”
His leg lingering over the top rope momentarily, Raike pulls himself back into the ring fully as the rock and roll star stumbles forwards and right into the waiting arms of Johnny who caught him with a small package driver!
PHILO B. POPE: “JOHNNY’S FULL FRONTAL?!!?!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “WHAT?! NO WAY!”
1...
2...
3..!!
2...
3..!!
PHILO B. POPE: “Wow! What an incredible match and a fitting tribute by Johnny Raike to the late, great David Bowie.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I know. Who knew Luke Knux wasn’t invincible?”
Just as Rhonda Armstrong raises the microphone to her lips to announce the winner, the opening strums of ‘Stranglehold’ by Ted Nugent echo throughout the arena, cutting her off.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wait.. Philo.. you said that word… but it was at least an hour ago, right? Are these two on some sort of time delay?”
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t know. Let’s hope they’re just here to get the main event started off..”
The BombTrax burst through the curtain before the breakdown has a chance to begin, stalking side by side down towards the ring, the ‘Press Pass’ firmly in the big man’s grip. Johnny Raike’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, and he can see mouthing ‘bullshit’, as Luke Knux rubs his head in confusion.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I thought Munin agreed to Raike’s contractual clause?! Looks like the BombTrax just don’t give a fuck!”
Rhonda promptly exits the ring, as 4Loco looks on quizzically, and checks his clipboard for the unannounced entrance. Both men reach the ring at the same time, and hops up on the apron as Press grabs the top rope, and rises up in one motion. Both men stare at the two men in the ring with baleful expressions, before easing between the bottom and middle rope.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “There are three things that scare Johnny Raike more than The BombTrax. One, of course, IS ME! Two, naturally, is nuclear war. And three… well forget the third cause the Damn BombTrax are in the ring and we don’t need to remember numbers no more!”
Johnny Raike is damn near beside himself as he shakes his head no, and balls his fists up, ready for a fight. Luke, more cautious, but not going to back down either, stands there waiting with a stoic expression.
PHILO B. POPE: “Would Raike ever team with Knux? Even in a moment like this?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “If the chips are down, sure. Or if the price is right. Or if Raike and Luke became best budz. Or if they got engaged. Or if they were tied together in a lasso. Or if they were caught hula hooping or… well… I’m sure this is a bad time for meaningless conjecture seeing as Raike’s about to get a huge cash payout from P.A.W. for whatever the BombTrax are about to do.”
Press allows a wicked grin in Raike’s direction, and then winks at the most liberated man in professional wrestling, and jerks his thumb towards the rampway.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He’s… hitchhiking maybe…?”
The BombTrax step aside, giving him plenty of room to exit. Raike stares at them for a second in surprise, but doesn’t hesitate to take the offered exit, diving between the ropes to land on the floor, and make his way up the rampway.
PHILO B. POPE: “Looks like Knux needs a partner, partner..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “No way. What did Knux do to them?!”
When the two men turn back to face Luke Knux, its obvious he wasn’t expecting that, the realization dawning on him that they were here for him. Luke shrugged, and then with lightning speed dove towards the two men. He caught Youth around the midsection, trying to drive him to the ground, but only knocking him into the ropes. Both of the smaller men began trading blows, Youth taking shots to the ribs by Knux, and Luke taking blows to the back of the head by Youth.
PHILO B. POPE: “This is ridiculous! I can not believe what I’m seeing.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH (with a loud, disappointed sigh): “Was nice knowing ya, Luke.”
The fighting spirit, however, isn’t allowed to last, as Press steps in and plants a vicious chair shot across Luke’s back. The Rock N’ Rolla slumps to his knees, and is dragged over to a corner where the two begin a series of stomps and punches that is nothing short of a mugging.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well.. admiring you from a distance, rather. These buggers are all but gonna disfigure him. And we have the best, and or worst, seats in the house!”
Press drags Knux out from the corner, and sends him hard into the opposite side with a vicious Irish whip, and when he impacts with the turnbuckle, he’s sent stumbling back out only to meet the heel of Youth’s boot in a massive super kick. Luke hits the mat hard, reaching up to grip at his throbbing jaw, as Youth drops down over top of him, reigning right hands down into the man’s face.
PHILO B. POPE: “That kick had a whiplash like effect on the neck of Luke Knux. He is in serious trouble..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Duh. It’s the BombTrax. Just be glad Luke’s body is cushioning most of the blows from hitting his sexy brain.”
Press tosses his ‘Press Pass’ off to the side, and exits the ring over near the announce table.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Uhhhh.. why is that Rhino getting so close to our car, Philo…?”
Youth pulls himself up off of Knux, and begins stomping at him, each boot sending him closer and closer to the ring apron, until with a final kick he’s sent sprawling to the floor.
PHILO B. POPE: “They’re getting a little too close for comfort!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You got a window you can roll up or something? Tell him we don’t want any.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I want off this ride!”
Press jerks the Rock God up to his feet by a fistful of hair, and drags him over to bang his head off the announce table.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “SCREW THIS NEW AND IMPROVED CRAP, I’M OUT.”
As Constance and Philo vacate their station, Press pulls Luke away from the table, tucks his head between his legs, and then hoists him up, and drives him down in a perfectly executed Press Release Powerbomb. The table explodes into a million pieces upon impact, and all that remains of Luke Knux is a lifeless crumpled form amongst the wreckage.
PHILO B. POPE: “HOLY SHIT!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “MY RESUME!”
Youth, after retrieving the ‘Press Pass’ and exiting the ring, takes a mic from the production area, and tosses it to Press. The big man hovers over the prone body at his feet, and looks out at the mass that is the Pure faithful.
PRESS: “You know, this wasn’t really apart of the plan.”
He points down to Knux, a remorseful expression on his face.
PRESS: “I mean, after all, I’m a fan of the Scumbags! I love Rock music! Last show, during the concert, me and Youth sat off stage with a few beers, and thought, man, this guy’s going to be a legend. Nah, Luke, we don’t really have a problem with you.”
Press smirked, and then turned his attention towards the announce team, specifically Constance Church.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He must mean you, Philo.”
PRESS: “You know, I thought our first show was pretty good. We went out there and did something that few in this business care about anymore, and that’s making everyone look like a star. Making sure everyone in the match got over. But as we sat on our couch watching the DVD, we heard this constant malignant tumor pipe in throughout the entire fucking show, without a monochrome of respect for the individuals trying to put forth their effort. Matter of fact, this cunt didn’t seem to have a kind word for anyone except for one individual.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I called you a Yeti! Where I come from that’s the next best thing to being called the damned President… Help me out, Philo, seriously. I'm too young and pretty to die.”
Press smirked, and waved his hand to indicate the crumpled humanity at his feet. He then slowly strode towards the announce team, who shrank back from his presence, and came to a stop to loom over Constance Church.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Eeep..”
PRESS: “You see, Constance, poor old Knuxy here was an exclamation point for you, since he seems to be the only one around here to cream your Twinkie. It’s a friendly reminder, to you from us, that the next time you call one of our matches you’d best put some forethought into the bullshit you usher out of your mouth, or the next person that gets through a table around here could be you.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “....”
He turned to make his exit, tossing the mic back to Youth, who sauntered over with a grin.
FLAMING YOUTH: “And before you go running to Sam & Munin with tears in your eyes, and all that…make sure to read the fine print in your contract. You’re on-air talent. It’d be all legal. And just let me say, Philo…….You the man!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I-That… uh... I’m not afrai- Uhm.. Philo… you coward! You're supposed to be my announce partner!”
Youth throws his fist out to Philo who bumps it with his own, and Youth joins Press as they trek back up the ramp. Constance moves in beside Philo who simply shrugs.
PHILO B. POPE: “I sure hope someone, anyone, has something planned backstage!”
And you couldn’t have timed it better, or worse. The lights dim in the Xayarena as the crowd wait in anticipation; the camera shows smartphones illuminating in the dark. The crowd don’t have to wait too long as the opening chords to Joe Walsh’s ‘Turn to Stone’ resound across the arena. The crowd waste no time in booing the imminent arrival of the PAW Superstar they know uses the music.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You’ve got to be kidding… NOW? Know what? I need to use the was- Wait… Those… MEN will listen to me say it… WAIT… Can the BombTrax read minds? Are they doing it right now? HELP ME, PHILO! I SWEAR I’LL BE GOOD!”
Cross Recoba comes out from the back wearing a navy suit, he straightens the burgundy tie before walking down the aisle. He looks out at the first ever PAW WICKED crowd in Xayarena and laughs to himself for reasons yet known.
He strides up to Rhonda Armstrong, who immediately stands up to show her imposing frame remembering the diss he delivered to her at the previous show. Cross takes a step back and smiles before pointing at the microphone.
PHILO B. POPE: “Stick that right in his ass Rhonda!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Erm…. go… BombTrax…?”
He exaggerates his movements as if approaching a wild bear, smiling at her as he does so before snatching the microphone and living to be an ass one more day. He steps onto the apron and shakes his head at the crowd once more before getting into the ring.
CROSS RECOBA: “Welcome to the Xayarena, fans! Now…you probably all remember me from last week, I was the guy who set tongues wagging without even having to have a match! I’m the guy that gave you a sneak preview as to the devastating arsenal of moves I have! I’m the guy who is apparently Public…Enemy…Number…One!”
Recoba smiles to himself at the absurdity in his mind to this moniker.
CROSS RECOBA: “Tonight, in your main-event, you’ll see me take on Press one-on-one. Just to even the match up a little though they’ve made Flaming Youth the referee…because that’s in no way an example of management throwing their toys out of their pram at being upstaged on their debut show! But, I’m a team player, I can acquiesce to their wishes, and you all must know that, like a naughty schoolboy, I had Lady Munin read me the riot act!”
PHILO B. POPE: “You’re lucky you got out there like you did..”
CROSS RECOBA: “Instead of lines, or detention, she gave me her version of the cane. That’s just not a healthy working relationship though; it’s a toxic working environment if I’m quite honest. So I’m out here tonight to extend an olive branch to you all…”
Recoba hears the boos hush, he figured this would be the case – after all it’s not exactly the obvious thing for him to do.
CROSS RECOBA: “I know you fans scrimp and save to come watch us, your heroes! I know that you wait patiently for weeks to see when the next shows come out that might be near your hometown. I know that deep down you want to be like the PAW Superstars you see in the ring, even…like…me!”
PHILO B. POPE: “I hope none of my people are anywhere near what this guy is smoking!”
CROSS RECOBA: “It came to me when I left Munin’s office earlier this evening, that realization. I thought to myself – Cross, you haven’t always been in the position you were in. When you were younger you knew how difficult it was not having money, how it could disadvantage you socially, how it would build a little seed of resentment in you when you saw people from better backgrounds buying the clothes you wanted as if they were just another pair of socks. How your first car was a beat-up second-hand car that you felt like telling your family to send back to the place it came from because you didn’t want to pull into the High School parking lot and have it compared to the Mustangs, the Humvees, and the Dodge’s that the elite had. I know how you feel when you wish you could have that house, that dress, that phone but realize that it isn’t going to happen, not without something major changing in your circumstances…”
The crowd seem to be thawing to Recoba, he almost seems genuine in his words.
CROSS RECOBA: “I realized that maybe it’s time I gave back to you all, to the fans who pay my wages, help subsidize my life in a small way. So I’m out here to make an apology to you all, and make a gesture to show you all the level of regret I feel for attacking one of your own at the last show…”
CROSS RECOBA: “To do this, though, I need a volunteer - who wants to be able to say they stepped in a Pure Amusement Wrestling Ring?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh… not again…”
The crowd pop for this opportunity, hands fly up. Recoba wanders round the ring trying to find a worthy recipient of such an honor. He closes his eyes and thrusts out a pointed finger before spinning round the ring.
CROSS RECOBA: “It’s….going…to….be…YOU!!”
Recoba stops and is left pointing at a male of no more than 30. He is wearing a Genesis Hendrix tee with the slogan ‘Next-Gen Champion’ on it. Who knows if it’s legit or an Etsy knock-off. He waves a security guy over to him and beckons the guard to bring him to the ring.
CROSS RECOBA: “You, sir! Come on down!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hope he’s got liability insurance.”
The male rolls into the ring, the camera makes sure to get a close-up to show the ear-to-ear smile on his face. He isn’t sure what this will entail but just stepping into a wrestling ring, in front of all these people, and all these cameras – that will be enough for him.
CROSS RECOBA: “What’s your name?”
MALE: “Brian Vance”
Brian stutters over his words, clearly feeling the gravitas for a wrestling fan.
CROSS RECOBA: “Everyone give a cheer for Brian!”
The crowd pop wildly for one of their own in the ring.
CROSS RECOBA: “So, Brian, I’m here to apologize to you – a symbolic apology meant for you all – for my actions. How I abused my position as a wrestler, and a role model, to deliver what, in hindsight, I can see was a sickening attack on a fan.”
Brian is speechless.
CROSS RECOBA: “To make it up to you all I’m going to make Brian here a settlement offer, a reparations payment to the fans.”
Recoba pulls out some paperwork and a chequebook.
CROSS RECOBA: “How does….fifteen thousand dollars sound to you? Fair?”
Brian nods his head, the weight of the situation something he didn’t prepare for when he stepped inside the Xayarena. Recoba wanders to the corner of the ring and writes in the chequebook before tearing off a cheque. He wanders back to the ring and finds the cameraman to show the cheque that reads ‘Brian Vance, $15,000’.
CROSS RECOBA: “We can all see that, right? That’s my signature, not signed by Kay Fabe, the infamous wrestler’s accountant, not signed by Mickey Mouse, that is my signature.”
He presents it to Brian.
CROSS RECOBA: “That’s yours Brian – how are you going to spend it?”
Brian is put on the spot, he definitely didn’t expect to be asked how he would spend a windfall like this.
BRIAN VANCE: “Uhhh, I’ll give my children their first holiday abroad! Then put the rest into their college funds!”
The crowd cheer at the display of family values.
CROSS RECOBA: “An honourable way to spend it, selfless even. Now, there isn’t a catch, all you have to do for this money is sign this paperwork – I sat down with my legal team this week, they wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to use it as a bribe. You’re not a government official, associated with the police force, tax office, or any other body that isn’t allowed to take monetary payments from a third party, are you?”
Brian shakes his head and takes the pen off Recoba. He scans the document in the way someone would scan the End User License Agreement on iTunes before signing it.
CROSS RECOBA: “Well done, Brian. You’ve made more than a few friends tonight with how you carried yourself. Enjoy the rest of the show!”
PHILO B. POPE: “Dude! DON’T!!!”
Brian turns to head out of the ring, Cross walks after him and delivers a forearm to the back of his head that leaves him half hanging out of the ring. Recoba steps onto the apron and brings Vance with him. He lifts him up from a front-facelock before kicking out his legs driving the head of the fans into the apron with a thud! The boos inside the arena are deafening at this seemingly senseless, and short-sighted, move by Cross.
PHILO B. POPE: “IT’S CALLED THE STATEN ISLAND DROP!”
Recoba rolls him into the ring and lifts him up into a familiar position, he steps over the man’s arms and pulls back on his legs in the standing Boston Crab he calls ‘Garibaldi’s Guillotine’. Brian is out cold from the DDT.
The cameras cut to the ramp to show 4loco’s security team rushing to the ring; they wait on the apron of the ring before nodding to rush the ring together. Recoba quickly assesses his options and drops Vance to the floor, he reaches into his jacket pocket and drops a piece of paper onto the man’s prone body. He rolls out of the ring and grabs the microphone.
CROSS RECOBA: “Check the paperwork, guys! This one is covered!”
Recoba picks up the cheque that had fallen to the floor from the Staten Island Drop and walks to a camera before ripping it up. The cameras switch to the security team who are motioning for the medical team to come down to the ring.
Recoba backs up the aisle laughing as ‘Turn to Stone’ continues to play. The cameras show a shot from above of Brian Vance’s body, he is moving and conscious but groggy. It zooms into the piece of paper that lays atop of him, evidently the one he signed to release the money into his control. At the top in red writing it simply reads.
‘WAIVER AGAINST INJURY INSIDE THE RING’
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “BombTrax be damned.. Cross Recoba is a poop. Now where’s our damn announce table? I need to hide behind something.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I still think you could claw his eyes out if he came down here. It’s not like he’s beaten up anyone actually ON the roster! He’s not a wrestler. Dude is a suit!”
Philo then moves towards the ring and pulls a folding table out from underneath it. He set the legs up, braced them and flipped the table over. Constance watched mildly forlorn and shaken from her intimidating encounter with BombTrax. Half in shock, she helped Philo by moving two steel chairs over and set them up behind the table. She sat down with a HUMPH.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “My second time on the job and I’ve already gotten challenged by David Bowie’s biggest fan and the only tag-team the federation has.”
Constance pouted.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And now our announce table looks like something from an interrogation room. Philo.. do you think they’ll cut backstage anytime soon so I can hide my tears?”
He strides up to Rhonda Armstrong, who immediately stands up to show her imposing frame remembering the diss he delivered to her at the previous show. Cross takes a step back and smiles before pointing at the microphone.
PHILO B. POPE: “Stick that right in his ass Rhonda!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Erm…. go… BombTrax…?”
He exaggerates his movements as if approaching a wild bear, smiling at her as he does so before snatching the microphone and living to be an ass one more day. He steps onto the apron and shakes his head at the crowd once more before getting into the ring.
CROSS RECOBA: “Welcome to the Xayarena, fans! Now…you probably all remember me from last week, I was the guy who set tongues wagging without even having to have a match! I’m the guy that gave you a sneak preview as to the devastating arsenal of moves I have! I’m the guy who is apparently Public…Enemy…Number…One!”
Recoba smiles to himself at the absurdity in his mind to this moniker.
CROSS RECOBA: “Tonight, in your main-event, you’ll see me take on Press one-on-one. Just to even the match up a little though they’ve made Flaming Youth the referee…because that’s in no way an example of management throwing their toys out of their pram at being upstaged on their debut show! But, I’m a team player, I can acquiesce to their wishes, and you all must know that, like a naughty schoolboy, I had Lady Munin read me the riot act!”
PHILO B. POPE: “You’re lucky you got out there like you did..”
CROSS RECOBA: “Instead of lines, or detention, she gave me her version of the cane. That’s just not a healthy working relationship though; it’s a toxic working environment if I’m quite honest. So I’m out here tonight to extend an olive branch to you all…”
Recoba hears the boos hush, he figured this would be the case – after all it’s not exactly the obvious thing for him to do.
CROSS RECOBA: “I know you fans scrimp and save to come watch us, your heroes! I know that you wait patiently for weeks to see when the next shows come out that might be near your hometown. I know that deep down you want to be like the PAW Superstars you see in the ring, even…like…me!”
PHILO B. POPE: “I hope none of my people are anywhere near what this guy is smoking!”
CROSS RECOBA: “It came to me when I left Munin’s office earlier this evening, that realization. I thought to myself – Cross, you haven’t always been in the position you were in. When you were younger you knew how difficult it was not having money, how it could disadvantage you socially, how it would build a little seed of resentment in you when you saw people from better backgrounds buying the clothes you wanted as if they were just another pair of socks. How your first car was a beat-up second-hand car that you felt like telling your family to send back to the place it came from because you didn’t want to pull into the High School parking lot and have it compared to the Mustangs, the Humvees, and the Dodge’s that the elite had. I know how you feel when you wish you could have that house, that dress, that phone but realize that it isn’t going to happen, not without something major changing in your circumstances…”
The crowd seem to be thawing to Recoba, he almost seems genuine in his words.
CROSS RECOBA: “I realized that maybe it’s time I gave back to you all, to the fans who pay my wages, help subsidize my life in a small way. So I’m out here to make an apology to you all, and make a gesture to show you all the level of regret I feel for attacking one of your own at the last show…”
CROSS RECOBA: “To do this, though, I need a volunteer - who wants to be able to say they stepped in a Pure Amusement Wrestling Ring?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh… not again…”
The crowd pop for this opportunity, hands fly up. Recoba wanders round the ring trying to find a worthy recipient of such an honor. He closes his eyes and thrusts out a pointed finger before spinning round the ring.
CROSS RECOBA: “It’s….going…to….be…YOU!!”
Recoba stops and is left pointing at a male of no more than 30. He is wearing a Genesis Hendrix tee with the slogan ‘Next-Gen Champion’ on it. Who knows if it’s legit or an Etsy knock-off. He waves a security guy over to him and beckons the guard to bring him to the ring.
CROSS RECOBA: “You, sir! Come on down!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hope he’s got liability insurance.”
The male rolls into the ring, the camera makes sure to get a close-up to show the ear-to-ear smile on his face. He isn’t sure what this will entail but just stepping into a wrestling ring, in front of all these people, and all these cameras – that will be enough for him.
CROSS RECOBA: “What’s your name?”
MALE: “Brian Vance”
Brian stutters over his words, clearly feeling the gravitas for a wrestling fan.
CROSS RECOBA: “Everyone give a cheer for Brian!”
The crowd pop wildly for one of their own in the ring.
CROSS RECOBA: “So, Brian, I’m here to apologize to you – a symbolic apology meant for you all – for my actions. How I abused my position as a wrestler, and a role model, to deliver what, in hindsight, I can see was a sickening attack on a fan.”
Brian is speechless.
CROSS RECOBA: “To make it up to you all I’m going to make Brian here a settlement offer, a reparations payment to the fans.”
Recoba pulls out some paperwork and a chequebook.
CROSS RECOBA: “How does….fifteen thousand dollars sound to you? Fair?”
Brian nods his head, the weight of the situation something he didn’t prepare for when he stepped inside the Xayarena. Recoba wanders to the corner of the ring and writes in the chequebook before tearing off a cheque. He wanders back to the ring and finds the cameraman to show the cheque that reads ‘Brian Vance, $15,000’.
CROSS RECOBA: “We can all see that, right? That’s my signature, not signed by Kay Fabe, the infamous wrestler’s accountant, not signed by Mickey Mouse, that is my signature.”
He presents it to Brian.
CROSS RECOBA: “That’s yours Brian – how are you going to spend it?”
Brian is put on the spot, he definitely didn’t expect to be asked how he would spend a windfall like this.
BRIAN VANCE: “Uhhh, I’ll give my children their first holiday abroad! Then put the rest into their college funds!”
The crowd cheer at the display of family values.
CROSS RECOBA: “An honourable way to spend it, selfless even. Now, there isn’t a catch, all you have to do for this money is sign this paperwork – I sat down with my legal team this week, they wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to use it as a bribe. You’re not a government official, associated with the police force, tax office, or any other body that isn’t allowed to take monetary payments from a third party, are you?”
Brian shakes his head and takes the pen off Recoba. He scans the document in the way someone would scan the End User License Agreement on iTunes before signing it.
CROSS RECOBA: “Well done, Brian. You’ve made more than a few friends tonight with how you carried yourself. Enjoy the rest of the show!”
PHILO B. POPE: “Dude! DON’T!!!”
Brian turns to head out of the ring, Cross walks after him and delivers a forearm to the back of his head that leaves him half hanging out of the ring. Recoba steps onto the apron and brings Vance with him. He lifts him up from a front-facelock before kicking out his legs driving the head of the fans into the apron with a thud! The boos inside the arena are deafening at this seemingly senseless, and short-sighted, move by Cross.
PHILO B. POPE: “IT’S CALLED THE STATEN ISLAND DROP!”
Recoba rolls him into the ring and lifts him up into a familiar position, he steps over the man’s arms and pulls back on his legs in the standing Boston Crab he calls ‘Garibaldi’s Guillotine’. Brian is out cold from the DDT.
The cameras cut to the ramp to show 4loco’s security team rushing to the ring; they wait on the apron of the ring before nodding to rush the ring together. Recoba quickly assesses his options and drops Vance to the floor, he reaches into his jacket pocket and drops a piece of paper onto the man’s prone body. He rolls out of the ring and grabs the microphone.
CROSS RECOBA: “Check the paperwork, guys! This one is covered!”
Recoba picks up the cheque that had fallen to the floor from the Staten Island Drop and walks to a camera before ripping it up. The cameras switch to the security team who are motioning for the medical team to come down to the ring.
Recoba backs up the aisle laughing as ‘Turn to Stone’ continues to play. The cameras show a shot from above of Brian Vance’s body, he is moving and conscious but groggy. It zooms into the piece of paper that lays atop of him, evidently the one he signed to release the money into his control. At the top in red writing it simply reads.
‘WAIVER AGAINST INJURY INSIDE THE RING’
PHILO B. POPE: “I still think you could claw his eyes out if he came down here. It’s not like he’s beaten up anyone actually ON the roster! He’s not a wrestler. Dude is a suit!”
Philo then moves towards the ring and pulls a folding table out from underneath it. He set the legs up, braced them and flipped the table over. Constance watched mildly forlorn and shaken from her intimidating encounter with BombTrax. Half in shock, she helped Philo by moving two steel chairs over and set them up behind the table. She sat down with a HUMPH.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “My second time on the job and I’ve already gotten challenged by David Bowie’s biggest fan and the only tag-team the federation has.”
Constance pouted.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “And now our announce table looks like something from an interrogation room. Philo.. do you think they’ll cut backstage anytime soon so I can hide my tears?”
WöLF BLïX versus TOMAS CASILLAS
Before Philo could speak, the chilling howl of a Wolf echoes through the fairground, followed by the thunderous guitar chords of 'Suffering Overdue' by Black Label Society, signalling the arrival of Wölf Blïx. The audience begin to throw a chorus of jeers and negativity towards him, as he emerges onto the small staging area, giving them absolutely no attention whatsoever. His eyes are fixated on the ring, focused on the task at hand: winning this fight.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Ladies and Gentlemen, approaching the ring from New Orleans, Louisiana, by way of Sweden; weighing in at two hundred and sixty four pounds... WOLF BBLLIIXX!!!"
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But… But… But…“
The Viking saunters down the small ramp, maintaining his wild stare towards the ring. The intensity he carries with him is evident, although it doesn't prevent the audience from hurtling abuse towards him. Wölf rolls under the bottom rope and gets to his feet once inside the ring, before running the ropes, as if to mark his territory.
PHILO B. POPE: “As far as he's concerned, this is his yard!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wolf can suck it. I want our announce table back! Remember it, Philo? All nice and cozy… like a suit of armor that those two… kindly gentleman… had to come down here and BREAK?!”
The opening thrums of Arcade Fire's 'Wake Up' begin blasting over the PA system as the lights flash from normal to dark with silver strobe lights. Out onto the entrance ramp steps Tomas Casillas, who takes a moment to run his hand through his hair and kiss the rosary wrapped around his right hand.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "And his opponent! Fighting out of Brooklyn, New York! The Unreakable...TOMAS CCAASSIILLAASSSS!
He takes a running go towards the ring, then slides underneath the bottom rope as soon as he reaches it. In the center of the ring, Tomas rises to one knee, crosses himself in the Catholic fashion, tosses the rosary to the REF, and turns to face his opponent. As he does, Casillas extends a hand. Blix looked him up and down, sizing him up for the final time before accepting the handshake.
PHILO B. POPE: “Finally! I was beginning to think Stevie Harris was the only decent dude on the roster...which is way more than a stretch..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Nah. There’s… Uhmmm… The… Bomb..fugg it. Those assholes didn’t need to threaten me! Seriously. They could have got their lawyer after me like Johnny Raike did!”
As their hands released, REF called for the bell to officially kick off the match. Blix and Casillas clashed in the center of the ring with a collar and elbow tie-up. Both men shoved and jerked at their opponent for position with planted feet. Casillas was rocked backwards half a step and as he regained his footing and shoved Blix back who took the change in momentum shift to land a high hip toss on Casillas. Fast to his feet, Tomas was met once again in the center of the ring with a collar and elbow tie-up, but this time as Wolf moved in to apply the hold, Casillas hit him with an armdrag takedown. Both men moved to their feet and Blix was knocked down hard with a standing dropkick.
PHILO B. POPE: “Both men starting it off with some hard hitting action.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Aren’t you listening? We can’t ANNOUNCE anything without the proper table, Philo. What am I gonna do? Play poker-- Say, you don’t happen to have any cards, do you?”
As Blix made it up to his feet, Casillas nailed him hard with a running lariat which knocked Wolf backwards and over the top rope down onto the floor below. Blix landed on his feet and as he did, grabbed Casillas by the backs of his boots and drug him down to the mat, then out of the ring under the bottom rope. REF is right on point and begins to count both men out.
PHILO B. POPE: “Wolf takes advantage..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “HA! Like we all knew he would… And I mean that as the least innocent statement imaginable… just NOT with Tomas whatever in there but a lady… like me, for instance.”
Blix lands a stiff elbow to the jaw of Casillas. Tomas goes down to one knee and as he rises, strikes Blix in the chin with an uppercut! Blix staggered backwards half a step and calls for another one!
PHILO B. POPE: “Casillas a world class striker and submissions expert from...what..where was that gym in Brooklyn again?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I think it was called the IMADETHISUP gym! Near Poughkeepsie, actually. Maybe it was Schenectady?”
Casillas jabs with the left and lands a vicious right hook. Blix stands his ground and slaps himself in the face hard with each hand, taunting Tomas. Inside of the ring, REF’s count has reached: FIVE!!! Casillas swung wildly and Blix leaned back out of his reach. Wolf lunged forward, planting a boot in the gut of Casillas. As Tomas fell forward, Wolf caught him with a front facelock, r-applied his grip into a modified double chickenwing, then lifted.
PHILO B. POPE: “MOVE!”
Pope grabbed Church hard by the arm, jerking her away.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hey-WHOAAAAA--”
Blix sent Casillas down hard busting the second announce table of the night with a Hanging Butterfly Suplex!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “THE OTHER ANNOUNCE/GAMING TABLE!!!!”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s what P.A.W. gets for not having a Spanish announce table to bust!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Si. Si. And I was just getting used to the new one, too.”
Wolf Blix rolled back into the ring just in time to break-up REF’s count. As soon as REF stopped counting, Blix rolled back out of the ring. Again, REF began a count-out. Blix walked over to where Casillas lay and stepped hard on his chest. Wolf then pulled Casillas up to his feet and with an Irish Whip sent him hard into the steel steps at ringside. Once again, Blix rolled into the ring, rolled in front of the cornerpost and out under under the ropes only to force a break of REF’s count. Once again, Blix pulled Casillas up, this time he rolled the man back into the ring under the bottom rope.
PHILO B. POPE: “Blix is actually toying with a man most people saw as a challenge when he checked in..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You know… they called that one rocket ship The Challenger… and it blew up, Philo. What’s that tell you?”
Blix ran the ropes once, and as he crossed over Casillas, stepped down hard on the man’s chest. Blix hit the ropes again, Casillas rolled over onto his stomach, Blix stepped down hard onto his back as he crossed over him. Wolf hit the far side ropes and Casillas pushed off of the mat, still trying to rise to his feet, once again, Blix stomped him back down onto the canvas as he crossed over him.
PHILO B. POPE: “Tomas Casillas is being bullied here tonight by Wolf Blix!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Better him than me. Seriously. I lost two tables and already have a feud with three wrestlers.”
Blix stomped Casillas down hard onto the mat a last time and paused, standing over him. Blix reached down and heaved, unbelievably deadlifting Casillas into a powerbomb position. Wolf brought him down hard in the center of the ring. REF slid into position to make a count!
Blix lifted Casillas again and seemed to bring him down even harder with the second powerbomb!
PHILO B. POPE: “Deadlift Double Powerbomb by Wolf Blix!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You mean he’s already dead? Can we go home, yet? This night sucks. At least there’s not like a bomb or something ticking down towards our inevitable destruction, thank Bowie. I need valium.”
Casillas lay in a heap in the center of the ring, while Blix circled. Wolf backed into a corner, crouching and ready. Slowly, Casillas made it to his feet, turning inside of the ring, looking for Wolf.
PHILO B. POPE: “Careful what you look for Casillas..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Curioisity killed the… Casillas…?”
Blix charged him and hit him so hard with a stiff lariat shot that Casillas did a backwards flip before landing hard on his stomach. Blix rolled Casillas onto his back and with a forearm pressed down hard across his face, went for the pin.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “And here is your winner...WOLF BLIX!!!”
PHILO B. POPE: ”The Wolf shows mercy and ends it!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yes, but… what about us, Philo? We had to watch that bearded fellow kick the shit out of that one guy that joined with no beard… and then all of a sudden he had one. VERY strange. I’m beginning to wonder if we ever knew Tomas Casillas at all.”
REF raised Wolf’s arm in victory inside of the ring as “Suffering Overdie” by Black Label Society hit the speakers. With the crowd still going wild, Blix headed up the ramp towards backstage several fans in the front row held up six signs which spelled out: HOWL!! Blix paused in front of their signs and as he was distracted, Kip Calhoun, flanked by Chazz and Oregon Dave dropped the signs and began pummeling Wolf Blix from behind!!!
PHILO B. POPE: “Not these guys again! What are they doing out here?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Same thing they do every night, Philo. Trying to take over the Park!”
"Oregon" Dave and Chazz hopped the guardrail first and continued punching Blix from behind. As Kip climbed the guardrail, he did so with a steel chair in hand. Kip slammed to chair down on the ramp to get their attention.
PHILO B. POPE: “Kip Calhoun, for whatever reason, probably to impress Hoss is showing the big bad Wolf that he is the real pack animal in this amusement park!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh come on, Philo. You spent all week waiting to pull that shit out, didn’t you? It’s a beatdown! Call it what it is! Like the fucking DRIVEBY everyone’s doing on our announce table!!!”
Chazz and "Oregon" Dave launched Wolf Blix towards Kip with an Irish Whip up the entrance ramp. Calhoun drew back and brought the chair down onto Blix’s skull with a sickening thud! The seat of the chair snapped and barely held as Calhoun held the chair up high. Seeing this, he shook it hard and the seat of the chair fell free.
PHILO B. POPE: “Bllix is down and bleeding hard!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Naturally. But you make a good point… why on earth would Kip destroy the guy who destroyed that other guy? It can’t be a dog-eat-dog world. That guy’s name is WOLF! This makes no sense.”
Blix was down, bleeding hard and crawling towards backstage as "Oregon" Dave and Chazz pounced. Oregon Dave with an elbow drop and a side headlock to hold him down, while Chazz stomped him at the small of his back. Laughing, Kip Calhoun stood over the three of them.
PHILO B. POPE: “They are just mauling Wolf Blix! Someone has to stop this!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I really doubt that. Cross Recoba’s routinely come out here and injured fans…. The BombTrax killed Luke KNux and put me on notice. I think we’re living in the Wild West, Philo.”
Calhoun struck. He reached down and grabbed Blix by the ankle and applied an ankle lock!
PHILO B. POPE: “Calhoun calls this ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop!’ But that’s the last thing Blix wants to hear!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Maybe he’d rather a nice, comforting bowl of Rice Krispies right about now? Or Captain CRUNCH! Haha.”
"Oregon" Dave held Blix with a grounded side headlock. Chazz held his arms down flat in front of him while Kip Calhoun twisted and wrenched on his left ankle in a maniacal frenzy.
PHILO B. POPE: “He’s trying to tear Wolf’s whole foot off!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ewwwwww. Seriously… someone has to stop…. and fix… Our damned announce table!”
Chazz and Oregon Dave released their holds and encouraged Kip to break the ankle. Kip dropped down onto his back and grapevines the leg with both of his. Calhoun twisted and Blix howled in agony. Wolf’s foot looked like it was on backwards as the cameras cut away to Philo and Constance, who stood at ringside with no broadcast table to speak of.
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t even know what to say. An amazing debut by Wolf Blix...and now, thanks to Kip Calhoun, the man’s whole career could possibly be over.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Another flawless Calhoun strategic move. There’s one less body in the way to his complete… whatever he’s after.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I know you slipped your resume to Hoss when he was out here..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Damn… that’s a good idea. But NO. BombTrax took that shit, too. Gotta start all over again. And I was almost finished with it too.”
PHILO B. POPE: “So. While we straighten out our situation here at ringside, can someone please do something backstage?”
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "Ladies and Gentlemen, approaching the ring from New Orleans, Louisiana, by way of Sweden; weighing in at two hundred and sixty four pounds... WOLF BBLLIIXX!!!"
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But… But… But…“
The Viking saunters down the small ramp, maintaining his wild stare towards the ring. The intensity he carries with him is evident, although it doesn't prevent the audience from hurtling abuse towards him. Wölf rolls under the bottom rope and gets to his feet once inside the ring, before running the ropes, as if to mark his territory.
PHILO B. POPE: “As far as he's concerned, this is his yard!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wolf can suck it. I want our announce table back! Remember it, Philo? All nice and cozy… like a suit of armor that those two… kindly gentleman… had to come down here and BREAK?!”
The opening thrums of Arcade Fire's 'Wake Up' begin blasting over the PA system as the lights flash from normal to dark with silver strobe lights. Out onto the entrance ramp steps Tomas Casillas, who takes a moment to run his hand through his hair and kiss the rosary wrapped around his right hand.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: "And his opponent! Fighting out of Brooklyn, New York! The Unreakable...TOMAS CCAASSIILLAASSSS!
He takes a running go towards the ring, then slides underneath the bottom rope as soon as he reaches it. In the center of the ring, Tomas rises to one knee, crosses himself in the Catholic fashion, tosses the rosary to the REF, and turns to face his opponent. As he does, Casillas extends a hand. Blix looked him up and down, sizing him up for the final time before accepting the handshake.
PHILO B. POPE: “Finally! I was beginning to think Stevie Harris was the only decent dude on the roster...which is way more than a stretch..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Nah. There’s… Uhmmm… The… Bomb..fugg it. Those assholes didn’t need to threaten me! Seriously. They could have got their lawyer after me like Johnny Raike did!”
As their hands released, REF called for the bell to officially kick off the match. Blix and Casillas clashed in the center of the ring with a collar and elbow tie-up. Both men shoved and jerked at their opponent for position with planted feet. Casillas was rocked backwards half a step and as he regained his footing and shoved Blix back who took the change in momentum shift to land a high hip toss on Casillas. Fast to his feet, Tomas was met once again in the center of the ring with a collar and elbow tie-up, but this time as Wolf moved in to apply the hold, Casillas hit him with an armdrag takedown. Both men moved to their feet and Blix was knocked down hard with a standing dropkick.
PHILO B. POPE: “Both men starting it off with some hard hitting action.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Aren’t you listening? We can’t ANNOUNCE anything without the proper table, Philo. What am I gonna do? Play poker-- Say, you don’t happen to have any cards, do you?”
As Blix made it up to his feet, Casillas nailed him hard with a running lariat which knocked Wolf backwards and over the top rope down onto the floor below. Blix landed on his feet and as he did, grabbed Casillas by the backs of his boots and drug him down to the mat, then out of the ring under the bottom rope. REF is right on point and begins to count both men out.
PHILO B. POPE: “Wolf takes advantage..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “HA! Like we all knew he would… And I mean that as the least innocent statement imaginable… just NOT with Tomas whatever in there but a lady… like me, for instance.”
Blix lands a stiff elbow to the jaw of Casillas. Tomas goes down to one knee and as he rises, strikes Blix in the chin with an uppercut! Blix staggered backwards half a step and calls for another one!
PHILO B. POPE: “Casillas a world class striker and submissions expert from...what..where was that gym in Brooklyn again?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I think it was called the IMADETHISUP gym! Near Poughkeepsie, actually. Maybe it was Schenectady?”
Casillas jabs with the left and lands a vicious right hook. Blix stands his ground and slaps himself in the face hard with each hand, taunting Tomas. Inside of the ring, REF’s count has reached: FIVE!!! Casillas swung wildly and Blix leaned back out of his reach. Wolf lunged forward, planting a boot in the gut of Casillas. As Tomas fell forward, Wolf caught him with a front facelock, r-applied his grip into a modified double chickenwing, then lifted.
PHILO B. POPE: “MOVE!”
Pope grabbed Church hard by the arm, jerking her away.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Hey-WHOAAAAA--”
Blix sent Casillas down hard busting the second announce table of the night with a Hanging Butterfly Suplex!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “THE OTHER ANNOUNCE/GAMING TABLE!!!!”
PHILO B. POPE: “That’s what P.A.W. gets for not having a Spanish announce table to bust!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Si. Si. And I was just getting used to the new one, too.”
Wolf Blix rolled back into the ring just in time to break-up REF’s count. As soon as REF stopped counting, Blix rolled back out of the ring. Again, REF began a count-out. Blix walked over to where Casillas lay and stepped hard on his chest. Wolf then pulled Casillas up to his feet and with an Irish Whip sent him hard into the steel steps at ringside. Once again, Blix rolled into the ring, rolled in front of the cornerpost and out under under the ropes only to force a break of REF’s count. Once again, Blix pulled Casillas up, this time he rolled the man back into the ring under the bottom rope.
PHILO B. POPE: “Blix is actually toying with a man most people saw as a challenge when he checked in..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You know… they called that one rocket ship The Challenger… and it blew up, Philo. What’s that tell you?”
Blix ran the ropes once, and as he crossed over Casillas, stepped down hard on the man’s chest. Blix hit the ropes again, Casillas rolled over onto his stomach, Blix stepped down hard onto his back as he crossed over him. Wolf hit the far side ropes and Casillas pushed off of the mat, still trying to rise to his feet, once again, Blix stomped him back down onto the canvas as he crossed over him.
PHILO B. POPE: “Tomas Casillas is being bullied here tonight by Wolf Blix!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Better him than me. Seriously. I lost two tables and already have a feud with three wrestlers.”
Blix stomped Casillas down hard onto the mat a last time and paused, standing over him. Blix reached down and heaved, unbelievably deadlifting Casillas into a powerbomb position. Wolf brought him down hard in the center of the ring. REF slid into position to make a count!
1...
2...
2...
Blix lifted Casillas again and seemed to bring him down even harder with the second powerbomb!
PHILO B. POPE: “Deadlift Double Powerbomb by Wolf Blix!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “You mean he’s already dead? Can we go home, yet? This night sucks. At least there’s not like a bomb or something ticking down towards our inevitable destruction, thank Bowie. I need valium.”
Casillas lay in a heap in the center of the ring, while Blix circled. Wolf backed into a corner, crouching and ready. Slowly, Casillas made it to his feet, turning inside of the ring, looking for Wolf.
PHILO B. POPE: “Careful what you look for Casillas..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Curioisity killed the… Casillas…?”
Blix charged him and hit him so hard with a stiff lariat shot that Casillas did a backwards flip before landing hard on his stomach. Blix rolled Casillas onto his back and with a forearm pressed down hard across his face, went for the pin.
1...
2...
3...
2...
3...
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “And here is your winner...WOLF BLIX!!!”
PHILO B. POPE: ”The Wolf shows mercy and ends it!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yes, but… what about us, Philo? We had to watch that bearded fellow kick the shit out of that one guy that joined with no beard… and then all of a sudden he had one. VERY strange. I’m beginning to wonder if we ever knew Tomas Casillas at all.”
REF raised Wolf’s arm in victory inside of the ring as “Suffering Overdie” by Black Label Society hit the speakers. With the crowd still going wild, Blix headed up the ramp towards backstage several fans in the front row held up six signs which spelled out: HOWL!! Blix paused in front of their signs and as he was distracted, Kip Calhoun, flanked by Chazz and Oregon Dave dropped the signs and began pummeling Wolf Blix from behind!!!
PHILO B. POPE: “Not these guys again! What are they doing out here?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Same thing they do every night, Philo. Trying to take over the Park!”
"Oregon" Dave and Chazz hopped the guardrail first and continued punching Blix from behind. As Kip climbed the guardrail, he did so with a steel chair in hand. Kip slammed to chair down on the ramp to get their attention.
PHILO B. POPE: “Kip Calhoun, for whatever reason, probably to impress Hoss is showing the big bad Wolf that he is the real pack animal in this amusement park!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh come on, Philo. You spent all week waiting to pull that shit out, didn’t you? It’s a beatdown! Call it what it is! Like the fucking DRIVEBY everyone’s doing on our announce table!!!”
Chazz and "Oregon" Dave launched Wolf Blix towards Kip with an Irish Whip up the entrance ramp. Calhoun drew back and brought the chair down onto Blix’s skull with a sickening thud! The seat of the chair snapped and barely held as Calhoun held the chair up high. Seeing this, he shook it hard and the seat of the chair fell free.
PHILO B. POPE: “Bllix is down and bleeding hard!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Naturally. But you make a good point… why on earth would Kip destroy the guy who destroyed that other guy? It can’t be a dog-eat-dog world. That guy’s name is WOLF! This makes no sense.”
Blix was down, bleeding hard and crawling towards backstage as "Oregon" Dave and Chazz pounced. Oregon Dave with an elbow drop and a side headlock to hold him down, while Chazz stomped him at the small of his back. Laughing, Kip Calhoun stood over the three of them.
PHILO B. POPE: “They are just mauling Wolf Blix! Someone has to stop this!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I really doubt that. Cross Recoba’s routinely come out here and injured fans…. The BombTrax killed Luke KNux and put me on notice. I think we’re living in the Wild West, Philo.”
Calhoun struck. He reached down and grabbed Blix by the ankle and applied an ankle lock!
PHILO B. POPE: “Calhoun calls this ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop!’ But that’s the last thing Blix wants to hear!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Maybe he’d rather a nice, comforting bowl of Rice Krispies right about now? Or Captain CRUNCH! Haha.”
"Oregon" Dave held Blix with a grounded side headlock. Chazz held his arms down flat in front of him while Kip Calhoun twisted and wrenched on his left ankle in a maniacal frenzy.
PHILO B. POPE: “He’s trying to tear Wolf’s whole foot off!!!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ewwwwww. Seriously… someone has to stop…. and fix… Our damned announce table!”
Chazz and Oregon Dave released their holds and encouraged Kip to break the ankle. Kip dropped down onto his back and grapevines the leg with both of his. Calhoun twisted and Blix howled in agony. Wolf’s foot looked like it was on backwards as the cameras cut away to Philo and Constance, who stood at ringside with no broadcast table to speak of.
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t even know what to say. An amazing debut by Wolf Blix...and now, thanks to Kip Calhoun, the man’s whole career could possibly be over.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Another flawless Calhoun strategic move. There’s one less body in the way to his complete… whatever he’s after.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I know you slipped your resume to Hoss when he was out here..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Damn… that’s a good idea. But NO. BombTrax took that shit, too. Gotta start all over again. And I was almost finished with it too.”
PHILO B. POPE: “So. While we straighten out our situation here at ringside, can someone please do something backstage?”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Philo…I’m frightened. What if we’re stuck here without an announce table forever? What if that red light never turns off. What if--”
Everyone had lost their mind, or their balls...perhaps both. That was the only explanation as to why she suddenly had a company full of wrestlers turned arm chair lawyers.
Well, they could speculate all they want about legalities as much as they liked, and see just how far it could take them.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Lady! Lady Munin please wait.”
Munin stopped in her progress at the sound the frantic voice. The lighting in this section of the backstage arena was somewhat dim, but despite that Munin could see the slim feminine figure of Yoon Ji-Yung. Ji for short,he was her new personal assistant that Leslie insisted she needed.
A sigh of annoyance escaped her as she waited for him to catch up. When he did he gave her an exaggerated sigh of relief, and disarming smile. As much as Munin wanted to maintain her air of icy annoyance his smile was contagious.
LADY MUNIN: “Yes Ji?”
YOON JI-YUNG: “How do you move so fast for someone so small?”
She looked slightly amused by this.
LADY MUNIN: “Ji you are almost the same height as me…”
His golden skin gleamed in the dim light, in sharp contrast to his white impish smile.
YOON JI-YUNG: “All the more reason for you to share your secrets, yeah?”
Despite the numerous issues she had already resolved for the night, and the long list of future issues she would have to deal with, Munin found herself relaxing.
LADY MUNIN: “I'm afraid it involves training in a gym dear.”
Ji blanch mockingly at her words, as if the thought of the physical exertion was an affront to his nature.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Yuck, no thank you.”
He made a show of smoothing out non existent wrinkles in hi baby blue button down shirt, and adjusted his suspenders with a snap. This left Munin to merely shake her head at his antics.
LADY MUNIN: “Ji, was there a point to you stopping me. I have a thousand and one things to do tonight.”
The young man's reply was a cheeky wink and a flutter of the hands.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Hey, no problem boss lady. I just wanted to let you know that all of you V.I.P. guests have been taken care of.”
Her reaction to these words is one of pleasant surprise.
LADY MUNIN: “Did they all show up?”
Ji nodded his head vigorously.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Yes ma'am: Charles A. James and his guest, Camilla Marcos, and Patrick Kay. All of them have been seated in prime seats and will have the best our kitchens have to offer.”
Munin nodded her head as he spoke, she was obviously pleased with his report.
LADY MUNIN: “Good work Ji-”
The radio came to life at her side interrupting whatever compliment she was about to give.
P.A.W. PARK RADIO: “Luke Knux has just been put through the commentators table by the Bombtraxx!”
Munin swore quietly at the the news, and Ji shook his head with amusement.
LADY MUNIN: “That's one way to try to shut Constance up..”
He gave his new employer a side long glance. His fey grin curling the corners of his mouth.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Boss lady, you have ninety nine problems but being bored isn't one.”
LADY MUNIN: “Ji...shut up and find me a new commentary table.”
YOON JI-YUNG: “Yes ma'am”
Well, they could speculate all they want about legalities as much as they liked, and see just how far it could take them.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Lady! Lady Munin please wait.”
Munin stopped in her progress at the sound the frantic voice. The lighting in this section of the backstage arena was somewhat dim, but despite that Munin could see the slim feminine figure of Yoon Ji-Yung. Ji for short,he was her new personal assistant that Leslie insisted she needed.
A sigh of annoyance escaped her as she waited for him to catch up. When he did he gave her an exaggerated sigh of relief, and disarming smile. As much as Munin wanted to maintain her air of icy annoyance his smile was contagious.
LADY MUNIN: “Yes Ji?”
YOON JI-YUNG: “How do you move so fast for someone so small?”
She looked slightly amused by this.
LADY MUNIN: “Ji you are almost the same height as me…”
His golden skin gleamed in the dim light, in sharp contrast to his white impish smile.
YOON JI-YUNG: “All the more reason for you to share your secrets, yeah?”
Despite the numerous issues she had already resolved for the night, and the long list of future issues she would have to deal with, Munin found herself relaxing.
LADY MUNIN: “I'm afraid it involves training in a gym dear.”
Ji blanch mockingly at her words, as if the thought of the physical exertion was an affront to his nature.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Yuck, no thank you.”
He made a show of smoothing out non existent wrinkles in hi baby blue button down shirt, and adjusted his suspenders with a snap. This left Munin to merely shake her head at his antics.
LADY MUNIN: “Ji, was there a point to you stopping me. I have a thousand and one things to do tonight.”
The young man's reply was a cheeky wink and a flutter of the hands.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Hey, no problem boss lady. I just wanted to let you know that all of you V.I.P. guests have been taken care of.”
Her reaction to these words is one of pleasant surprise.
LADY MUNIN: “Did they all show up?”
Ji nodded his head vigorously.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Yes ma'am: Charles A. James and his guest, Camilla Marcos, and Patrick Kay. All of them have been seated in prime seats and will have the best our kitchens have to offer.”
Munin nodded her head as he spoke, she was obviously pleased with his report.
LADY MUNIN: “Good work Ji-”
The radio came to life at her side interrupting whatever compliment she was about to give.
P.A.W. PARK RADIO: “Luke Knux has just been put through the commentators table by the Bombtraxx!”
Munin swore quietly at the the news, and Ji shook his head with amusement.
LADY MUNIN: “That's one way to try to shut Constance up..”
He gave his new employer a side long glance. His fey grin curling the corners of his mouth.
YOON JI-YUNG: “Boss lady, you have ninety nine problems but being bored isn't one.”
LADY MUNIN: “Ji...shut up and find me a new commentary table.”
YOON JI-YUNG: “Yes ma'am”
Main Event
PRESS JONES versus CROSS RECOBA
Special Guest Referee: Flaming Youth
Back at ringside, the lights go dim as "Strangle Hold" by Ted Nugent begins to blare across the arena. Red strobelights flicker all around the building, and finally settle on the entry way. When the song settles into the breakdown, Press strides out from behind the curtain, stopping at the top of the ramp and gazes intently out at the crowd.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “It’s time for our Main Event! Introducing first, from Jacksonville, Florida, and repping The Bombtrax...PRESS!!!”
When the first lines bellow out, Youth appears, wearing his zebra stripes. He flashes around in front of Press, and spins a few times reaching out at the crowd who cheer in adulation. He comes to a teetering stop facing the ring, a coy grin on his face, as he looks back at his massive partner who merely nods his approval. Youth takes off into a sprint for the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope, and popping up with his hands over his head.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “And our special guest referee, also repping The BombTrax...FLAMING YOUTH!!!”
PHILO B. POPE: “We are back at ringside and all set for the Main Event!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH (in a huff): “Still no announce table. Cheap skates. How long do those take to set up? Like a minute? Oh… shoot. It’s THOSE guys again. I’ll be good.”
Press stalks up to the ring, rising up on the ring apron, and then stepping over the top rope with one fist pumped over his head. Youth takes a turnbuckle with a single bound, and plays up to the crowd, point at the PAW patch on his striped shirt, as Press turns and casually leans against the other corner, waiting for his opponent to appear.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Don’t you think Press and Flaming Youth look EXTRA presentable this evening, Philo? Like… I mean EXTRA, EXTRA less scumbaggy than usual-- NOT THAT THEY LOOK SCUMBAGGY… I think… Oh… cram it, Constance.”
The lights dim in the arena as Joe Walsh's 'Turn to Stone' sounds across the arena. The fans jeer and boo in disgust as they know what to expect when they hear the distinctive distorted power-chords that start the song. The lights focus on the entrance to the ramp as Cross Recoba comes through the curtain.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “And their...I mean HIS opponent...CROSS RECOBA!!!”
The Sicilian-American comes out from the back and in front of the crowd with a confident smirk painted across his face. The smirk is a definite departure from both the reports surrounding his meeting with Lady Munin and his promos earlier in the week. The camera zooms out from the shot of his face to show him dressed for business, not wrestling. He sports the same tailored navy suit he wore earlier on in the show and unless he’s looking to get the ‘Best Dressed’ wrestler award it looks like he has a plan.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Fancy…. you mean he looks like this all the time? Hmmmmmmmm, perhaps I misjudged Racoba after all?”
The camera zooms in on Cross who taps his head and displays a sign that he has clearly forgotten something. He turns on his heel and marches to the back.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I knew it. Ring gear. Pheh. He looks better in a suit. You might say it… SUITS him… heh? See that, Philo? How I’m making lemonade out of the shit we got tonight? Ever the professional.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Can we please get this match started? Or does Recoba ever actually intend to wrestle?
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well no, see. You’ve inadvertantly found yourself in… THE PEOPLE’S COURT. JUDGE JUDY… or… whatever, presiding! DA DUN DUN! Seriously… this IS wrestling in the 21st century, Philo.”
He marches back from where he came; the music continues to play while the crowd wait for him to re-emerge. They don’t have to wait too long as Recoba comes back out this time armed with a briefcase.
PHILO B. POPE: “Great, a briefcase. Now I know this is ‘all legit’..”
The fans don’t waste any time in voicing their disgust at the presence of the briefcase. The camera catches an empty beer pitcher bouncing off the leather of the case. Recoba looks to see if he can spot the perpetrator but only quickly glances in the direction – he has more important matters it seems.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Guess that guy’s gonna hear from Recoba’s lawyer later. What’s that, an Armani leather briefcase?”
He walks by ringside and shoots Constance Church a look in her direction and mock yawns before rolling into the ring with the briefcase. He grabs the microphone from the ring announcer as the music fades away.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Heh. I get more heat than the actual wrestlers.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’ll be glad when she shoves that thing up his…”
CROSS RECOBA: “Here we are…the main event, I’ll give Munin and Sam some credit, they know where their cash cow should live!”
The crowd continue to jeer and boo as Recoba starts off with his usual level of tact.
CROSS RECOBA: “Where they lose points is in thinking that this match was EVER a good idea! That I would let them endanger my career in such a way that I’d be as much complicit in my fate as they were when deciding to ‘punish’ me for entertaining the crowd.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I bet he’s got some brand new drug in there he plans to get the BombTrax hooked on so he can rub you off the dope game, Philo. SIC HIM!”
Recoba leans against the ropes, neither Press or Youth seem particularly interested in what he has to say, the disinterest written across their faces. Cross finds the camera and quickly opens the briefcase to show the contents – it’s stacked with cash.
CROSS RECOBA: “So, ladies and gentlemen, here is your first ever Main Event in the Xayarena…”
PHILO B. POPE: “No...fucking..way..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Or Cash. Cash works. That was my next guess. I’m starting to like Cross Racooneyes.”
Cross tosses Press the cash, and upon catching it, he examines it by taking his thumb and running it across the end of the stack allowing it to flip through each bill. The big man looked across the ring at Cross for a minute as if he were sizing him up, and then glanced over at his partner, who stands casually in the corner. Youth shrugs in his response, and Press nods, tossing the stack of cash over to him. He then turns back to Cross, and silently closes the gap between the two men, coming to a stop right in front of Recoba. He looms there for a moment, a menacing expression on his face, and Cross fidgets anxiously, uncertain of whether he has pushed his luck.
PHILO B. POPE: “No...fucking..way! Kill him Press!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh come on!!!! You broke announce tables for less than what Cross Recoba’s done, you big dumb ape!”
Just then, Press brings his finger up into Cross' face, who flinches, but then turns the finger around so that he is now point at himself. He grins wickedly, before burying the finger into his chest, resulting in a massive bump that appears to knock the big man unconscious.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. That’s some finger…”
Boo's erupt throughout the arena as Youth calls for the bell and drops into position beside him, his hand poised and ready to make the three count. Cross stares at the two men in disbelief, but gets a hold of himself quickly, a condescending smile beaming from his face. He bends down to one knee, then the other, and throws one arm non-chalantly over Press' chest. 4Loco watches on in shock, and his fury seems to have him coming apart at the seams, while the fans shout jeers and boo's, chucking popcorn, paper cups, and half eaten hot dogs into the ring at the three men.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Damn right. The BombTrax just got BOUGHT?! How much money was that anyway… any chance you can pinch some of those bills so I can see ‘um?”
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t have shit to say about this fuckery!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Then don’t say anything. You grab money, I’ll do the counting for both of us.”
Youth, just for good measure, uses the palm of his hand on the surface of the ring to ensure that Press' shoulders are indeed down, and then nods to Cross with a grin before counting...
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “HA! So the BombTrax ARE something to fuck with!”
The bell sounds, and Just like that, Cross is up on his feet, his hands held high over his head in victory. Youth even hops up and takes Cross by the wrist, indicating with his other hand that he is indeed the winner. Press rolls towards the ropes, and uses them to pull himself up, and falls back into the far corner in mock fatigue. He wipes his brow, flashing a grin at the crowd, who answers with more thrown debris. Youth joins him, and the two men begin counting their spoils while Cross takes up his mic once more.
CROSS RECOBA: “What did you think to that? Hell of a main event, huh?”
The crowd loudly boo.
CROSS RECOBA: “See, we could have done the match, but what would you have really learned? That two wrongs make a right? No-one needs to know that lesson, right?!? Instead, the lesson for today is that EVERYONE CAN BE BOUGHT! You people out there, your friends, your family. Even this Sasquatch and his handler!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He means Yeti.”
PHILO B. POPE: “If I had a table, I’d pay The BombTrax to put Recoba through it right now!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But… but… I just want my damn announce table back.”
Constance sulks. In the ring, The BombTrax suddenly stop counting their money, and stare over at Cross Recoba, who continues berating the crowd and the locker room with abandon. The two men stuff their tainted money into their pockets, and Press whispered something in Youth's ear while the fans continue their jeers.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How much you wanna bet they ask for more money?”
Youth steps forward, turning to the side, just waiting for Cross to turn around. A few of the boo's began to transform into cheers, confusing Cross, as he looks back towards the Ramp to ensure that no one was coming out to interrupt his fun. As soon as his head turns back, Youth snaps forward, throwing his foot out, and catching Cross right in the jaw with a super kick.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Or a superkick to the face. That works too.”
Cross slams down to the mat in surprise, but is quick to try to get to his feet when Youth cuts him off with stiff forearms and knees to the side of the head. The barrage forces Recoba over into the opposite corner from Press, who watches all of this in a casual manner.
PHILO B. POPE: “You have got to be kidding me!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Guess he just bought a victory over Press… not Youth?”
Youth pulls Recoba up to his full height in the corner, and then fires in a wicked chop that lights the playboy's chest on fire. Then another. Youth then looks over his shoulder to ensure his partner is ready, and then whips Cross across the ring towards Press, who comes rushing out of his own corner, and at the last possible second, throws his boot forward to crash into Recoba's face. The impact of the maneuver snaps Cross' head back with such force that his upper half lands before his lower half even has the chance to leave his feet, resulting in his body crashing to the mat in an awkward position. The anouncers, fans, 4Loco, Rhonda Armstrong, and anyone watching from the locker room all gasp in unison as Cross clutches at his head and neck in pain. Press surveys the silenced crowd for a minute with a grin, before pointing down at Cross, and then throwing his thumb into the air to indicate further punishment. The crowd is unanimous in their cheers as they explode from their seats, and the Xayarena damn near implodes from the noise.
PHILO B. POPE: “Recoba sees what his money bought now!”
Youth jerks Cross up to his feet by a fistful of hair, and then runs him head first right over the top rope and out to the cement floor below. Recoba lands with a thud, but immediately starts clawing at the floor to get away, as Youth hops out beside him. Youth taunts him with a grin, playing it up to the crowd who feeds upon it gladly, before he pulls Cross up, and whips him hard into the steel steps. The staircase explodes upon impact, Recoba knocking the top section loose from the bottom with his upper body. Cross calls out in pain as he uses the steps to push up onto his feet, and he feebly makes an attempt to reach the rampway, but Press is there to catch him before he can escape. Cross begs for the big man to just let him pass, but Press has other ideas, as he grabs hold of Recoba, hoists him high into the air, and sends him over the top rope to crash down back in the ring.
PHILO B. POPE: “Now this...is a main event!”
Meanwhile, Youth kicks the top section of the steel stairs out of the way, and reaches down to grab the larger bottom section. He hoists the steps up to his chest, and then balances it on the apron, before sliding the section beneath the bottom rope and into the ring. Cross crawls towards a corner, clutching at turnbuckles to try and get back to his feet, giving Press and Youth enough time slide back in.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: "This is gruesome... I love it. LOOKS GOOD ON YA' CROSS!"
Youth drags the bottom section of steps to the center of the ring, as Press stalks over and takes hold of Recoba by the neck. The big man leads their wobbly legged victim back out to the center of the ring where he spins him around, and tucks his head between his legs. Youth bounds over to the correct corner, and with a single leap comes to rest atop the turnbuckles. The crowd is electric as Press nods out at the five thousand strong, and then hoists Recoba up onto his chest in a seated position. Youth points at his target, and the last thing Cross sees is the back of Youth's boot before being driven down onto the unforgiving steel steps in a vicious powerbomb!.
PHILO B. POPE: “Was it worth it Recoba?”
The crowd erupts as The BombTrax come to stand over Cross Recoba's broken body, a look of amusement on their faces. Youth could be seen mouthing, 'Nice doing business with you.', before the two men turn, and make their way towards the ramp way. Just before making their way towards the exit, they stop, turning towards 4Loco, nod, and then disappear behind the curtain.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow…. they didn’t even PAY 4Loco shit for setting that up for them?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “What a night! I have lost track of most of the statistics outside of losing two broadcast tables!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I think I have P.T.S.D. Philo. Did Stevie Harris win, or did Genesis?”
PHILO B. POPE: “No spoilers for the folks who were fashionably late. They’re gonna have to buy the DVD.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ahh, true, true. But… what I wanna know is… what ever happened to that whole BOMB thing? Did we ever resolve that??”
PHILO B. POPE: “Oh. Yeah... That.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeaaahhhh... Uh… say… PHilo… what time you got…?”
She’s already getting her headset off to scurry away hoping there’s enough time left!!
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “It’s time for our Main Event! Introducing first, from Jacksonville, Florida, and repping The Bombtrax...PRESS!!!”
When the first lines bellow out, Youth appears, wearing his zebra stripes. He flashes around in front of Press, and spins a few times reaching out at the crowd who cheer in adulation. He comes to a teetering stop facing the ring, a coy grin on his face, as he looks back at his massive partner who merely nods his approval. Youth takes off into a sprint for the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope, and popping up with his hands over his head.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “And our special guest referee, also repping The BombTrax...FLAMING YOUTH!!!”
PHILO B. POPE: “We are back at ringside and all set for the Main Event!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH (in a huff): “Still no announce table. Cheap skates. How long do those take to set up? Like a minute? Oh… shoot. It’s THOSE guys again. I’ll be good.”
Press stalks up to the ring, rising up on the ring apron, and then stepping over the top rope with one fist pumped over his head. Youth takes a turnbuckle with a single bound, and plays up to the crowd, point at the PAW patch on his striped shirt, as Press turns and casually leans against the other corner, waiting for his opponent to appear.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Don’t you think Press and Flaming Youth look EXTRA presentable this evening, Philo? Like… I mean EXTRA, EXTRA less scumbaggy than usual-- NOT THAT THEY LOOK SCUMBAGGY… I think… Oh… cram it, Constance.”
The lights dim in the arena as Joe Walsh's 'Turn to Stone' sounds across the arena. The fans jeer and boo in disgust as they know what to expect when they hear the distinctive distorted power-chords that start the song. The lights focus on the entrance to the ramp as Cross Recoba comes through the curtain.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: “And their...I mean HIS opponent...CROSS RECOBA!!!”
The Sicilian-American comes out from the back and in front of the crowd with a confident smirk painted across his face. The smirk is a definite departure from both the reports surrounding his meeting with Lady Munin and his promos earlier in the week. The camera zooms out from the shot of his face to show him dressed for business, not wrestling. He sports the same tailored navy suit he wore earlier on in the show and unless he’s looking to get the ‘Best Dressed’ wrestler award it looks like he has a plan.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Fancy…. you mean he looks like this all the time? Hmmmmmmmm, perhaps I misjudged Racoba after all?”
The camera zooms in on Cross who taps his head and displays a sign that he has clearly forgotten something. He turns on his heel and marches to the back.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I knew it. Ring gear. Pheh. He looks better in a suit. You might say it… SUITS him… heh? See that, Philo? How I’m making lemonade out of the shit we got tonight? Ever the professional.”
PHILO B. POPE: “Can we please get this match started? Or does Recoba ever actually intend to wrestle?
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Well no, see. You’ve inadvertantly found yourself in… THE PEOPLE’S COURT. JUDGE JUDY… or… whatever, presiding! DA DUN DUN! Seriously… this IS wrestling in the 21st century, Philo.”
He marches back from where he came; the music continues to play while the crowd wait for him to re-emerge. They don’t have to wait too long as Recoba comes back out this time armed with a briefcase.
PHILO B. POPE: “Great, a briefcase. Now I know this is ‘all legit’..”
The fans don’t waste any time in voicing their disgust at the presence of the briefcase. The camera catches an empty beer pitcher bouncing off the leather of the case. Recoba looks to see if he can spot the perpetrator but only quickly glances in the direction – he has more important matters it seems.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Guess that guy’s gonna hear from Recoba’s lawyer later. What’s that, an Armani leather briefcase?”
He walks by ringside and shoots Constance Church a look in her direction and mock yawns before rolling into the ring with the briefcase. He grabs the microphone from the ring announcer as the music fades away.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Heh. I get more heat than the actual wrestlers.”
PHILO B. POPE: “I’ll be glad when she shoves that thing up his…”
CROSS RECOBA: “Here we are…the main event, I’ll give Munin and Sam some credit, they know where their cash cow should live!”
The crowd continue to jeer and boo as Recoba starts off with his usual level of tact.
CROSS RECOBA: “Where they lose points is in thinking that this match was EVER a good idea! That I would let them endanger my career in such a way that I’d be as much complicit in my fate as they were when deciding to ‘punish’ me for entertaining the crowd.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I bet he’s got some brand new drug in there he plans to get the BombTrax hooked on so he can rub you off the dope game, Philo. SIC HIM!”
Recoba leans against the ropes, neither Press or Youth seem particularly interested in what he has to say, the disinterest written across their faces. Cross finds the camera and quickly opens the briefcase to show the contents – it’s stacked with cash.
CROSS RECOBA: “So, ladies and gentlemen, here is your first ever Main Event in the Xayarena…”
PHILO B. POPE: “No...fucking..way..”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Or Cash. Cash works. That was my next guess. I’m starting to like Cross Racooneyes.”
Cross tosses Press the cash, and upon catching it, he examines it by taking his thumb and running it across the end of the stack allowing it to flip through each bill. The big man looked across the ring at Cross for a minute as if he were sizing him up, and then glanced over at his partner, who stands casually in the corner. Youth shrugs in his response, and Press nods, tossing the stack of cash over to him. He then turns back to Cross, and silently closes the gap between the two men, coming to a stop right in front of Recoba. He looms there for a moment, a menacing expression on his face, and Cross fidgets anxiously, uncertain of whether he has pushed his luck.
PHILO B. POPE: “No...fucking..way! Kill him Press!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Oh come on!!!! You broke announce tables for less than what Cross Recoba’s done, you big dumb ape!”
Just then, Press brings his finger up into Cross' face, who flinches, but then turns the finger around so that he is now point at himself. He grins wickedly, before burying the finger into his chest, resulting in a massive bump that appears to knock the big man unconscious.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow. That’s some finger…”
Boo's erupt throughout the arena as Youth calls for the bell and drops into position beside him, his hand poised and ready to make the three count. Cross stares at the two men in disbelief, but gets a hold of himself quickly, a condescending smile beaming from his face. He bends down to one knee, then the other, and throws one arm non-chalantly over Press' chest. 4Loco watches on in shock, and his fury seems to have him coming apart at the seams, while the fans shout jeers and boo's, chucking popcorn, paper cups, and half eaten hot dogs into the ring at the three men.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Damn right. The BombTrax just got BOUGHT?! How much money was that anyway… any chance you can pinch some of those bills so I can see ‘um?”
PHILO B. POPE: “I don’t have shit to say about this fuckery!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Then don’t say anything. You grab money, I’ll do the counting for both of us.”
Youth, just for good measure, uses the palm of his hand on the surface of the ring to ensure that Press' shoulders are indeed down, and then nods to Cross with a grin before counting...
1...
2....
3!!
2....
3!!
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “HA! So the BombTrax ARE something to fuck with!”
The bell sounds, and Just like that, Cross is up on his feet, his hands held high over his head in victory. Youth even hops up and takes Cross by the wrist, indicating with his other hand that he is indeed the winner. Press rolls towards the ropes, and uses them to pull himself up, and falls back into the far corner in mock fatigue. He wipes his brow, flashing a grin at the crowd, who answers with more thrown debris. Youth joins him, and the two men begin counting their spoils while Cross takes up his mic once more.
CROSS RECOBA: “What did you think to that? Hell of a main event, huh?”
The crowd loudly boo.
CROSS RECOBA: “See, we could have done the match, but what would you have really learned? That two wrongs make a right? No-one needs to know that lesson, right?!? Instead, the lesson for today is that EVERYONE CAN BE BOUGHT! You people out there, your friends, your family. Even this Sasquatch and his handler!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “He means Yeti.”
PHILO B. POPE: “If I had a table, I’d pay The BombTrax to put Recoba through it right now!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “But… but… I just want my damn announce table back.”
Constance sulks. In the ring, The BombTrax suddenly stop counting their money, and stare over at Cross Recoba, who continues berating the crowd and the locker room with abandon. The two men stuff their tainted money into their pockets, and Press whispered something in Youth's ear while the fans continue their jeers.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “How much you wanna bet they ask for more money?”
Youth steps forward, turning to the side, just waiting for Cross to turn around. A few of the boo's began to transform into cheers, confusing Cross, as he looks back towards the Ramp to ensure that no one was coming out to interrupt his fun. As soon as his head turns back, Youth snaps forward, throwing his foot out, and catching Cross right in the jaw with a super kick.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Or a superkick to the face. That works too.”
Cross slams down to the mat in surprise, but is quick to try to get to his feet when Youth cuts him off with stiff forearms and knees to the side of the head. The barrage forces Recoba over into the opposite corner from Press, who watches all of this in a casual manner.
PHILO B. POPE: “You have got to be kidding me!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Guess he just bought a victory over Press… not Youth?”
Youth pulls Recoba up to his full height in the corner, and then fires in a wicked chop that lights the playboy's chest on fire. Then another. Youth then looks over his shoulder to ensure his partner is ready, and then whips Cross across the ring towards Press, who comes rushing out of his own corner, and at the last possible second, throws his boot forward to crash into Recoba's face. The impact of the maneuver snaps Cross' head back with such force that his upper half lands before his lower half even has the chance to leave his feet, resulting in his body crashing to the mat in an awkward position. The anouncers, fans, 4Loco, Rhonda Armstrong, and anyone watching from the locker room all gasp in unison as Cross clutches at his head and neck in pain. Press surveys the silenced crowd for a minute with a grin, before pointing down at Cross, and then throwing his thumb into the air to indicate further punishment. The crowd is unanimous in their cheers as they explode from their seats, and the Xayarena damn near implodes from the noise.
PHILO B. POPE: “Recoba sees what his money bought now!”
Youth jerks Cross up to his feet by a fistful of hair, and then runs him head first right over the top rope and out to the cement floor below. Recoba lands with a thud, but immediately starts clawing at the floor to get away, as Youth hops out beside him. Youth taunts him with a grin, playing it up to the crowd who feeds upon it gladly, before he pulls Cross up, and whips him hard into the steel steps. The staircase explodes upon impact, Recoba knocking the top section loose from the bottom with his upper body. Cross calls out in pain as he uses the steps to push up onto his feet, and he feebly makes an attempt to reach the rampway, but Press is there to catch him before he can escape. Cross begs for the big man to just let him pass, but Press has other ideas, as he grabs hold of Recoba, hoists him high into the air, and sends him over the top rope to crash down back in the ring.
PHILO B. POPE: “Now this...is a main event!”
Meanwhile, Youth kicks the top section of the steel stairs out of the way, and reaches down to grab the larger bottom section. He hoists the steps up to his chest, and then balances it on the apron, before sliding the section beneath the bottom rope and into the ring. Cross crawls towards a corner, clutching at turnbuckles to try and get back to his feet, giving Press and Youth enough time slide back in.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: "This is gruesome... I love it. LOOKS GOOD ON YA' CROSS!"
Youth drags the bottom section of steps to the center of the ring, as Press stalks over and takes hold of Recoba by the neck. The big man leads their wobbly legged victim back out to the center of the ring where he spins him around, and tucks his head between his legs. Youth bounds over to the correct corner, and with a single leap comes to rest atop the turnbuckles. The crowd is electric as Press nods out at the five thousand strong, and then hoists Recoba up onto his chest in a seated position. Youth points at his target, and the last thing Cross sees is the back of Youth's boot before being driven down onto the unforgiving steel steps in a vicious powerbomb!.
PHILO B. POPE: “Was it worth it Recoba?”
The crowd erupts as The BombTrax come to stand over Cross Recoba's broken body, a look of amusement on their faces. Youth could be seen mouthing, 'Nice doing business with you.', before the two men turn, and make their way towards the ramp way. Just before making their way towards the exit, they stop, turning towards 4Loco, nod, and then disappear behind the curtain.
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Wow…. they didn’t even PAY 4Loco shit for setting that up for them?!”
PHILO B. POPE: “What a night! I have lost track of most of the statistics outside of losing two broadcast tables!”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “I think I have P.T.S.D. Philo. Did Stevie Harris win, or did Genesis?”
PHILO B. POPE: “No spoilers for the folks who were fashionably late. They’re gonna have to buy the DVD.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Ahh, true, true. But… what I wanna know is… what ever happened to that whole BOMB thing? Did we ever resolve that??”
PHILO B. POPE: “Oh. Yeah... That.”
CONSTANCE CHURCH: “Yeaaahhhh... Uh… say… PHilo… what time you got…?”
She’s already getting her headset off to scurry away hoping there’s enough time left!!
00 : 09 : 11
The melodious chirp of crickets lulls the Louisiana night time and forges a distinct cadence with the sounds of the Pure Amusement Park guests, music, and rides. We’re behind Unreal’s House of Fun, where inside, at least, the party is just starting.
Outside, where the grass is dewy, a pair of monkey’s feet wanders silently towards a fresh patch of dirt. The P.A.W. Helper Monkey, Jynx, moves with purpose towards this spot, then stops when she hears the sound of Sam Xayachack looking angrily through the grass for his 14" Sherlock pipe which was previously, and unceremoniously, tossed outside by what could very well be his now former girlfriend. At his side, still on-leash, Nada sniffs around, not really even knowing what they're looking for.
Jynx spits some saliva out at the dog wearily then glances over her cute little monkey shoulders at the House of Fun, then at Sam. One COULD get the impression that Jynx regards him with something akin to derision. With what could be mistaken for a little monkey sigh, she and starts to dig into the fresh dirt with her digits for the danger buried there.
SAM XAYACHACK: “HEY!!!”
Sam spotted Jynx and reached down towards the dog’s collar and unleashed the pit-bull puppy.
SAM XAYACHACK: “GET IT NADA!!! GET IT!!!
Little Jynx stopped her furious digging to assess the dog's level of threat. Unfortunately, all Sam had taught the dog to do when the leash was dropped was to take a shit. Nada turned around in a clockwise circle, then went counter clockwise before scrunching up his back.
SAM XAYACHACK: “Nada!??!”
JYNX THE HELPER MONKEY: “EEEK!”
The terrified, nervously uncertain monkey hops in place, worried about the dog’s presence.
Not long now. The monkey overcomes the bout of nervousness in the face of Sam’s pit-bull pet Nada and digs more furiously until Jynx unearths the colored wires connecting all of Unreal’s explosive charges.
JYNX THE HELPER MONKEY: “Eeek?”
Jynx regards it as any superior being would… and scratches her butt, then scalp in confusion. When the dog finished, Sam again leashed the pit-bull and tried dragging it towards the monkey. Confused, the puppy planted his butt and tried to stay put.
SAM XAYACHACK: “GET IT NADA! SICK IT! KKKKKILL IT!!!”
Jynx, still holding the wires in one cute little monkey paw eyed the dog, then Sam with confusion. Jynx presents the bad wires to Sam expecting a eureka moment.
JYNX THE HELPER MONKEY: “Eeek?!”
The dog eased forward, his nose in overdrive sniffing at the air towards Jynx who backed up a little, inadvertently tugging more of the wires up out of the ground revealing that it stretched it’s way quite a distance underground. Jynx’s attention split between the dog, and tugging at the multi-coloured wires with purpose.
SAM XAYACHACK: “HEY! STOP! BAD MONKEY! BAD MONKEY!!!”
He tugged furiously on the leash.
SAM XAYACHACK: “THOSE ARE THE POWER LINES TO SUPER BITCH’S HOUSE OF FUN!!!”
Jynx the Helper Monkey blinked and shook her little monkey head piteously at Sam.
JYNX THE HELPER MONKEY: “Eeek.”
Not knowing what to do, Sam reached down and picked up his puppy and actually tossed it towards the monkey. Not tethered by any leash save for the unearthed wires she was still hanging onto, Jynx let go to maneuver herself quickly around Sam and the monkey in an attempt to outflank her would-be attackers.
Of course, problem-solving being what it is, Jynx quickly gathered herself up the back of Sam’s pant leg and climbed onto his shoulder to meticulously, and instructively, point out the wires to him. Obviously, Sam wasn’t quite getting it. Sam slapped and smacked at himself, he jumped up and down and shook trying to get the monkey to jump onto anything else.
SAM XAYACHACK: “NADA! Kill it before I get the ebola!!!”
If Jynx could roll her eyes at this moment, she would. After all she’d watched Outbreak and loved every human-killing second of it, ditto for the Planet of the Apes series, so maybe this could be an equally glorious victory for ape and monkey kind? Sam made himself into a most precarious perch incapable of standing still. Jynx the Helper Monkey caught herself in a momentary philosophical quandry over whether to just this idiot and the rest of them explode...
Nah. Jynx, filled with a sad bout of enlightened self interest realized the sad truth of her predicament: sometimes, when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.
Jynx leapt off of Sam, bounced off the back of Sam’s killer guard dog Nada, and made a rapid beeline for the colored wires. Hands for grabbing, teeth for biting. She chewed and found it hard to get through, especially while remaining mindful of the idiot who owned the place and his dog seemingly trying to thwart her attempts to save them. Nada barked once and was so excited he turned around in a tight clockwise circle. As he did, he spotted his tail and gave chase!
SAM XAYACHACK: “NADA!”
The dog spun faster and faster doing his best to catch himself by the tail. Jynx the helper Monkey gnawed furiously with a nervous eye at the entropic dog disobeying his master.
Inside the House of Fun, upstairs in the manager's office, with her feet up relaxing half wishing she had someone to celebrate with, Unreal sat in her chair reveling in the dying moments of P.A.W. She watched her wall clock tick in time with her understanding of how long the bombs had left to explode and smiled knowingly.
Good bye, Munin.
Good bye, Sam.
Good bye… other people she didn’t care about learning their names.
She could just imagine what was going on in the Xayarena now: fan meet-and-greets, wrestlers celebrating or lamenting their match outcomes, and Munin doing whatever stupid shit a Munin does. With all of it dancing a beautiful mushroom cloud in her mind, Unreal craned her neck, listened, and waited to hear the music her explosives were about to make. She even got out of her chair, and slowly raised a hand to her ear, aimed toward the window with a creepy grin.
Down on the back lawn, the monkey chewed through red, then green, then blue. And the timer itself, on the bombs scattered semi-strategically around the park went dead. And Jynx the Helper Monkey looked with hopeful anticipation of congratulations to Sam Xayachack and his dog. But Sam saw none of this. His eyes were closed tight. He did not want to see it. He just knew the monkey had chewed through something important to Unreal’s House of Fun which was obviously now in total darkness and the bitching was about to recommence apace.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw it was still all lit up. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.
So... No explosions. The music kept right on playing. People kept right on being annoying. Nothing. A loud, angry exhale later and Unreal had made it down the stairs faster than lightning, blowing through the House of Fun lounge like a whirlwind, ignoring every single gawker's comment or lewd statement whereas normally she would have crushed a trachea or two. Too much confused rage. According to her clock, that bomb should have went off. It MUST have gone off. She stepped outside to see the Pure Amusement Park completely, and totally intact as it was the day she’d first set foot there.
She stomped angrily around the side of the House of Fun, around to the back and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of it.
Sam.
Nada.
And her scowl froze knowingly on the Helper Monkey who’s paw still held the frayed wires in her hand with an innocent gleam in it’s eyes as Jynx looked to Unreal.
UNREAL: “What… the… fuck...?”
Slack-jawed she stood, and her eyes widened with harsh reality setting in as she slowly looked at Sam and realized what that monkey had just inadvertently, or perhaps completely intentionally, done.
UNREAL: “You… fucking… MONKEY.”
She hissed through gritted teeth, and Jynx knew it was time to high-tail it. Literally. And Jynx took off with Unreal in hot, angry, frustrated, abysmally thwarted pursuit after the monkey. In behind her, barking and half nipping at her heels, was Nada, and the three disappeared pointlessly into the night on an incredible journey well past the end of the WICKED taping.
Outside, where the grass is dewy, a pair of monkey’s feet wanders silently towards a fresh patch of dirt. The P.A.W. Helper Monkey, Jynx, moves with purpose towards this spot, then stops when she hears the sound of Sam Xayachack looking angrily through the grass for his 14" Sherlock pipe which was previously, and unceremoniously, tossed outside by what could very well be his now former girlfriend. At his side, still on-leash, Nada sniffs around, not really even knowing what they're looking for.
Jynx spits some saliva out at the dog wearily then glances over her cute little monkey shoulders at the House of Fun, then at Sam. One COULD get the impression that Jynx regards him with something akin to derision. With what could be mistaken for a little monkey sigh, she and starts to dig into the fresh dirt with her digits for the danger buried there.
00 : 07 : 43
SAM XAYACHACK: “HEY!!!”
Sam spotted Jynx and reached down towards the dog’s collar and unleashed the pit-bull puppy.
SAM XAYACHACK: “GET IT NADA!!! GET IT!!!
Little Jynx stopped her furious digging to assess the dog's level of threat. Unfortunately, all Sam had taught the dog to do when the leash was dropped was to take a shit. Nada turned around in a clockwise circle, then went counter clockwise before scrunching up his back.
SAM XAYACHACK: “Nada!??!”
JYNX THE HELPER MONKEY: “EEEK!”
The terrified, nervously uncertain monkey hops in place, worried about the dog’s presence.
00 : 06 : 16
Not long now. The monkey overcomes the bout of nervousness in the face of Sam’s pit-bull pet Nada and digs more furiously until Jynx unearths the colored wires connecting all of Unreal’s explosive charges.
JYNX THE HELPER MONKEY: “Eeek?”
Jynx regards it as any superior being would… and scratches her butt, then scalp in confusion. When the dog finished, Sam again leashed the pit-bull and tried dragging it towards the monkey. Confused, the puppy planted his butt and tried to stay put.
SAM XAYACHACK: “GET IT NADA! SICK IT! KKKKKILL IT!!!”
Jynx, still holding the wires in one cute little monkey paw eyed the dog, then Sam with confusion. Jynx presents the bad wires to Sam expecting a eureka moment.
JYNX THE HELPER MONKEY: “Eeek?!”
The dog eased forward, his nose in overdrive sniffing at the air towards Jynx who backed up a little, inadvertently tugging more of the wires up out of the ground revealing that it stretched it’s way quite a distance underground. Jynx’s attention split between the dog, and tugging at the multi-coloured wires with purpose.
SAM XAYACHACK: “HEY! STOP! BAD MONKEY! BAD MONKEY!!!”
He tugged furiously on the leash.
SAM XAYACHACK: “THOSE ARE THE POWER LINES TO SUPER BITCH’S HOUSE OF FUN!!!”
Jynx the Helper Monkey blinked and shook her little monkey head piteously at Sam.
JYNX THE HELPER MONKEY: “Eeek.”
00 : 03 : 11
Not knowing what to do, Sam reached down and picked up his puppy and actually tossed it towards the monkey. Not tethered by any leash save for the unearthed wires she was still hanging onto, Jynx let go to maneuver herself quickly around Sam and the monkey in an attempt to outflank her would-be attackers.
Of course, problem-solving being what it is, Jynx quickly gathered herself up the back of Sam’s pant leg and climbed onto his shoulder to meticulously, and instructively, point out the wires to him. Obviously, Sam wasn’t quite getting it. Sam slapped and smacked at himself, he jumped up and down and shook trying to get the monkey to jump onto anything else.
SAM XAYACHACK: “NADA! Kill it before I get the ebola!!!”
If Jynx could roll her eyes at this moment, she would. After all she’d watched Outbreak and loved every human-killing second of it, ditto for the Planet of the Apes series, so maybe this could be an equally glorious victory for ape and monkey kind? Sam made himself into a most precarious perch incapable of standing still. Jynx the Helper Monkey caught herself in a momentary philosophical quandry over whether to just this idiot and the rest of them explode...
00 : 02 : 12
Nah. Jynx, filled with a sad bout of enlightened self interest realized the sad truth of her predicament: sometimes, when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.
Jynx leapt off of Sam, bounced off the back of Sam’s killer guard dog Nada, and made a rapid beeline for the colored wires. Hands for grabbing, teeth for biting. She chewed and found it hard to get through, especially while remaining mindful of the idiot who owned the place and his dog seemingly trying to thwart her attempts to save them. Nada barked once and was so excited he turned around in a tight clockwise circle. As he did, he spotted his tail and gave chase!
SAM XAYACHACK: “NADA!”
The dog spun faster and faster doing his best to catch himself by the tail. Jynx the helper Monkey gnawed furiously with a nervous eye at the entropic dog disobeying his master.
Inside the House of Fun, upstairs in the manager's office, with her feet up relaxing half wishing she had someone to celebrate with, Unreal sat in her chair reveling in the dying moments of P.A.W. She watched her wall clock tick in time with her understanding of how long the bombs had left to explode and smiled knowingly.
Good bye, Munin.
Good bye, Sam.
Good bye… other people she didn’t care about learning their names.
00 : 00 : 36
She could just imagine what was going on in the Xayarena now: fan meet-and-greets, wrestlers celebrating or lamenting their match outcomes, and Munin doing whatever stupid shit a Munin does. With all of it dancing a beautiful mushroom cloud in her mind, Unreal craned her neck, listened, and waited to hear the music her explosives were about to make. She even got out of her chair, and slowly raised a hand to her ear, aimed toward the window with a creepy grin.
00 : 00 : 05
Down on the back lawn, the monkey chewed through red, then green, then blue. And the timer itself, on the bombs scattered semi-strategically around the park went dead. And Jynx the Helper Monkey looked with hopeful anticipation of congratulations to Sam Xayachack and his dog. But Sam saw none of this. His eyes were closed tight. He did not want to see it. He just knew the monkey had chewed through something important to Unreal’s House of Fun which was obviously now in total darkness and the bitching was about to recommence apace.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw it was still all lit up. Sam breathed a sigh of relief.
So... No explosions. The music kept right on playing. People kept right on being annoying. Nothing. A loud, angry exhale later and Unreal had made it down the stairs faster than lightning, blowing through the House of Fun lounge like a whirlwind, ignoring every single gawker's comment or lewd statement whereas normally she would have crushed a trachea or two. Too much confused rage. According to her clock, that bomb should have went off. It MUST have gone off. She stepped outside to see the Pure Amusement Park completely, and totally intact as it was the day she’d first set foot there.
She stomped angrily around the side of the House of Fun, around to the back and stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of it.
Sam.
Nada.
And her scowl froze knowingly on the Helper Monkey who’s paw still held the frayed wires in her hand with an innocent gleam in it’s eyes as Jynx looked to Unreal.
UNREAL: “What… the… fuck...?”
Slack-jawed she stood, and her eyes widened with harsh reality setting in as she slowly looked at Sam and realized what that monkey had just inadvertently, or perhaps completely intentionally, done.
UNREAL: “You… fucking… MONKEY.”
She hissed through gritted teeth, and Jynx knew it was time to high-tail it. Literally. And Jynx took off with Unreal in hot, angry, frustrated, abysmally thwarted pursuit after the monkey. In behind her, barking and half nipping at her heels, was Nada, and the three disappeared pointlessly into the night on an incredible journey well past the end of the WICKED taping.