MAIN EVENT

Early morning in the park sees the sun bouncing off the siding of the Kissing Booth. Johnny Raike, proprietor, saunters up to the cage and unlocks it, rolling back the wire and starting in on the books. His phone rings, blasting out a tinny, small speaker version of 'Let's have a Kiki.' Raike answers with a quick yeah, before looking confused."

"Who? Warden? Look, I've never violated- oh what? WHAT! How? How the fuck did you- You don'... Yeah, yeah, I'll take precaution, thanks."

As Johnny is on the phone Lydia enters, waving a cheery hello before catching the look on his face. Raike shoots her a 'wait 'til you hear this one look' hangs up, and sighs.

"How safe is your house?"

Whatever Lydia is expecting isn't that, and she looks confused but intrigued.

"I have no reason to believe it isn't. Wwwwwhhhhhhyyyyyy?"

Raike takes another deep, steeling breathe, looks his friend and booth manager in the eye, and quietly, as though afraid to say it too loud, tells her the news."

"It's Stevie Harris. He's out. They don't know how, they don't know where, they aren't telling anyone, but he's out. They thought what with my prominent role in getting him in there in the first place that he might be coming for me."

Lydia has gone white as a sheet; it's clear that booth Kissing Booth staffers are worried.  When Lydia speaks again her voice is barely a whisper.

"Or me. I helped too."

Johnny reaches out to take Lydia's arm, a comforting gesture.

"Maybe, but there's a good shot he doesn't know. Maybe he guessed, and this is probably a time frame where it doesn't pay to be my friend, but I have to believe you stayed out of the conversation. That you were just Lola's friend. But I want you to go to a hotel, don't tell me which, just charge it to the booth, it'll be okay."

The cracking in Johnny's voice leaves little doubt that he is trying to convince himself of this as much as he is Lydia. The Hedonistic Hellcat' hands are a blur of movement, fingers dancing across his legs as he tries to process this new information.

"I'm going to talk to 4loco, see if we can get a few extra eyes on the booth, see if I can't get him to personally escort you around for a while, at least until all this blows over. I mean, unless you think you need to be away?"

From under the fears comes defiance, an inner strength showing through in Lydia's eyes.

"He's already got me to miss work this year, the fuck if I'm letting the phantom notion of Stevie Harris run my life. I know where the mace is."

Almost despite himself Johnny smiles at the feisty reply from his friend. He knows it's a mask that she's putting on for him, just as he's putting on the mask for her. As long as they keep telling themselves they can be okay, then maybe they can be. Certainly the plans of a man like Stevie Harris are hard to guess at. Perhaps returning to Pure Amusement isn't in the cards. Booking would be difficult, what with that whole escaped convict thing, and a cult has to take a while to rebuild. But deep down, Johnny knows. Another confrontation is coming. Maybe imminently, maybe years down the road, but a part of Johnny Raike has always known this wouldn't stop with the courts. Not for a man that evil.

"Well, as long as you know where the mace is. I might also suggest a taser; they make such fun clicking noise."

Seeing a chance to change the subject, Lydia pounces.

"Speaking of clicking noise, that register hasn't been right since you smacked that blue haired bitch with it."

A level look and an ahem from Johnny communicate how he feels about that word. Lydia smiles, looking actually relaxed for the moment.

"Fine, fine, sorry, the blue haired cunt."

Raike almost chokes on his on breath, half shocked, half amused.

"Hey, just because you don't say it doesn't mean I don't. And if the shoe fits..."

The two co-workers settle into a debate on language, clearly a well worn subject given how it doesn't interrupt prep work, argueing merrily as the scene fades.

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Electric turquoise and the familiar sounds of "Pure Morning" welcome us once more to the Queens garage that host the promo studio of one Johnny Raike, the American Wet Dream, the Thigh High Thriller, the Hurt in a Skirt. Raike is decked out in a longer number than usual, being the full mini-skirt rather than his more common micros. A black cotton under shirt plays well against the white skirt though, judging by the look on his face and half smoked American Spirit in his hand, his outfit seems to be giving him very little joy. He bounces a pit as he perches on the stool, barely touching seat.

"Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in. Well, ok, cards on the table I didn't think I was out; I read that contract Nova was too good for, I knew I had a rematch clause. Didn't think I'd have to share my rematch with a mental case but, then, this is wrestling. Why the fuck not?"

Johnny throws up his hands and shakes his head, rolling his eyes all along. A long drag does significant damage to what remains of his sig.

"If I seem a little less than excited about a chance to win back the Titan of the Midway moniker, it's because I am. I have no time left for Nova Wonder. Sure, I fucking hate everything about her, but I also never came to Pure Amusement thinking I was going to be the ultra violent guy, intending to bleed my way through my career and look great while doing it. I know how to be, that's plainly obvious to anyone with half a brain. Which means Nova and Wolfe probably don't think I can. In fact, I know they think I can't because they've said as much; way to look cool, guys. So awesome you've mistaken swagger with confidence. That, combined with the oh so original attitude of superiority, makes the idea of having to spend the energy to give a shit about...well, you know, mostly it's the thought that I might have to listen to Nova. And...fucking Bowie, I don't want to listen to her anymore. I get it Nova, you have no respect for me, you think your better than me, I'm wrong and bad and yesterdays news. You want me to feel like there's no place for me in this company."

A look so full of loathing it threatens to melt the screen blasts forth from Johnny Raike, the Sissyboy Savior.

"Fuck. You."

A big, over the top double flip of the bird to the camera to add some punctuation to the sentence.

"Yes, I know I've said that to you before, but it bears repeating. Fuck you. This is my home, literally and figuratively. You want my belt, you want to be better than me, you want me to shut the fuck up, cool. I can roll with that; everyone needs their hobbies. But you, no, you want to take me out. You want to harass me until I give and flee. Honey, you aren't up to that. I mean, you couldn't even manage to pin me before I passed out from blood loss, but you think you're going to replace me? Dream on. Dream smaller, but dream on. You shallow, vacuous, sanctimonious pile of ass."

The Panty Wearing Panty Dropper could pose for the definition of bemused, his distaste for Nova clear as his body full of tatooes.

"I mean, there you are, trying your damnedest to rip me a new one about how the only thing interesting about me is my clothing, and then what do you do out on the midway? Cosplay! Trying to make yourself more interesting too? Shitty half dye job and fake tits not doing enough for you anymore? Though thumbs up on the choice of anime character, very fitting. Serena and you have a lot in common; like being shitty feminist idols that somehow attract a following despite an annoying voice, a selfish streak a mile wide, and a boyfriend who is way more interesting than her. Also, kudos on picking the anime that hid it's lesbians; fitting for you, no worries about making waves or being embarrassing when we can just pretend they're cousins, right? Just the way you like it, everything fits in clean. Giggle."

Perhaps the first actually amused look from Raike. He finishes off his smoke and lights up another from pack on the stool, blowing a thick cloud of blue smoke into the lens

"I do want to talk about that following of yours. Because as I watched that fight, as you got awarded a belt you couldn't pin or submit me for, I heard the cheers. Somehow, somehow- people like you. Despite all evidence of your shitty humanity; they cheer. These people who heard you sound off and tell an entire class of people 'keep your heads down, you're making us look bad' still cheered you. And why? What have you stood for that was bigger than you? Who have you tried to help, who do you want to reach? Yourself, obviously. That the fans can't see that, that all it took was a dress modeled after a school uniform and everyone wants to cheer the hot chick. That's why you're liked, best I can tell. Not who you are or what you've done; that's disdain worthy. But because you can fill out that dress and smile a bit."

The annoyance of Nova Wonder causes The Beautiful Nightmare's face to go flat and hard, the dislike all but a physical presence.

"Obviously I'm no stranger to trading on my looks. Except that I'm a man, and so it doesn't really get me as far. See, people look at the pretty girl and they'll give her a hundred chances, she just has to not be personally mean to them. After all, maybe she'll be so thankful she'll take to you, maybe touch your arm. How exciting. But the pretty boy? In this business? I have to earn goddamn everything. I have to constantly try harder, I have to prove I'm a good person day in, day out all the while people tell me to stop. You have to bounce, and pretend to be an anime character from the early nineties. Couldn't have at least upgraded to Fairy Tale? They provide actual strong female role models, though considering that you think venom and strength are the same, perhaps you just can't make an educated pick. You know, had you chosen any other member of the Sailor Moon cast... Well, okay, not Mercury; Mercury sucks. Mars, Venus, Jupiter. You obviously weren't picking Uranus or Neptune. But dress as you will, say what you will, and you have, at least I'm my own character. Fuck, I'm two of them, let's not forget Ruby. All original content, baby, and I can sew my own outfits."

Johnny gives a large, theatrical wipe of the brow, symbolically throwing off the sweat of his tirades.

"Whew. Can't say I'm done telling the world all the shit about Nova I find fuckin' shitty, but I'll move on. This Titan of the Midway match-not taking place on the midway because we unfortunately can't trailer it here- will be a tables match. I don't know that I've specifically mentioned my distaste for tables matches, but those of you who remember my feelings on ladder matches can probably extrapolate; I think they're corny. Tables matches end just as I'm getting started, breaking shit doesn't scream winner to me. Not just one, anyway, maybe if it was three? Doesn't matter, the nineties happened and we all must suffer. A few extra points for making this a flaming tables match, that is a little harder, feels like a better win condition But honestly? Trying to put either Wolfe or Nova through a burning table will be low on my priority list. Wolfe... I'll mostly just be trying to keep away from me so that I can go ahead and murder Wonder. Show her just what it takes to send Johnny Raike scuttling home, tail between his legs. Suppose I could ask her boyfriend about that; a little birdie tells me he's flying the coup. But not something I know much about, personally. I don't know when to stop, remember? You will never, and I will repeat that, never break me. Bleed me, hurt me, maybe even make me tap, but break? Not in this life time. This is and will remain my home, and if you keep running your damn mouth about pushing me out of here-- then next time we meet I bring a machete and leave you minus an arm. I am not kidding. I will end you if you ever step to me like that again; I'm not afraid of jail. You are a terrible person, and I wish it took more than wearing Hot Topic lipstick and posting pictures of your kid to disguise that."

The face journey Johnny goes through as he tries not to get too excited, underscored by his hands tensing and relaxing as he excitedly sorts his thoughts. He takes a steadying pull of smoke and launches ahead.

"That may be the one I find most...affronting. You're putting up pictures of a toddler to Twitter. Way to give her an online footprint before she can even memorize an acceptable forum password. Real mother of the year shit there. Because of course you should put your kids up on a gigantic, open access forum, where you very quickly lose control of who has the photo or what they do with it. Amazing, just...just genius. Can we give you an award? Preferably one that ends in a visit from child protective?"

The Party Queen of Queens takes a pull off his cig; long, slow, and dwarfing all other drags he has ever taken. He lets out smoke for what feels like just shy of impossible, sighs with contentment, and gives a flash of his pearly whites

"Told you I might not be done. But, enough is enough--for now--and I'll move on to Adam Wolfe. Now, Wolfie has already tried to play the lack of respect card, pretend that my lock at the top of the rankings happened by accident, or just because they weren't there yet. Life pro tip guy? If you want anyone out there to give a fuck about the shit you accomplish, make it seem like an accomplishment! Don't act like all your opponents suck, or the fuck does it matter when you win? Hear Nova tell it, that title was a foregone conclusion. Why should anyone be impressed, then? I mean, fuck, listen to the way Nova told it then remember that she didn't actually pin or submit me, and tell me how impressed you are. Better yet, tell me how impressed you are based on her metric. Cause, it should be very little; if you listened to her tell it."

A grimace as Johnny silently admonishes himself, a tight little shake of the head as if to pass judgement on his behavior.

"Got off topic a bit, but when literally everyone to have come at you in the last year has the same routine 'I'm great, you suck' bullshit, well, you end up with a lot to say about it. Wolfe, I don't have a clue why you're involved in this, I really don't. New blood in, we scrapped a bit in Tag Team Turmoil, maybe Munin's just looking to see what will happen. All fine reasons But, and this isn't disrespect, it's fact, you haven't earned this yet. If this had just been you versus Nova I'd be there wishing you well and hoping Wondergirl lost most of her skin in a fire. But you instead ended up in the middle of my rematch. I mean, usually untreated disassociative identity disorder isn't seen as qualification to a title; but then humanity at large doesn't know how to deal with mental illness, so of course pro wrestling is just going to exploit it for ticket sales. And before anyone tries to be clever, cross dressing is not a mental illness no matter what some conversion therapists try to claim."

Raike sneers at the thought and mutters something about quackery, but fairly quickly reboards his train of thought.

"Adam, I don't question your ability to win this match. And not just because it's a tables match and I wouldn't question Ji's ability to win one, but your reputation proceeds you. Genocide, that part of you you let out to get real sick, he's going to be a threat. I don't dare dream for a second that you'll just sit back and let me do this my way. It's not like I'm going to come out to Wicked and decide I don't want to win. Sure, I have my sights set higher than the Midway, but I've also always loved the feel of being a double champ; potentially triple, counting my WARPED gold. Yes, I know I said I didn't want to be shackled to the Midway, but I am as the universe and my parents made me; not going full hog for glory is alien to me. But, you know what? If I lose this match, if I'm not the person to break a flaming yard sale table, I'll be fine. Annoyed, I hate to lose, but fine. So, please... don't try to make this personal. Don't bother poking and prodding, forget about finding another minority I'm embarrassing, and just come to the match ready to fight the two time Titan, ready to fight the WARPED Junior Heavyweight Champion, the only man to ever win the TMW East Coast and Total Vendetta championships in the same night. Come prepared to fight the reigning, and soon to be defending, two time HoliCraze Hell winner. Not this image in your head of a prancing little nancy boy who somehow ended up in your way. This is a prancing little nancy boy with a bird chest and weak knuckles who CLAWED his way to the top. Figure that out. Or you will not walk out of the park on your own power that night."

Raike looks down at his cigarette, noticing it's burnt out and flicking it into an off screen corner.

Johnny: "See, I've been making a mistake of late in my attempts to be a good person. I've been forgetting that good is not nice, and nice is not good. Nova, she can be nice. I've seen her do it. Adam? Don't know just yet. Doesn't strike me as the type, but I'll need more information than the test is currently providing. But good has to be earned. And nice, while maybe a part of that for some people, isn't nearly enough to be good. As for me? I'm kinda done with nice. Why waste the effort on people who are forever unappreciative. I'm already a different kind of man, why not try to be a different kind of good? Sounds like a valuable experience to me. One I'll be so happy to share with Nova Wonder and Adam Wolfe on the very first Main Event of the new Wicked Live. Bring your Johnny Raike signs by the merch booth before the show and I'll be more than happy to give it the old John Hancock. Please remember that this is the table of a man who runs a kissing booth in an adult themepark, so if you're bringing your children -- don't. Best of love and luck to you all my faeries, freaks, and fuckbois. I can't wait to hear you all in Tunica in just five short days. I love you, peace!"

Johnny flashes a cheesy grin and a double peace sign, then a double little finger wave as the screen fades to the Raike in the Cash logo