Daddy Issues Part IV
#NP "45" by The Gaslight Anthem
Locale: Staggs Family Home, Las Vegas, Nevada
A look of disappointment crosses Tim's face as he steps out of the taxi cab in front of the lovely brick corner house. He had been gone most of the spring, so he is almost surprised at the lovely florals and blossoms of the trees that were once bare the last time he had taken the time to pay them any mind. There was so much change around here, he almost didn't recognize the house he'd spent the last four years of his life. He turns back to the driver, placing a wad of bills into his hand. He tips his fedora at the driver to signify for him to keep the change. The driver moves his mouth, but Tim can't hear him over the music. As the cab drives off, Tim takes in the strange sight of the house. He'd expected home to feel more like, well... home? However, right now it felt like anything but. He takes one step from the curb, and onto the grass. As he reaches the sidewalk, the doors fly open, and the eager Eden Staggs comes charging at Tim with full force. Tim doesn't even have time to remove his headphones to hear her excited squeals that he's sure are there. She collides with him in a manner that nearly knocks him down, but he suffices for a few steps backward as he lifts her up. He holds her close to him as he spins with her, watching her face light up in excitement. For the faintest of moments, he seems at peace. As he stops, he pulls his headphones out and looks at his sister, who is mid sentence.
Eden: ... with the new babies! Tell me I didn't cry that much.
Tim smirks almost deviously, concealing the truth from his sister, but she is bright enough to figure it out. She sucks at her teeth in sarcasm as she narrows her eyes at Tim.
Tim: Hey, I said nothing! I definitely didn't say that you haven't quieted down at all since.
Eden: Hey!
Tim sets Eden down on the ground as he lets his duffel bag hang at his side. He stares at the house, as if expecting someone else to come out to welcome him home, but after a few moments, he realizes that no one else is coming. He sighs and looks down to Eden, putting on his brave face for her.
Tim: So, you aren't liking having the new babies? I figured you would be super excited to have future slaves...
Eden: I love having them, but they cry soooooooo much! All night when I'm trying to sleep. And they make dad grumpy.
Tim nods his head as if to tell her that he knows the feeling. He grabs onto Eden's hand as they walk through the yard and up to the front porch. Tim pauses once more, hearing the sound of a baby crying mildly. For some reason, this sound makes him shiver a little. He shakes it off and then walks through the door. Looking around, he sees some familiar precautions in making the house baby proof.
Tim: Already? They can't even sit up on their own yet.
Eden: They can throw up plenty though. I don't know how they have anything left to p...
Spike: Right in the eye, again Kit?
The raised voice of mild irritation cuts through the air as Eden giggles. Tim can't help but smirk some as he sets his bag down on the floor next to the door. He walks down a short hallway leading to the kitchen, where he goes to the refrigerator, only to find the safety locks.
Tim: Are you kidding me? Is he protecting the babies, or punishing us?
Eden: You're not doing it right.
Eden pops the lock within a millisecond, leaving Tim feeling slightly stupid.
Tim: Dad never taught me the trick to those...
Eden: Me neither, but I figured it out on my own.
Tim: Impressive...
Tim reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of grape juice, setting it on the counter before he reaches into the cabinet to pull out a blue plastic cup. He pours himself a glass, sucking it down in seconds before pouring another one, wiping at his lips. He goes to take another drink when he sort of freezes up, hit with distant memories resurfacing.
A much younger Tim stands over a crib, looking down into it with a blank expression on his face. The almost eerie mobile music plays in the background as he stares down at the sleeping baby, traces of raven hair covering the top of her head. He just looks down at baby Eden, studying her as she looks up at him, cooing. She reaches up toward him, and he quickly swats her hand away.
Tim: Don't touch me you dirty beast...
He mutters under his breath so not to be heard. He narrows his eyes in contempt as he sinks back a step, still maintaining eyes with baby Eden. He purses his lips lightly as he looks around at the surroundings for a second.
Tim: You took everything away from me, and I'll never forgive you for that. You have so much, when I had nothing as a kid. You have a wipe warmer. You have this thing...
Tim reaches over to the table to pull a glow worm off of the nearby dresser. He squeezes it a couple times to make it light up before putting it out once more. He tosses it back onto the dresser.
Tim: Do you know what I had? I had that mobile you stole from me. I had a blue blanket, and some clothes from Goodwill.
Tim looks down at the ground, glaring silently for a minute as Eden's coos stop. There is a light flop in the crib as Eden rolls over onto her stomach, looking out of the bars at Tim, as if she were listening to him, and understanding. Tim chuckles a little to hide the sniffling.
Tim: You even have a mom and dad who love you. My mom left me to dad, and dad doesn't like me. He was starting to... until you came around. I hate you.
Tim's eyes shake as tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He doesn't sob, but rather he lets the tears flow naturally, trying to hide all other signs of emotion at this point. He clinches his fists together lightly to gain control over his emotions, but it only works to a degree.
Tim: I hate you, and I'm never going to forgive you for ruining my life again...
Eden reaches through the bars, but Tim turns around and walks out of the room. He turns around the corner to look at Spike cooking in the kitchen, oblivious to everything. He walks down the hall, passing the living room where Misty is asleep on the couch, looking totally exhausted. He tip toes toward a room on the far end of the house, and he lightly closes the door behind him. He walks over to his closet and pulls out a duffel bag. He rips a few articles of clothing from hangers and shoves them into the duffel bag. He walks over to his bed and pulls a ginger My Buddy doll from it, tucking him under his arm. He ruffles through a drawer, pulling a wad of small bills out, stuffing them into the bag, and then a wrestling magazine to top it off. He zips the bag shut and then he walks to the bedroom door, opening it up. He walks through the hall and toward the front door. He turns around to see Misty sleeping once more, and then he closes the door behind him. As he walks through the small yard, he mutters under his breath.
Tim: Now, nobody has to pretend to care about me. Now, I'm just a nobody...
Tim feels a tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, snapping him back to reality. His eyes widen for a second as he looks around to see Eden looking at him strangely.
Eden: Timmy? Are you okay?
Tim: Oh, yeah, yeah... Why?
Eden: Well, I said you must've been pretty thirsty, and you didn't say anything. Then I said that's gotta be a world record, and you just stared outside.
Tim forces a smile onto his face before reaching up to rub at his eyes, forcing a long yawn.
Tim: I'm fine, just a little tired from flying is all. I think I might go take a nap.
Eden: Don't you wanna meet the babies? Last time you were in town, you stayed with mom the whole time, and...
Tim: Yeah, maybe later. Dad seems to be busy with them.
Tim sets his glass inside of the sink, turning the water on to give it a quick rinse. He wipes his hands off on the dish towel hanging next to the sink before he starts to walk over toward the hallway once more. Eden follows after him, not letting up.
Eden: Something's wrong. You can tell me. I'm a big sister now, so I think I can handle it.
Tim chuckles at the matter-of-fact tone in her voice as she follows him up the stairs. He walks to his room, opening the door as he picks up his Xbox One controller on his way in. Eden follows him, as he turns the TV on, loading the Halo Master Chief collection as he sits back in his bed.
Eden: You know I'm not gonna leave you alone until you tell me why you're upset. I can tell. I can always tell.
Tim: For a seven year old, you are way too intuitive... It's freaky. Look, it's nothing I can't overcome in time.
Eden nods her head, and without any warning, she picks up a controller and turns it on, ready to play with her brother. Tim sighs as he sees she's not going to leave this alone. He shakes his head and moves up to the edge of the bed next to Eden, and the two get ready to play as the scene fades out.
Eat This!
#NP "Go With the Flow" Queens of the Stone Age
Locale: Ranch Nomade, Tunis, Tunisia
The wind blows across the sand, moving small clouds across the edge of the dusty Sahara Desert. A few traces of tall grass cut into the dust clouds as a man in a tunic rides through a trail on a blazing gray and black Barb horse, galloping fiercely as the man tugs on the reigns. This stirs up a greater amount of sand behind him as he goes along. We move furthing down the path to spot a large pen with an even larger stable containing many horses within. Standing just outside of the stable is Tim Staggs. He is wearing a black cap and a black tunic of his own. His medium red hair flows in the wind as he looks around at the many different horses. He scratches at his chin as he comes to a unique horse for this region, a mustang. The breed doesn't stick out to him as much as the unique chocolate brown coloring and flowing black mane. He looks around as a native approaches him in a huff, shouting Arabic. He points at Tim, fire in his eyes as he comes up on Tim.
Tim: Yes, sir.. I would like to...
The man continues to become irate, cutting Tim off. This becomes confusing to Tim, who tilts his head to the side. He runs his hand over his cap as he tries to understand even a word of what is being said.
Tim: I, um... don't speak... Tunisian? I'm a tourist.
The man rolls his eyes as he walks over to a small closet nearby. He pulls out a shovel and shoves it into Tim's chest as he continues to shout.
Tim: I don't understand you, sir! What's this for?
The man stops yelling for a second before he yanks on Tim's arm, pulling him toward the pen. Tim resists some, but the man is surprisingly strong for his small stature, pulling the strong wrestler alone, pulling him through the gate of the pen. As Tim stands there, ready to object, the man slams the gate shut behind him, walking away as he shakes his head, muttering under his breath.
Tim: What the hell? This is just ridiculous. I don't look like a stable boy!
Tim stomps his foot angrily as he looks around at the piles of dung on the ground. Better sense tells him what he's supposed to do as he walks up to one of the piles. He digs the shovel under the horse apples and flings them over his shoulders.
Tim: Well, I thought it would be pretty bad ass to cut a promo while horseback riding through the Sahara, but it looks like I'm stuck shoveling shit instead...
Contempt fills Tim's face as he walks over to the next pile. He spots a wheelbarrow nearby, and he decides to start collecting the manure. He grunts under his breath as he comes to a stubborn pile that seems to be stuck to the surprisingly hard sand. He stomps on the top of the shovel for an extra kick before shoveling it into the wheelbarrow. He moves along, as he looks up at the camera through narrowed eyes.
Tim: This is so typical. No, really, it's just my luck. I hate name dropping, but shouldn't people at least know my last name by now? My father was a, grrr!
Tim stomps into the shovel, taking a large portion of sand along with the horse dung before dropping it into the wheelbarrow. He slings the shovel over his shoulder as he pushes the wheelbarrow forward to the next pile.
Tim: My father was a World Champion. He toured across the globe. I guess that's what I get for looking nothing like him... I try to think outside of the box, something most of the Sin City Wrestling locker room never does, and I get stuck playing human slave for God only knows how long...
Tim shakes his head as he comes to the next pile. He places his shovel to the pile, picking it up with ease. He huffs and puffs angrily as he moves along to the next. He picks it up with ease before digging the shovel into the sand, leaning on it to wipe at his brow. The near summer heat is getting to the kid who spent most of his life in the mild Midwest. After sighing in relief, he gets a strange smile on his face as he starts laughing.
Tim: No, no... this is actually perfect. Considering the brainless pieces of crap I'll get to face during my tenure in SCW, this is great practice. Who knows? It just might help prepare me to win a match someday. I mean, clearly it won't be this week, because three Nobodies are taking on SCW's own juggernauts, The Seven Deadly Sins. Or, as I like to call them, the less interesting version of the Manson Family. No, seriously, they are the product of a crappy daytime Soap Opera, brainwashed by their sycophant father figure.
Tim shakes his head as he walks along to the next couple piles, digging into them quickly before disposing of them. He looks down at them snickers before continuing on with his point.
Tim: The member of the stable that I respect the most is certifiable at best. He talks to a teddy bear the way Uncle Tony used to talk to a stuffed cat. Most people would look at him and roll their eyes, but you know what? He's interesting. He doesn't make me think of a bad Days of Our Lives episode. I can't say the same for any of the other Sins. At least Despayre is fun. At least Despayre is unpredictable. At least when Despayre opens his mouth, one can't easily predict what he's going to say. Unfortunately, the same can't be said for his cohorts.
Tim shovels through a couple more piles nearby, shoveling them into the wheelbarrow before he moves across to one of the last few piles.
Tim: You could slap a cliche on any of the other Sins, past and present. Its not that hard. For example, chronically PMS'ing Kittie. The one who can't decide who she is. Compelling, right? Yawn... Oh, or what about Rage? Grrr, angry monster who hates everything and everyone... but deep down, he's got a heart of gold. Like a C-rated Riddick rip off. Muscly dumbass Shane Boswell, or his sultry slut girlfriend, Fantasia. And what about the bad imitation of Sean Jackson? You know, the one who has to be the most sadistic person on the roster? Chris Shipman? Yeah, as much hype as he gets on the cards, he might as well be a Nobody like me. He couldn't even beat the ring rust off of Goth, something Halich was able to do, and still he has trouble getting access to the backstage area. It's sad.
Tim clears the last pile of dung from the ground and he sighs in relief. After grabbing onto the wheelbarrow, he moves it over to the gate, waving his arm around to get the attention of the man who had locked him in there. The man walks over much more slowly and calmly. He nods his head as he squints, looking around to make sure Tim has done an appropriate job. Once he approves, he opens the gate and points Tim down a long path, muttering something else to him. Tim shrugs his shoulders as he moves down the path to another large stall filled with pigs on one side, cows on the other, and running around wildly are chickens. Tim snickers move more as he drops the wheelbarrow as a rooster tries to intimidate him with a flogging. However, Tim punts it across the stable and stands his ground, proving to rule the roost. He puffs his chest out in a primeval manner before continuing.
Tim: Now, let's not forget Gabriel. I mean, how can we? He's like the lead character of this shitty soap opera. He's not the attractive one like Shane. He's not the crazy one like Kittie, Rage, and Shipman. He's not the leader, but he still pulls all of the attention his way. Is it his eight year old birthday party parlor tricks? Is it his long speeches that seem to all have the same point to them? Is it his girlfriend who is almost every teenager's wet dream... until she got fat from being knocked up, that is? The answer to all three is... no. What makes him matter is quite simple... It is his greed. It's a title belt that he carries, something that could easily be removed from him, making all of the hype he carries just... disappear into thin air. Disappear like his wife's career after she stepped up to my step mother. Disappear like Rage after a tough challenge comes his way and he "injures" something. Disappear faster than a months prescription of valium around Kittie. The one thing keeping him, and his cronies relevant, is that title belt. Once that's gone, nobody will give a... shit... about Gabriel, or the Seven Deadly Sins.
Tim opens up the stall to the few cows, studying the ground carefully as he steps inside. He nearly steps into a cow pie, but retracts his foot before digging the shovel into the much mushier dung, cringing a bit at the feel of it.
Tim: You see, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I don't have your number, Gabriel, Chris, Despy... I mean, I couldn't even defeat Kain with my best efforts. Do you know, I trained for that match at least ninety percent of my waking day from the time it was booked until it happened? I gave it everything I had, and I still came up short. If I can't take out a man who has never been able to pull through a prove he is the best this business has to offer, how can you expect me, a newcomer, and the Internet Champion to defeat the World Heavyweight Champion and his dysfunctional pseudo family?
Tim flings another large pile into his wheelbarrow, on top of the horse dung, cringing as he hears it plop down behind him, followed up by a sick sort of smile.
Tim: This just gets more and more ironic, doesn't it? I mean, I couldn't have planned this better. I'm knee deep in bullshit, literally. It's the perfect metaphor to describe my feelings about my match on Sunday. On paper, clearly the Sins will win. Let's face facts here. Clearly, this is all about making The Seven Deadly Sins look good because Synn is so far up Christian Underwood's ass, he's practically raping his pearly whites. How can we make this fading novelty look good? Let's place them on the card, near the top, against SCW's own JOB Squad. The idiotic fans that cheer on a washed up Drake Green would eat this up gladly! It all but says that in the card adertisements. Aside from a teddy bear clutching retard and a third rate magician with the World Heavyweight title, there's nothing special about this stable. There's nothing that puts them in the limelight, and that's sad considering what's hot right now in the SCW universe. And to be honest, even those two can't be considered one of SCW's top sellers right now.
Tim pokes at a large pile of bull dung with the shovel, swearing that it had moved on its own. He waits, chalking it up to his vivid imagination before scooping it up and dropping it into the barrel.
Tim: But, it is an easy fix, right management? You can sell three times the merchandise if you can just throw a group of Nobodies under the bus, hm? I mean, I can't be mad at you for making a smart business decision. We don't even have an officially licensed t-shirt, while the Sins have iPhone cases, t-shirts, posters, whiskey... everything but actions figures... oh wait...
Tim sticks his tongue out at the camera as he rolls his eyes. After laughing lightly at his obviously intentional mistake, he goes back to scooping up crap and flipping it into the wheelbarrow.
Tim: Look, I don't need to sit here and use irony to spell out the inevitable outcome of this match. God's practical jokes on me have done that for me. I'm just going to level with you. There is no way in hell that Johnny Tsunami, Kris Halich, and myself will be walking out of this match with a win under our belts. It's just not happening. Mind you, it isn't going to be from a lack of effort on our part, but... who pays the referees? The same management who favors this soggy pile of cow shit known as the Seven Deadly Sins. The odds are just not in our favor. Let's not forget the lack of experience we have individually, as well as working in a unit. I mean, this is our first match as a team.
Tim pauses as he looks around at the ample piles of dung surrounding him, seeing exactly how much is still left. He reaches up and wipes away at his forehead, leading a muddy streak that he doesn't even notice.
Tim: We're stuck between a rock and a hard place here. If we lose, we put The Sins over, and management wins. But, if we lose, we get ridiculed for being a poor team, and we'll never get to pursue tag gold. We've got a lot to lose here, because if the Sins lose, they get to shrugs it off and point to their collective win-loss records and call it luck. So the amount of bullshit piling up around the Nobodies is becoming more and more evident. But, that's what happens when you refuse to kiss the ass of management. Just ask my father, because that's the reason he retired from active competition in the first place.
Tim gives the stall one last glance before grunting and throwing the shovel down to the ground. He kicks it in frustration as he walks over to the stall door, opening it up and making his exit. He looks down at the wheelbarrow, as if studying it for a moment.
Tim: Unlike most of the competition around here, we're not going to just take this injustice lying down. Sure, we might look like idiots for getting our hopes up. We might look the fool for giving it our all, but who knows? Miracles have happened before, right? We're not going to waste this opportunity, and then complain about how unfair it is afterward. No, we're going to do everything we can to pull off the biggest upset in SCW history.
Tim smirks as his eyes raise up from the wheelbarrow.
Tim: Sorry for jumping around so much, but this promo business is still new to me. I couldn't help but draw a few parallels here. You see, this horse shit reminds me of Gabriel. Tough texture, but so easily destroyed with the right trajectory. One precise blow, and he turns into shitty mess smeared across that canvas. And the bull shit reminds me of Despayre. Sloppy, smelly, and so commonly referred to in a negative context, yet widely talked about nonetheless. And that...
Tim chuckles as he looks down at the chicken who has popped a squat on his boot, leaving a milky white and dark brown splatter on his boot. Tim points down to it as the camera does a quick in and out focus of the splatter before returning to Tim's face.
Tim: That reminds me of Chris Shipman... slimy chicken shit... Silent. Need I say more?
After chuckling once more, Tim kicks his foot out, trying to fling the feces from his foot. He flips the wheelbarrow over as he starts to walk off. However, he stops and pulls down his sunglasses, looking deep into the camera.
Tim: See you shitheads on Sunday...
He clicks his jaw as he points at the camera with both index fingers firmly extended. As he walks off toward the door to the barn, he sees the man standing out there. The man looks inside to see the mess and he begins yelling, but Tim doesn't stop to argue back with him. He simply continues walking on his way as the wind blows his tunic around and the scene fades out... TO BLACK!
