(OOC: Caleb informed me via text that he wouldn't be able to RP tonight, so in the interest of fairness I am posting only a portion of my RP, and would like to not be counted against Roxi if that is at all possible. Again, this is only a portion of what I had written. I just did not want to be counted as a no-show. Sorry for letting people down.)
It had been two weeks removed since Caleb Houston and I became the SCW Tag Team Champions. It seemed like so much time had passed between the night of Inception and now. Quite frankly, I was growing bored.
Still, it is hard to ignore that these past two weeks had been incredibly busy for Caleb and me. And that's not even counting our post-victory celebration after we destroyed Big B and Despayre, ending their tyrannous seven-month reign as champions. People might be thinking, Come on JT. Who parties for an entire week straight, sleeps with dozens of women, and still has the stamina to prepare for his next challenge? Well, those people can suck it, because the obvious answer is...
"Caleb!"
Not what I was expecting, I think to myself, as Johnny bursts onto the scene through my front door, red and livid. I can't help but notice there is a large, exposed area of raw, red flesh under his left cheek, showing off what was left of his once magnificent beard.
"Please, Johnny, come right in," I mumble under my breath, as he slams the door behind him, startling me a bit. "Bro, what's got your panties in a bunch?"
"That cheeky little bastard," he huffs and wheezes, "replaced my shaving cream with super glue again!"
I narrow my eyes, carefully examining the missing patches of his thick, grizzly beard. I feel the urge to chuckle, and wisely keep that to myself.
"Come on, Johnny, how can you really be sure you didn't just have an awkward shave?"
"Because when I reached up to wipe that pasty shit off my face, my hand got stuck!"
Immediately, he extends his left arm and hand, revealing the thick fur covering his palms. Almost on cue, Caleb steps into room, halfway through his tuna sandwich. He shares an awkward look with Johnny.
"Damn, Johnny," Caleb eyeballs Johnny's hairy palm, "I know you ain't been gettin' any but you should probably cut back on the masturbating."
Johnny lunges at Caleb, but I intervene, blocking him with an arm as I step in front of his path.
"Johnny, Caleb's got a point," I try to calm him down. "You could even go blind!"
I exchange glances from Johnny to Caleb, who offers a sheepish grin and a shrug. Johnny steps back, exhaling loudly as he heads back to the door.
"You boys have your fun," he grumbles, as he turns the knob. "I'm goin' back home to shave the rest of my beard."
"Love you!" Caleb shouts, as Johnny shuts the door behind him. Caleb heads to the couch, plopping onto the soft cushion and propping his feet up on the table. He catches sight of a note I had been working on earlier, and slowly reaches for it. "What's this?"
"Well, I was thinking," I begin, as I sit down at the opposite end of the couch. "We've been getting a lot of bad press lately. Ever since our New Year's Eve shindig where Johnny was rolling balls on ecstasy and you almost jumped off the roof..."
"Bro, I was never gonna' jump."
A part of me wanted to believe Caleb. Maybe he believed himself, too. All I know is, that night exposed a different Caleb Houston, one I had never seen before, and one I would never wish to see again.
"The point is, we had lots of peepers that night, dude. Maybe not upstairs, but down at the party, we drew a lot of attention to ourselves, and not much of it was good. Johnny grinding up against the barstool, Hydro tryna' sweet talk that lady's poodle...I threw up on a guy!"
"Yeah, I heard about that."
"Anyway, I was thinking, maybe we should work on the way we present ourselves in public. That's where the list comes into play. It's a guide to how to attract more positive attention in public."
Caleb looked back down at the list, scanning it from side to side as he read each line.
"'Do:,'" he read aloud, "'sign autographs...kiss babies...fly in couch'? Really bro? 'Only one free refill at Chipotle'? What the hell are we, the Beverly Hillbillies?"
"There's more, bro. Read down, there's a list of shit we probably shouldn't say in interviews anymore."
"I saw that," he responds, as he reads on. "'Things we shouldn't talk about: Politics...race...sexuality...gender issues...people in general...abortion...the holocaust...Andrew Watts' smelly vagina...'"
"Bro, that ain't on the list."
"Kim Jung Un...Kim Jung Ill...' Aw, but he the Kim Jung Illest!"
"Sorry, dude. We gotta think about our careers."
"Oh, speaking of," he changes subjects, as he adjusts in his seat, "what you think about our tag match this weekend?"
"Who we facing?" I shrug.
"You facing Roxi Johnson, and me."
I raise my eyebrows, confused.
"But you my partner...?"
"Nah dude, that's Mercedes Vargas."
"Who 'dat?"
"Your partner."
"But I'm your partner!"
"Nah, Roxi's my partner."
I sigh, as I wrap my head around the sheer stupidity of this upcoming match.
"So the new Tag Team Champions are...facing each other, instead of working as a team?"
Caleb simply nods in response, still reading my note, probably for his own amusement at this point. What a load of shit...
