With another week going by the SCW universe wasted no time in upping up the action, and thanks to a very special title, the Roulette division is once again building up some hype. After the devastating Tsunami reign the belt was once again held by someone worthy of a challenge, a man to beat, if someone was to call himself champion. As luck would have it, the opportunity to face the man in question came up. After a hard battle, one thought victory was assured. Ryan Keys was going to get his shot at the title once again after he has come so close to getting it before. But a cheap trick cost him the match, cost him his shot at obtaining what he’s worked so hard for since the beginning.
But much to Steve Ramone’s dismay, two can play at his game.
It’s no secret that the bosses of SCW see the potential within Ryan, and with good reason. So it wasn’t a surprise that after using careful suggestions that a main event styled match was made. With no more distractions in the way of two men that fought alone in the Coal Miner’s glove match it was set for Ryan Keys to face Steve Ramone, one on one for the chance to call themselves the number one contender for the Roulette title.
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The smell of stale whiskey and musk hung in the air as Ryan stepped through the doors of McGinty’s Pub. The Eagles sang away on the ancient-looking jukebox, spilling “Hotel California” into the scarcely lit room. It wasn’t a big place, enough room to comfortably house the patrons, giving them enough room to spread their wings, but small enough that the sound seemed to cascade through the dank air, reverberating back toward the center. He could imagine that each note was visible gyrating through the air, mingling with the cloud of smoke that hung above the bar from various types of guilty pleasure. Cuban cigars, menthols, even a hit of a joint here and there. Ashes filled the glass trays, cheap scotch dotting the wood of the bar. It was clear that this was an ‘everything goes’ sort of place.
Idle conversation was made between three men that sat at the center stools around the partially-squared bar, talking about their glory days, their time in the military, their spoils during hunting season. Shucking off his coat, the wrestler saunters up to the row of stools, choosing one close enough to listen in, yet far enough to not seem intrusive. He was intrigued by the way the men recounted the tales of their lives, what all they had accomplished, what they’ve seen, things they’ve always wanted to do, but never got the chance. It was fascinating. Then it hit him. What would he have to talk about when he was old and gray? Retired from this life of hard work and fame, the cracks and rough skin around his knuckles the only thing left of his legacy. Would he have a family that would eventually tire of hearing the same stories over and over? Of how he was cheated out of so many potential wins, of how he skated by and narrowly missed so many losses? Maybe he’d speak of his fans, his opponents, those who had faith in him, and those who celebrated his failure. At only twenty five years old, he’d done more than most his age, accomplished more, but what really mattered in his life? Not the fight, but the winning. Not the match, but the title. He needed more, craved more. It was his name that should be up in lights, his face plastered on magazines, right up there with the best of the best. That’s where Ryan Keys deserved to be, and he would settle for no less.
A voice drew him from his thoughts, the cracked vinyl creaking beneath him as he shifts in his seat, coming back to reality. His gaze drifts from the three men to the one that stood before him, waiting impatiently for Ryan’s order. Jack Daniels was his poison of choice for the night. Voicing this, the man leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. The other handful of people remaining in the bar were gathered around a long, felt-topped table, playing what looked like a pretty intense game of pool. A top hat full of change and crumpled bills sat off to one side, a burly man in leather tasked as its keeper. As he waited for his drink, Ryan watched each move carefully, especially those made by the thinner of the two men, the knuckles of one hand wrapped in a tattered cloth, a long, copper colored beard hanging past his chest, hair that fell well over his shoulder, partially dammed by a black bandana. A bull ring parted his nostrils, portions of his beard braided and decorated with various shapes and sizes of beads. There was something about the way he moved… so careful and precise, little nuances that seemed to put his opponent at a disadvantage on every turn. It was evident that the man knew how to hustle… but he wasn’t the only one that knew his way around a pole.
As expected, the red haired man claimed victory, but Ryan was determined to put the cheater in his place. He knew what it felt like to lose to a snake, to have everything torn away, just because you were the bigger man and played by the rules. The redhead didn’t deserve those winnings, the money that those he played worked so hard to earn.Who else could teach him that lesson besides Ryan, himself? Dropping a crumpled ten on the bar top for the drink, he grabs the glass and down it in one swig, approaching the group. Soon enough, the game had begun. The balls were set, and the first shot was made.
The odds didn’t look good for the wrestler as the game played out. Despite knowing the other was a cheat, the hustler good enough at his game that it was hard to top him. The copper-headed man danced his way around the table, toughened the game as much as he could for Ryan, but he was determined to stay confident. This was his game, his shot at taking down a cheating prick. His gaze follows every ball, trying to calculate his opponent’s next move before it could be made. Just when everything seems hopeless, when he’s sure there’s no chance of winning in sight, he spots his opportunity. With one last hit, the cocky smirk is wiped right off of the male’s face, replaced with a look of utter disbelief. Ryan had won.
The hat placed in the wrestler’s hands, a knowing grin stretches across his lips. This next victory… It was all his. All it would take is one winning shot, one opportunity, and everything he ever wanted would be his. Thirty some years from now when he was hunched over a glass of the strong stuff, he’d tell a story of triumph, of how he put a cheating bastard in his place and rose to the top. For now, the most he could offer was a round of drinks on him.
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Hours Later...
Ryan Keys found himself sitting at the end of an empty bar as the commotion that had once started slowly faded. With his drink in hand, he slowly took a sip of it as his eyes finally met the camera, a slow smile creeping up on his face as he started.
“You know, it feels good knowing that your actions speak louder than your words. The bosses have clearly seen my potential in the ring, and the injustice that happened at their Violent Conduct III pay-per-view. Where a person that we are going to call a ‘man,’ for lack of a better word, decided to put his ‘woman’ in danger just so he could get one over on me. It’s very typical of Steve to do this. He waits until someone else does all the work just so he can come in at the last minute and get all the glory that is not his. That’s his whole wrestling career in a nutshell.”
Ryan shrugged his shoulders and had a look of amusement in his face as what he was saying was basically true about his opponent Steve Ramone. In layman's terms Steve has done nothing in his matches, but at the end he decides that it’s time to get in gear. A dirty trick.
“But two can play at this game Steve. You are not the only one that can get his way at the end of things. No. I can turn the tides against you and take things to where we are now. Your straight away loss against James Tuscini for the roulette championship has been postponed indefinitely, as you are now going to face me. One on One, winner gets to go after Tuscini, and the odds aren’t looking to be on your favor.”
Keys shook his head as things have been taking a step in his favor and had Steve’s woman, Kaylee removed from ringside. No distractions between them this time.
“You see, your favorite play thing has been taken out of the game. It’s no secret that Kaylee is not even considered a woman by you, so I’ve taken her out of the picture.You can thank me later. Now things won’t get awkward again when she’s in a very comfortable position between two men. So with her gone it won’t take long until I show people how weak you really are when you are not hiding behind someone. It is very clear that the age of Ramone is no more. I’m exposing you for the small man you are trying to compensate for in winning your matches by doing absolutely nothing. Because you are nothing.”
There is no way Keys can express that clearly enough. Ramone has done nothing, had been nothing, and will continue to be nothing within SCW. His time had come a long time ago.
“You are just a small man trying to so desperately to stay relevant by making yourself look absolutely ridiculous just so people could look your way. I can applaud that. Every king needs a jester to make a fool of himself for his amusement. And your career between those ropes has provided laughs a plenty at your expense for the crowd of SCW. And once again you find yourself almost getting to where you want to go, but as luck would have it you find yourself once again in my sights.”
Keys shaped his hand to simulate a gun as he pointed it towards the camera before giving it a shot and smirked.
“That’s not a position you want to be in. But you know all about bad positions, don’t you? You always come so close but you can never get your chance at getting what you want in the end. It’s gotta really suck for you. And it has to suck even more knowing that every single guy that has set foot in that ring as more skills than you do. Myself included. I train my body again and again to keep up with everyone else, and train even harder to go above all the rest. I do all that while you just sit on your ass and wait. But that is no more.”
His tone turned serious as he was determined to get Steve’s shenanigans out of his way so his real match can start when he faces Tuscini for his championship. It was only a matter of time till that happened again.
“This time I’m the one that’s going to be taking that shot at a victory against you, that shot at Tuscini, the shot at being champion. And let me tell you that my eyes are dead centered in knocking you out in that ring. And then I will set my sights on my next target, while you crawl back down to the hole you came from and await again so you can bullshit your way to a win… just so somebody else can take it away from you. That’s your job here at SCW. You are here to be the doormat for the next guy that stands up and faces the champion. So get that through your messed up head. I will win this match against you. And you won’t even hear my shot coming.”
The scene slowly fades off into the distance as the night drew to a close. Ryan kys was ready for his match. And there was no stopping a man with his sights set on a prize. The roulette champion will soon be added to his name.
