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Ted E. Bahr Productions
Proudly presents:</div></td>
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"Love Thy Neighbor (Even when she's a mean old woman)
Act 1 ; Scene 1"</td>
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<td><marquee>ANNOUNCEMENT: "The Wives Of Henry the 8th" will not be seen at this time, so that we may present to you another program you'll lose your head over.</marquee>
"Yes indeed, we find ourselves in the famed "City of Sin", an appropriate place for the home of several men and women who were founding members of the controversial wrestling stable of the Seven Deadly Sins. And if you think that's something else, well here's a real trump card; we're at the house of none other than the father and son duo of that very stable, Synn and Despayre! Huh? Huh? What? Oh I get it! You expected this to be set in the city of Buenos Aries, Argentina where Climax Control would be held this coming weekend, didn't you? Well newsflash! There were more important tales to tell than what could be drummed up in yet another sight seeing..."
"Angel?"
"Yo?"
"Who are you talking to?"
"Oh just another certain someone who thinks they know better in what we should be doing with our time."
"Wow. Rude."
(musical interlude)
And now, it's time for another wacky adventure, featuring that Icon of Innocence, that Guru of Guffaws, that Sultan of Subdued Snorts....
Despayre stood on the very tips of his toes, even though it wasn't really warranted in this case. I mean, yeah he's a tad short for a professional wrestler, but even he's tall enough to gaze out of his bedroom window as he watched and waited for his intended to show up at the family's door step. Still, this was to be thee day he got what he had ordered online two weeks ago while on tour for Sin City Wrestling, and he had went with the slowest shipping option available for two reasons:
One, because he had to make absolutely certain that he would be here for the impending arrival. It was vital to ... THE PLAN!
And two, because his patience would be rewarded with the impending result. After their last little 'clash', she would be lulled into a false sense of security when so much time has passed.
Ah! The art of war!
"Oo! Oo! There he is! There's his truck!" Despayre cried gleefully, pounding his open palms against his window sill, almost bouncing with excitement (you know, more so than he usually was!). He immediately turned on his heels and started to made a mad dash, but his own feet tripped him up and he fell forward, landing with a soft "Oof!" on his bed! Boy it was a good thing his dad decided to position it where he had or else he would have had himself a mischief right then and there!
Quickly righting himself, Despayre mad a grab for that teddy bear that followed him everywhere to not just protect him, but to keep him out of trouble (and usually failing at the latter), and swung his bedroom door open and made a mad dash to get to the front door.
Wait ... truck? Who exactly was he waiting for that drove a truck? None of the Sins did so, and none of the Sins' associates did either. So who...?
The woman in the postal uniform walked up the path of the large estate to the house... (ohhh! a mail truck! I gotcha!), and as she stepped up onto the porch to place the mail in the chute, the door swung wide open and Despayre almost ran right into her but skidded to a stop with a hearty "Hi!"
But as quickly as he smiled at one of his arch-nemesis, the mailman (I know, I don't understand it either), he stopped just as fast at whatever he had planned to do or say when he saw that this mailman was not a mailman at all!
Despayre blinked, "Gee! I never saw a femailman before!" He practically pouted at this new face on his home's doorstep, and even worse, it was a girl! He couldn't offer up his special unique brand of hijinx to a girl! Well, most girls! You-know-who didn't count. She wasn't a girl. She was an old bat!
"Disappointed?" The mail carrier asked with a trace of sarcasm, having been informed by the vacationing regular mailman of this particular test on the route. She held up a package in particular and said, "If you don't want it...?"
"Oh no!" Despayre shook his head in the negative and extended his arms, making 'grabby hands'. "I'll take it, please!"
"Well alright." The postal worker handed over the package and several envelopes to Despayre's waiting hands. She gave him a silent nod in greeting and turned to walk back up the path toward her truck, leaving Despayre to watch after her, then look down at his plush buddy and confess, "You're right. It's a good thing we didn't set up that net trap!" And he ducked back into the house, slamming the door as usual behind him.
Across the house, in the room Synn himself used as an office, the man himself sat behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, but he was not alone. Seated across from him was one of his many other proteges, and Despayre's pseudo 'big brother', Gabriel. The new father of a baby boy was holding his small one in his strong arms, while his free hand held the bottle to the baby's mouth so it could comfortably eat.
"If that boy of yours spits up in here, I'm making you clean it." Synn said from where he was seated, the tone hard and unyielding but Gabriel knew the man long enough to recognize the hidden tone of jest. So much so that Gabriel was quite comfortable in returning the favor by saying, "Funny, but d you make the same threat whenever Despy does the same?"
"Every time." Synn countered with a smirk. "He laughed at breakfast just this morning and made a mess with milk coming out of his nose. Made him clean that right up."
The corner of Gabriel's lips twitched in amusement as he speculated, "Why do I have the feeling that it was Theresa who made him clean it up and not you?"
"Details..." Synn waved off his contradiction, when they heard the front door slam. Synn gazed towards the office door and said, "I would imagine that was the mail."
"And Despy answering it." Gabriel muttered. "That's never a good sign." Gabriel knew full well the little quirks that made Despayre so much fun to deal with and be around, and this feud-of-sorts that he had going with the mailman seemed to be just another one. Actually, it wasn't even limited to Despayre and Synn's mailman. He seemed to have it in for his and Odette's, and Rage's as well. Cats and dogs. Despayre and mailmen.
Gabriel went on, "Least it explains why he high tailed it out of here, to watch for the mailman. He never tends to leave this one's side when I'm over." And by this one, he obviously was referring to his son, of whom Despayre was an honorary 'uncle'.
Synn said, nodding his head towards the baby in Gabriel's arms, "Yes. I can't imagine it has anything to do with the fact the last time you let him hold the baby, he did something unsavory in his diaper."
Gabriel closed his eyes and his shoulders started shaking with the effort not to laugh at the memory of Despayre's reaction to holding a baby with a 'poopy' diaper, and thus disturb his son from his feeding. The door then gently nudged its way open, and the very young man they were just speaking of, Despayre, started to carefully tiptoe into his dad's office to deliver his share of the day's mail. He didn't want to disturb the baby either, and possibly risk another diaper bomb in the process. So instead he arrived (eventually) at his dad's desk and slid the bills and letters across the cherry wood top to the man's waiting fingertips.
"Thank you Joshua." Synn said with sincerity, and Despayre nodded, holding a finger to his lips for helpful silence for his nephew while he backed up toward the door.
"What have you got there Despy?" Gabriel asked casually, having noticed the little sneak had a package hidden behind his back.
Despayre looked at Gabriel with the same eyes a deer might get when facing oncoming traffic on the interstate, and those gray orbs only grew in size when he turned his head and found his father waiting for an answer as well. He shrugged, and casually brought the small box out from behind his back and held it up.
"It's just a ... package." Despayre answered wistfully. "A little something I ordered."
"Joshua," Synn started to address his son. "You haven't been ordering things out of catalogs for Theresa again, have you? She's starting to run out of room with all those Avon presents."
"No." Despayre smiled. "This one is for Missus O'Heaney."
"Oh." Synn started to turn back to Gabriel when the name hit him and just before his boy made it clear, he barked, "Stop right there!"
"Rats!" Despayre snapped his fingers and backed back up into the office and turned around to find his dad standing up from the desk and making his way around toward his son.
"Out with it." Synn demanded. "What are you planning to do to her this time?"
"Geez! It's just a little present!" Despayre protested. "You make it sound as if my sole reason in life is to make the old bat-er, bird, miserable!"
While this hot little topic was going on between father and son, Gabriel simply made himself comfortable in his chair and watched the proceedings like a fan at Wimbledon.
"Joshua," Synn sat back on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. "A month ago you placed an ad in the paper, advertising for a biker's party and gave her address. Thirty three Hell's Angels showed up on her front lawn and the police had to be called to clear things up."
"She can't prove that was me!" Despayre defended himself.
"No, but I can." Synn countered. "Plus there was the subscription you bought her for Playgirl magazine."
"I notice she didn't complain about that one." Despayre grumbled. "Dirty old..."
Synn interrupted the attempted change of subject, "So please tell me what's the latest you're planning on torturing this woman with?"
Despayre sighed and showed the package to his dad, saying, "It's just a bird call. An electronic one."
"An electronic bird call?" Gabriel frowned, not seeing the point of such a thing, but then sometimes it was damn near impossible to decipher the mind of his Despy.
Synn added, his own confusion evident, "And what exactly does something like that do?"
"Well," Despayre answered, rather pleased with himself. "Hunters or bird watchers hide the one piece in a shrub or tree somewhere, then click the button on the other piece to make a bird noise. That way it attracts birdies and they can watch from a safe distance -- or blow its head off."
Both Synn and Gabriel stared at Despayre for several long moments. Too long for Despayre's own personal comfort, and thus he started to fidget until finally Synn let him off the hook. "Go on." He shook his head. "But if she puts dish soap in our garden hose again, I'm making you explain it to the gardener."
"Okay!" Despayre smiled and turned and dashed out of the office, and only moments later they heard the front door slam open, and then shut again. Synn sighed and ran his hand down his face until he held his chin in his fingertips.
"It seems innocent enough, but he's up to something." Synn drummed his chin with his fingertips. "But what could he do with an electronic bird call?"
"Well," Gabriel shrugged with an answer. "From what he described, if he can get inside of her house, he could put that thing anywhere. Then he could be here pressing that button and the old woman would go crazy trying to find a bird that's not there."
Synn stared at Gabriel briefly before looking at the office door in the direction Despayre had just left and said, "That's brilliant. I just wish he wouldn't torment Missus O'Heaney the way he does. Last month she started circulating a petition to the Homeowner's Association about him."
"So what?" Gabriel frowned. "He's still here so it obviously didn't go anywhere."
"Of course it didn't." Synn replied. "Joshua stole the petition."
The neighborhood where the tars of this here promo resided within Las Vegas has never truly been described. Why bother focusing on others when Synn, Despayre and the rest were the stars? Understand? Hm? Good. But this time the scene happens to be shifting ever so slightly outside of their house and toward another. In truth, there were not altogether a grand number of houses on this street. They were spaced away from one another with even more spacious yards, allowing the residents the afforded luxury of privacy from the more close-knit neighborhoods in this and every other city. It was one of the reasons why Synn had chosen this house in this neighborhood: fewer people to antagonize his son, and vice versa.
It was upscale, as was explained in previous installments, and that meant not just Synn's household had their share of comforts, but those that lived in the few homes located on this neighborhood block. Far enough away from the hustle and bustle of the Strip, but private and comfortable within their own rights. Plus, it wasn't what one would call a socially rich neighborhood. Just those with money and the means to make more. They were not snobs, but basically good people.
Or at least, most were. The previously mentioned Missus O'Heaney was a rare exception, and one that had many of the others that called this neighborhood home, cringe when dealing with her. So it was not just Despayre and his way of thinking. She really was a mean old... *clears throat* well, you get the idea. Many in the Home Owner's Association thought it a miracle she gave out treats for Halloween, or decorated for the holidays.
This was the very same woman who Despayre bounded up the front lawn and raced right up the ramp on her porch as the elderly seventy-two year old used a motorized wheelchair regularly. How she managed to answer back with Despayre's shenanigans with her own was a mystery to many who knew of this little local "feud".
Reaching the front door, Despayre opted to ring the ornate doorbell with the bronze carving of a cat, rather than knock on the front door. He covertly (?) hid the bird call behind his back and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, an expectant smile on his face at what clever ploys he was about to pull.
Suddenly he saw the drapes to the right of the porch shift and a German Shepard stuck it's head through the Venetian blinds and started barking. This was the same dog Missus O'Heaney had bought for the sole purpose to bite him, and it may have worked if the dog was not now scared of Despayre because he had bit the dog right back. Which explained why when the dog got a look at who was on the porch, it started whining and disappeared from the window. presumably to go hide in the kitchen and pee on the floor -- just like last time.
Still, no answer at the door. Did the old lady have security camera installed now so she'd be able to see he was there and thus avoid him? Hunh, rude. He would go through all the trouble of vexing her and she avoided him? Well that wouldn't do. She had to be at home. She never went anywhere. She had no family and nobody liked her well enough to have her pay them a social call.
He huffed. might as well try one last time. he reached up with a balled fist and gave a sharp rap on the front door -- when the door slowly opened of its own accord. The grocer who delivered Missus O'Heaney's goods every other day must not have shut the door the rest of the way on his way out. Despayre stood there, in thought and unsure of himself or what he should do. He bit his lower lip, frowning, when he opted to do what just seemed right.
He gently nudged thee door open a little further and stuck his head inside just enough to see the dark interior of his neighbor's home for the first time. "Wooooow..." He gasped in amazement at the sight of all the flowers on the tables and pictures, paintings and plaques on the walls. Not at all what he had expected. Angel had told him she probably had bubbling cauldrons and gingerbread walls, being an old witch and all.
"Missus O'Heaney?" He said in a quiet tone, one he didn't expect to be heard. Something didn't feel right, and he swallowed his apprehension and dislike of this mean neighbor and called a little louder, "Missus O'Heaney?"
There it was. He heard something that sounded like something hitting the floor and a grunt of pain. Not knowing what else to do, Despayre opened the door wider, and the protecting dog gave him a wider berth, perhaps sensing something as Despayre carefully made his way into the house's interior, in the direction he heard the noise originate from.
Turning the corner that led from the foyer and into the living room, Despayre stopped short at the sight of an over turned end table and the resident of the house struggling on the floor, having obviously taken a sharp spill.
"Missus O'Heaney!" Despayre cried out as all animosity was quickly forgotten and Despayre rushed up to her...
Back at Despayre's home, the conversation between Synn and Gabriel had shifted once again when there was a knock on the door to the office and the two men's heads turned as Theresa, the housekeeper, stepped inside.
"Synn?" She said. "Did Joshua just go to Missus O'Heaney's house?"
"Yes?" Synn answered, almost hoping this was just a random question as to the lad's whereabouts, but something about her tone was saying otherwise.
And yes, Theresa proved that true as she jetted a thumb back over her shoulder and said, "Then you should get over there." She said. "I just saw an ambulance pull up."
"Oh, Christ!" Synn growled as he jumped to his feet and rushed out of the office....
Across the road, in front of the house of Eimear Missus O'Heaney, Synn ran up to find the resident of the house being loaded into an ambulance while a very scared Despayre stood by watching, clutching Angel closely to his chest. Synn hopped up onto the curb and quickly approached his son...
"Joshua!" Synn called out, prompting his boy to spin around with wide eyes, and he immediately said, "I didn't do it!"
"I have to admit, had this match been announced several months ago, before Despayre had even won the Internet Championship, I think I would perhaps be a tad more enthused. Yet now the prestige and excitement of a championship defense against Connor Murphy just simply doesn't mean as much as I think it once would have. And why is that, I imagine you are now wondering? I can answer that querie with a single word: Nobody."
"What in hell were you thinking man, when you decided to join this little group of Tim Staggs? You who have scored impressive victories over some of the more established Superstars in Sin City Wrestling, now suddenly a Nobody. You defeated a former World Champion in Gene Banton Junior -- cleanly -- in the center of the ring. And yet, you're a Nobody. Goth. The first-ever Triple Crown Champion. Former World Champion. Former World Tag Team Champion. The current reigning Roulette Champion. And ... you beat him. Yet -- you're a Nobody."
"I don't know how the hell Timothy Staggs talked you into this nonsense, nor what happened to you that addled your brain to allow yourself to be talked into believing such things about yourself when you have already proven otherwise. Is all of this meant to be some colossal pity party on your part? Well if that's the case, then allow me to be the first guest of honor and say 'boo hoo'."
"What happened, Connor? Did these wins over such talent mean nothing to you? Did it not get you to where you had expected to be? Well who the Hell's fault would that be, eh? You left, came back. Left, came back. Go injured, came back. It's no damn wonder the promoters weren't sure what to do with you. You get injured and leave more than Rey Mysterio Junior! Wrestling is a savage mistress, Connor. It's one sport that is true to the saying of 'What have you done for me lately?'. What? Did you expect those big wins to carry you through your untimely injuries and gain you notoriety when you returned? Were you expecting championship gold and women to simply fall into your lap, all because you chose to grace us once again with your presence? Sorry Connor, but the sport simply doesn't work that way, and trying to tack on a guilt trip with your recent actions does little to give yourself any form of further credibility."
"Winning with outside interference. Attacking fans or other wrestlers. Under most circumstances I could almost respect such attitude as it tends to show you're willing to go to the extremes to gain attention. I could almost admire that, but not for the reasons that you're doing it. I respect much that others do not, but pity is not one of them. I save that emotion for very few, and sadly you are not amongst the chosen. I will watch everything that happens this weekend in Buenos Aries and smile with satisfaction rather than frown in melancholy clemency."
"Perhaps you think this Nobody business will simply lull Despayre into a false sense of security, allowing you to strike at a moment's notice and end his championship reign. Perhaps that's what each one of the Nobodies tries to do when they put on this mass pity party of this 'the world doesn't pay me any respect' routine of yours. Well perhaps the world would respect you, if you simply respected yourselves. You do not, so others will not, and this weekend, we will not. I won't allow Despayre to risk over looking what you have done in the past. That would be a fool's mistake and even were I not at his side, Despayre is no fool. He knows what you've done. He knows what you are capable of doing. He's just not going to feel sorry enough for you to not pulverize you into the mat and walk away, still the champion."
"Do you know what calling yourself a Nobody means to me, Connor? It means an excuse. A built-in reason should things not go the way you would intend or prefer. When you call yourself this degrading term, you are walking out there before thousands and telling them not to take you seriously. So really, can you blame them if they do not? I admit it's a bit of a double edged sword, but one that is made in your favor. If you were to win, you could rub it in the face of the loser by saying he just lost a match to a Nobody. Should you lose to Despayre, and you will, you can claim that it was to be expected, as you're just a Nobody. You can say that Despayre's victory will mean little, as you're a Nobody."
"Well therein lies where you are wrong. This is not about a Sin versus a Nobody. This is about a champion versus a challenger. Despayre, the champion, will certainly take you, the challenger, apart in front of everyone. The fans. Your peers. Your Nobody teammates. And in that, Connor Murphy, there will be no excuses."</td>
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