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Topics - Staggs

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21
Climax Control Archives / Not Another Love Story
« on: February 13, 2015, 11:43:13 AM »
 Not Another Love Story
February 14th, 1989


Cue the bright sun, birds chirping, and a pleasant kiss of warmth to break up the typical cold.  Everything about the scene just gives you the warm and fuzzies as kids run inside of their school with their bags of Valentine's Day cards in their hands, and a desire to make themselves sick on candy.  Their laughter rings through as we pan to the side to see a young mother and father sneaking a passionate kiss, showing that there is still a spark in their marriage, one that makes some of the other less happily married parents growl in envy.  This is broken as a young boys voice cuts through the air harshly.

Young Jamie</color>:  But I wanted BUGS BUNNY VALENTINE CARDS!!!  I don't wanna pass these out, the kids will think I'm a gay lord or something!

We cut over to the side to see an eight year old Jamie</color> stomping the ground angrily as he throws a tantrum.  Spike</color>, who is eleven, simply shakes his head in disgust at this display as he looks down at Jamie</color>, grabbing onto his shirt collar, raising his fist in the air as he shoots daggers at him.

Young Spike</color>:  You better watch it nerd bomber, or I'm gonna pound the crap out of you.  At least you got Valentine cards to hand out.  I didn't get jack.

Jamie</color> grits his teeth before throwing a stack of cards at Spike</color> and pulling his shirt free.  He works the wrinkles out of his shirt as he looks over to his mother, a young woman with dark auburn hair, and sunken in eyes.  She is standing there, but she is clearly checked out mentally as she slowly raises a cigarette to her lips, sucking in as she shakes intensely.

Jamie</color>:  Here, take those penis breath!  Let people think you're a homo, but I'm NOT handing out Strawberry Shortcake.

Spike</color>:  Hey, Officer Dick Lickey, are you retarded?  You already wrote names on them.

Jamie</color>:  Duh, I wrote it in pencil.  Use an eraser dipshit...

Lori</color>:  Would you two knock it off?  And stop talking like I didn't raise you two with manners...

Lori</color> is clearly upset by this, but the inflection in her voice doesn't show this.  She drops her cigarette to the ground, stomping it pout with her foot as she gently pushes them along.  With the recent passing of her husband, Valentine's Day was the last thing she wanted on her mind.  She walks them across the street to the school where she plants a kiss on their cheeks, embarrassing them before they wipe it off with a resounding "Bleck".  It might not have been pretty, but it got them to form a united front against mommy kisses.  As they make their way to the school, Lori</color> smiles.  She watches the boys disappear into the school building before wiping a tear from her eye.  She quickly turns around, turning away from the view of everyone as she walks through the neighborhood, the tears soon getting to her more and more.  She walks up to their house, stepping inside to look around at the mess.  As if the sun had faded, and all happiness had drained from the previous scenario, Lori</color> leans against the door, stooping down as she covers her face, tears flowing like rivers.  She sits there for a moment before walking over to the kitchen.  She opens up a cabinet over the refrigerator, pulling out a fifth of Jack Daniels.  She sniffles as she unscrews the cap, taking a nip straight.  She walks back down the hallway, seeing a picture of her happy, smiling family.  The thing that catches her attention the most is the confident, proud smile of her deceased husband, Robbie.  She closes her eyes before knocking the picture off of the wall angrily.  She begins stomping on it as she shrieks.

Lori</color>:  YOU SELFISH BASTARD!!!  I was a good, obedient wife, and how do you repay me?  By fucking around on me?  Huh?  Partying it up while I'm at home taking care of our children?

Lori</color> pounds on the wall as she tries to calm herself down.  She puts a bit of a dent in the flimsy wall before walking down the hall, knocking every picture off of it that contains Robbie.  Broken glass crunches under her feet as she takes another, much longer, sip of the Jack Daniels.  Without a care for the intense burning in the back of her throat, she downs the remainder of the bottle as if it were water.

*****

I had gotten the call, but I didn't expect this from Lori</color>.  She was always such a responsible parent, so getting drunk at nine in the morning just didn't match up.  She quoted scripture to me over the phone, telling me we should be together.  The only woman I ever cared about aside from my own mother, wanted to grant me the one wish that had lied buried in the darkest recesses of my mind.  But... not like this.  Not induced by alcohol.  I told her so, and said I was on my way, so here I am, sitting in my car, headed down Lindbergh Boulevard.  A car ride that would normally take about fifteen minutes, had taken five as I weaved in and out of traffic.  Something in her voice screamed urgency, and I wasn't about to let her drink herself into a stupor.  Just ahead is the neighborhood as I switch on my blinker.  I switch lanes, just as someone comes speeding up behind me.  He honks his horn at me as he shouts, but I roll down my window, flipping his a one finger salute.

Me:  Sit and spin on it asshole!

I certainly had a way of controlling myself, because I wanted to slam on my breaks and pull the scrawny bitch from his car and beat him into oblivion.  However, there were more pressing matters ahead of me.  He honks a few more times, but I'm beyond caring now as I turn into my sister in-law's neighborhood.  I go down about a quarter mile until I turn into her driveway, spotting her through the large bay window out front.  I quickly get out of my car and walk up to the front door.  I go to open it, but the door is already ajar.  Before I can take three steps inside, I trip over a few bags sitting on the ground.  In the distance, I hear Tommy crying from his room.  I look over to Lori</color>, seeing her stir slightly with a moan.  She's screwed out of her mind right now, so I step over all of the bags, wondering to myself.  I walk to the back and pick the toddler from his crib, patting his back as his crying slows to a bit of a lonely whimper.

Me:  Lori</color>, how long has Tommy been crying?

I listen for a response, but nothing comes of it.  I bob Tommy a little as I walk back into the hallway, stepping on broken glass.  The crunch sends a tingle up my spine as I look down, seeing the half dozen pictures broken on the ground.  I clutch Tommy closer to me, careful not to let him out of my grip over the glass especially.  Something about this is very off to me, but Lori</color> had not been herself since Robbie O.D.'ed at the Chase a few months ago.  This could not go on any longer.  My brother might not have cared much about his wife and kids, but I did... I do... Sometimes tough love is what is needed to whip a person back into shape.  I stepped around the broken glass as best I could before getting to the living room.  Lori</color> is still sitting in the same spot, but her head is tilted back in the opposite direction.  The tears are gently streaming down her reddened cheeks.  I walk over to Lori</color>, ready to hand Tommy over to her just long enough to clean the glass from off of the floor.  She moans and slowly shakes her head as she tries to say something, but it comes out as babble.

Me:  Lori</color>, you and I really need to talk about things.  These boys have been through enough lately, without...

I nearly passed out right here.  I set Tommy down next to me as I'd rather him get a cut from the glass than to have a two hundred pound man fall over on him.  He sees exactly what I see and terror takes over his face as he begins screaming.  I fall over to one knee as my entire body is taken over.  I grab onto Tommy's face, turning it slightly as I bury it into my chest.  I'm shaking almost as badly as he is, my face white as a ghost.

Me:  Lo...ri?  What did you do?

My voice comes out as a mere whispering squeak as I stare at the crimson red gashes on her arms.  I have to look away right now as I scoop Tommy back up.  I immediately walk to the phone in the kitchen and dial 911 as I fumble around, grabbing all paper and linen towels that I can see.

Operator:  911, what's your emergency?

I can't even remember what I said to the operator as I latch onto Lori</color>'s arm, quickly wrapping towels around it, trying to cut off the blood flow before covering up the wounds.  Tommy hides in the kitchen as his cries barely cut through the ringing in my ears.  The operator keeps me on the phone, but I can't hear anything but the ringing, until Lori</color>'s weakened voice cuts through it.

Lori</color>:  Errrrik?  Please... take good care of... my... babies...

Me:  You won't need me to because... you're... you're going to make it.  You promised me earlier that... that we'd be together.  You keep that promise to me, Lori</color>!

Lori</color> softly reaches up, incoherently as she pats at her chest, and then she points out toward me.  I don't understand it, and what she says next gets to me somewhat, even if it confuses me more.

Lori</color>:  It lives on. Our love.  Look into his eyes and... and you'll see. Fourth of July, 1986.

Me:  Lori</color>, save your energy, the ambulance is on it's way.  You're not going to leave me like this.

I squeeze onto her arm as she winces a bit, groaning.  I wasn't about to let her die on me.  She wraps her arms around me, and I give her the same.  She kisses my cheek before burying her face against my shoulder.  We sit on the couch as she trembles.  I remember that feeling better than anything else.  The fear and sadness, the will to live, and the desire to die, battling it out within her.  Within a few moments, one side had won... and apparently I wasn't on the winning side of this battle.  Lori</color> died in my arms that day.  My world was turned upside down, and would never be the same again.  I went from a lone wolf bachelor to a father of three that day.  That is something, as challenging as it was, I can accept.  Losing the love of my life... that is something I can't get over, even with twenty years having passed.


******
February 10th, 2015
******


Erik</color> has a bit of a smile on his face, but tears are in his eyes.  A proud man as he is, he wipes away at them, but he can't hide them entirely, as fresh tears appear.  He has a bouquet of roses in his hands as he stands over the grave.  In his other hand, he has a folded up piece of paper.  He opens it up as he tries to read his handwriting through the tears.  The light drizzle falling over the suited man doesn't help matters much as the rain drops melt into the paper.  He shakes his head as he sets it down atop the tombstone.  He chokes on his tears, gasping for breath as he tries to do the one thing he was never able to do before... tell her how he felt.

Erik</color>:  You have to give me a mmm-minute here Lori</color>.  This isn't easy.  It's taken almost 30 years to duh-duh-do this...  I wrote a poem that said it perfectly... but I can't read it.

Erik</color> looks down to the ground, almost as if he were ashamed.  He  tries to look back up to the tombstone as a point of focus, but he can't right now.  Through his years, he had gotten a reputation of being a bit of a coward.  He had disspelled many of these rumors, but this situation was the one that he had the hardest time dealing with.

Erik</color>:  I loved you from the minute I saw you.  I never had the guts to say it, and being a whole two years younger than you, I knew you would never accept some fifteen year old's request for a date.  My brother had taken a liking to you, and he beat me to the punch.  He was always better about expressing his desires than I was.

Erik</color> chuckles a bit, though there is a hint of disgust in his laugh at the same time.  He shrugs his shoulders as he looks up to the tombstone finally.

Erik</color>:  After getting to know you, I knew that you two weren't a good match.  You were far too selfless for him.  That was something he took from you.  Had I gotten the balls to tell you how I felt sooner, I could have saved your life.  I could have stopped you from doing the most selfish thing anyone could ever do...  Robbie destroyed himself with his choices, but even he couldn't have done what you did, Lori</color>.  He left his kids without a father with his actions, but he did not consciously make the choice to abandon his children.  Even worse, you took your life willingly, two months after my brother's death.  You left your children with no parents, where my brother left them with one...

Erik</color> tries so hard to show anger in his voice, but it comes across as sullen and insincere.  True, he means what he is saying, but as hard as he tries to break things off, he simply cannot.  Even in the afterlife, Lori</color> still has his heart.  Erik</color> closes his eyes, clinching them as a tear strains through.  He sniffs and then coughs as he straightens himself up.  He takes a deep breath as he looks down to the roses in his hand before gently placing them on top of the note that rests on the tombstone.  He clasps his hands together in front of himself before continuing.

Erik</color>:  I didn't come here to remind you of that... I've come here to let you know that I can't do this anymore.  I can't bring you flowers.  I've deprived myself of many things, because I was unable to let you go.  You have my heart... but I need it back.  Robbie didn't care that he has a legacy.  Two great wrestlers came from him, but I have nothing to show.  Before I get too old to enjoy mine, I need to start looking seriously at things.  I need you to understand.

As if he had gotten a response, the wind begins blowing rapidly against him.  He steadies himself as it threatens to push him away from the grave.  Something in him knows he needs to walk away, but he can't.  He gasps for air as the tears come on once again.  He tries to resist it, but he simply nods his head.

Erik</color>:  Thank you...

Erik</color> nods his head as he turns away and walks toward the concrete path.  He stops just short of it, and looks back, only to see that the roses have disappeared.  The piece of paper with the poem wafts through the breeze, thumping against his chest, sticking to his suit jacket.  His face sinks as he grabs at it.  He turns around and begins walking on the path, slowly disappearing off into the distance as we fade...


********************


I always have had a rough time since that fateful Valentine's Day back in '89.  I spent all day on Tuesday on a plane, trying to put some distance between myself and St. Louis.  Between myself and the painful memories that have bound me to my hometown.  I needed to get away, and I had a wonderful offer from my Blast From the Past tag team partner, Necra, who invited me to her private island off of the coast of Greece.  I had expected to see beautiful green folliage, a serene setting of white sand and crystal blue waters.  I did not expect the obvious... showing up to find all of the plants dead, and the sands were reminiscent of a crimson red hue.  The only way on and off of the island is by sea.  No helicopters allow... I didn't get it, but okay...

The architecture of the land was most astounding.  It was a tasteful collision of Greek and Egyptian, with tributes to the Goddess Isis, the God Osiris, Hedes, the guardian of the Underworld, as well as Necra herself.  I have to admit that visiting these felt more than just a little creepy, even if I was not invited inside most of these temples.  I spent a large portion of my time relaxing and enjoying the cuisine provided for me, and feeling like the king that I rightfully am.

We talked old times, and what lies ahead for both of us.  I think we both put things into perspective here for one another.  The morning light threatened us, so we parted ways... but not before Necra showed me a mirror.  She told me to look into it, and I would see what I wanted to see.  Despite everything I had said the other day, a part of me spoke out louder than the rest.  Deep down, I knew it wouldn't be so easy to get over my only true love, Lori.  I... I spoke to her. I know it sounds desperate and crazy, but I did.  She told me how much my love had meant to her up until that point, but she told me that I needed to move on and fine the love that was meant for me.  I don't know exactly what she meant, but as heart wrenching as it was, I knew deep down that she was right.  I couldn't keep going at this rate.  This time of year was always hardest on me, but now... I feel relieved.  I feel ready to focus on what lies ahead of me in life.  I'm ready to be a better, more focused partner for Necra.  Now, on to Oslo...
</color>


********************


Returning to my Roots
Oslo, Norway; February 13th, 2015


Sin City Wrestling was traveling across the globe, and their next stop kicks off the Scandanavian leg of the tour, in style, as they head to Oslo, Norway.  Today, it was blustery cold.  The wind tussled around through the leftover bits of snow, though to the locals, this was probably a welcomes heat wave.  Now, what would a trip to Oslo be without a visit to their famous ski jump?  Unfortunately, we've missed what was certainly a sight to see, with Erik</color> Staggs bundled up in his ski suit.  The look that says "I just shit my pants, and I'm not afraid to admit it" plastered over his face.  Who wouldn't want to see a middle aged man flying at the speed of light down a steep slope, only to get launched as high as a bird in the sky?  And one can only assume that Erik</color>, a ski novice at best, did NOT stick the landing...  Shame, shame camera man Jeff...

However, we were able to catch up with Erik</color> on his next stop, after a day of recuperation from the ski adventure, to find him walking along the outside of the Viking Ship Museum.  He appears to be in good spirits as he slowly approaches the front entrance door.  He stops and looks up at the two stories of white paneling that adorn the outside before walking along with the gathered crowd.  He holds the door open for a lovely local with sky blue eyes and platinum blonde hair.  The young lady blushes and flashes Erik</color> a smile before walking ahead of him.  He grins as he walks inside.  He had to admit that the inside reminded him of a church, as if the outside hadn't been reminiscent of one to begin with.  However, the sweet wooden ship that sits smack dab in the center, rather than endless rows of pews, seems to make up for it as he tilts his head to the side in curiosity.  The locals and tourists alike mumble in amazement as they walk along the velvet barrier rope to get a better look at the ship being held up on stilts.  Erik</color> admires from behind the crowd, wonderment taking him over for a moment.

Erik</color>:  Wow...

He just shakes his head as the rest of the crowd moves along.  Erik</color> takes a few steps closer, pressing himself against the ropes as he studies the ship.  He raises his hand to his chin, stroking it gently as he thinks aloud.

Erik</color>:  Just think of how many lands were conquered by the Barbarians that captained this ship.  It's amazing... simply amazing.

Erik</color> turns to his right and slowly steps along the barrier, taking in each and every little nick and marking on the outside of the ship, taking in a deep appreciation for it.

Erik</color>:  People don't tend to remember that the Vikings were the most feared people on the planet for many centuries.  They traveled to places no other explorers dared, and they did so without fear.  If they liked it, they took it, by any means necessary.  Resistance was futile.  Just ask the thousands upon thousands that fell victim to these warriors.

Erik</color> looks over to the camera, acknowledging it for the first time since we began rolling.  He is clearly excited to be here.  If we had any questions as to why, we would certainly be finding out soon enough.

Erik</color>:  When I heard that we were coming to Oslo, Norway on our Scandanavian leg of the World Tour, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to stop by and connect with my own history.  The blood of the Vikings travels through my veins.  My ancestors were conquerors, rulers.  Erik</color> translates to "King" in Scandanavian.  Think about that for a moment there...

Erik</color> smirks as he stares, giving us a sort of Dora the Explorer, creepy blank expression before the smirk returns a few seconds later.  He slowly begins to nod his head, rolling his fingers around in a churning fashion, humming a "mmm hmm" response.

Erik</color>:  Are you getting it now?  Where I am going with this?  If not, then you've got serious problems with listening, or your name is Delia Darling. Either way, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to see where this is going.  You see, it is my birth right to be a ruler.  For the last thirty plus years, I have been the ruler of the Staggs Family.  I have inspired those who have conquered the wrestling world.  If you have not heard the Staggs name, then you are clearly not a wrestling fan.  Spike Staggs, former two time GCW Xtreme Champion, former two time GXW X Division former undefeated GXW World Champion, former two time SCW Heavyweight Champion, former two time NeWA World Heavyweight Champion, undefeated in his second reign... yeah, he believes in doing everything twice for some reason.

Erik</color> chuckles as he shakes his head at his seemingly high brow quip.  He clears his throat and straightens up slightly, adjusting the collar of his silver shirt beneath his black suit jacket.

Erik</color>:  Anyway, that's just the mainstream Staggs legacy.  There's also his brother, Jamie, who held the GXW Television Championship, and was the first ever SCW Tag Team Champion, alongside Rage.  My third nephew, Tommy, held the GCW Xtreme Championship as well, but he was never one to chase championship gold.  He was all about the thrill of flying around the ring.  My Great Nephew, Timmy, is on his way to greatness as we speak.  So, as you see, wrestling is in our blood.  It is embedded in our DNA, from as far back as the Vikings.  I gave up a lot to help bring the warrior out in my nephews.  I've neglected my own fighting spirit to promote the stars of today.  My decision to enter the Blast From the Past tournament was all about taking time to show that I am not just the man behind the warrior, but a warrior in my own right... a warrior king.

Erik</color> leans against one of the poles next to the viking ship for a second as he stares back at the camera.  Pride is written across his entire face, but this soon fades into a touch of disappointment as he continues on, passing the ship along.  He comes to a small display of Viking weaponry to his right.  He steps closer to it, looking at the weapons behind the glass casing.

Erik</color>:  People don't stop to think about that, as they just see an old man who seems to be past his prime.  As many saw two weeks ago, I might be an "old man", but I'm timeless.  My age and experience helped me get past a man I knew nothing about, and had no way of finding anything out about him either.  I was at a clear disadvantage with this alone, not to mention my supposed age handicap.  Yet, Necra and I overcame Joey Harris and Darknyss with relative ease.  However, I'm not sure I can say that we're any luckier this week as we take on Candy Overton and "Dark Tiger" Sebastian Hardin.  Wait, why... why does that sound so familiar?

Erik</color> tilts his head to the side as he taps at his chin.  His eyes wander across the weaponry in front of him, secretly admiring the deep detail in the design.  Suddenly, he gasps and holds a finger up as his eyes widen in surprise.

Erik</color>:  I know!  You see, two weeks ago, I pinned Joey Harris, eliminating him from the tournament, after all of that trash he was talking.  By proxy... I also eliminated Darknyss from this tournament.  *Chuckle*  Now that... that's got to be tough for Sebastian, doesn't it?  I mean, he's got to be looking for some sort of revenge against the man who knocked his wife out of this tournament.  Not that I have anything against you, Sebastian.  You and your nephew are amazing talents, some of the brightest in the future of the tag division.  I respect the both of you, but I know that deep down, the macho bullshit is eating at you a bit, and I understand.  If I were in your shoes, I would drive myself crazy thinking about the opportunity to avenge my wife.  But you see, this won't be the case.

Erik</color> gives a stern look to the camera as he shakes his head from side to side slowly.

Erik</color>:  I mean no disrespect by this at all.  I've seen greatness from your family, Sebastian.  Your own nephew impressed me right from the beginning of his SCW career, making a run at the Roulette Championship and not stopping until he got it.  He did what he had to do in order to capture his glory.  I enjoy a good underdog story, and your nephew certainly was that.  However, for the same reasons he didn't put loyalties in perspective when chasing his championship glory... I cannot let respect blind me to my ultimate goal.  For, you see, Necra Octavian Kane and I will not stop with one win to our names.  We're not going to celebrate after we defeat you two, because we will only be half way to our respective goals.  Necra and I will earn title shots, and she will save the Bombshell Division from that wretched skank, Delia.  In turn, I will get my shot at Gabriel, and I will prove to be anything but a washed up has-been.  I will claim my rightful seat at the head of the throne.  I will rule SCW like the captain of the ship that sits right behind me.  It isn't personal on my end, Sebastian.  I really do honestly mean that this is all about business, son.

Erik</color> nods his head, but the serious look spread across his face lets us know that this is a fair warning, and not a group of well thought out empty threats.

Erik</color>:  Sunday will be another stone stepped over toward our ultimate goals, Sebastian.  But, I'm not going to sit here all day and hammer on about it.  No, I intend to shake your hand at the start of our match.  I intend to look you dead in the eye, Sebastian.  I want you to see the look of a warrior, the icy cold stare from my inner Viking, and I want you to give me your best shot.  But, I am telling you now... what ever happens as a result of that first shot... I cannot be held accountable for it once the final bell rings.  But, don't worry, Hardin.  I expect the very same treatment from you.  You see, you and I will shake the ring as we tear each other apart.  Now, I will ask you to warn your partner, Candy.  She has such a lovely face, and a charming personality.  I'd hate for her to rub Necra the wrong way, because Necra will rub her right back. Now, by rub, I mean break any bone that she comes into contact with.  Neither one of us can stop it, either.  Candy might have impressed two weeks ago, but this time, you both are going against a team with past experience, a team that is very familiar with one another.  I beg you not to let Candy into this for too long, because I have to let Necra do what she needs to do.  You understand, don't you?

Erik</color> nods his head, asking this seriously.  Blinking for a second, he waits for an answer that never comes... at least that we can hear.  After a moment, he takes in a deep breath through his nose.

Erik</color>:  I certainly hope so...  Now, let's continue this in the ring next Sunday, shall we?  I have a tour group to catch up with here.  I will see you at Climax Control, son...

Erik</color> winks once before turning to give the weapons in front of him one last look before he walks over toward the group that is gathering around a second, slightly smaller ship.  The tour guides continue speaking, one in English, and the other in Norwegian.  Erik</color> hides himself amongst the crowd as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

22
Climax Control Archives / A Blast From My Past
« on: January 30, 2015, 07:18:52 PM »
 Outskirts of Waco, Texas; December 22nd, 1983

The cheers ring throughout the entire bar known as Earl's, as the final bell sounds.  "Where Eagles Dare" by The Misfits blasts over the speakers as a much younger Erik Staggs stands up from over a fallen opponent, looking out into the crowd of bikers and their many fine women.  The nineteen year old breathes heavily as the referee walks up to him, lifting his arm into the air.  The dirty blonde catches his breath as his icy blue eyes flash in the lights as the bikini clad ring girls walk around, getting the crowd even more excited.  Erik hunches over slightly, almost unable to believe this win had even happened.  He doesn't have much time to celebrate when someone comes crashing into him from behind, knocking him down to the ground.  Erik rolls over onto his back, eyes on fire as he gears up for a fight.  However, he is met with laughter as he stares up at his dark haired, older brother, Robbie Staggs.

Robbie:  Shit dude, you actually did it!  You knocked that dipshit out after mouth raping his girlfriend.  That's harsh!

Robbie reaches down and ruffles his brother's hair before leaning up, helping Erik back to his feet.  Robbie raises his brother's hand into the air as he spins around, pointing to his brother as the more obnoxious Staggs brother shouts out to the fans.

Robbie:  NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!

He looks down to the two men lying out on the ground, some generic cowboys with long brown hair, brown leather get ups with tassles and all, and mullets... God, how Erik hated that hair style with a thriving passion.  Erik looks down, admiring his handiwork with his brother's approval to top it off.  He smiles and nods his head, getting into the music, and the cheering of the audience.  He even goes as far as to boot one of the generic cowboys from the ring as Robbie laughs and does the same to the other one.

Robbie:  Get outta here, Double Mint Twins!  Run and tell it to your mothers!

Erik:  Here, go get better gimmicks while you're at it...

Erik grabs the cash from the promoter's hand, tossing it at them as they hold onto their heads, glaring back at them.  The bills rain down as Robbie looks at Erik, stunned.  He quickly drops to the outside, picking up a few of the bills from the ground as he shakes his head.  He turns around, playing to the crowd as he leans back into them, letting them pat at his glistening chest and arms as they praise him.  Erik comes to the outside with his brother, but he doesn't play it up nearly as much.  Above the roar of the small, yet rowdy crowd, Robbie mutters to his brother.

Robbie:  Do whatever you want with your money, but don't throw mine away.  How else am I gonna buy my drinks for the night.

Erik:  Drinks?  Wait, but isn't...?

Robbie:  Bro, chill out.  I'll buy you one, they won't card you.  We're in Cousin Fuck, Texas.

Robbie leans in, whispering that last one to Erik before going back to playing it up to the crowd as he walks to the barricade, leaping over it as he works his way through the crowd and up toward the bar.  Erik follows through, a look of concern and confusion on his face as he goes.

Erik:  Robbie?  Wait a minute... Before you get drunk off your ass... won't you at least call home?

Robbie:  Geez, why didn't you marry Lori?  You're obviously more concerned with keeping up with her than I am.

Robbie winks at a woman in a denim mini skirt and a black crop top, boasting a white trash cowboy hat with boots to match.  She blushes and turns away, but occasionally looks back to bat her eyelashes.  Robbie rolls his eyes nonchalantly as he leans onto the bar, waiting for the bartender.  With his brother's head turned, Erik narrows his eyes angrily as he shoves Robbie's shoulder a bit.

Erik:  Screw around on her all you want, but you could at least call your son on his birthday.

Robbie:  The little tit sucker won't remember that I didn't call him when he's older.

Erik:  Yeah, right, because those therapy sessions he's bound to go through won't uncover that.  Some freakin' parent you are, Robbie...

Robbie shakes his head as he signals to the bartender who nods before she heads off toward a small fridge at the center.  She returns with two Budweiser bottle necks, popping the top off of them as Robbie slips a bill over her way.

Bartender:  All entertainers drink free.

Robbie smirks as he reaches into his blue wrestling trunks to pull out a market.  He jots something on the bill and then winks.

Robbie:  Best tip you've gotten all night then.  My hotel room number, right on the other side of the interstate.

Bartender: Gee, thanks...

With little to no enthusiasm, she picks the bill up, sliding it into her top.  However, one look into the enchanting blue eyes against the dark hair, and she changes her tune just a little as a blush falls upon her face.  Erik winks as he picks up one bottle, handing it over to Erik, before taking a sip off of the other one.

Robbie:  It's like shooting fish in a barrel with a rocket launcher.  Ridiculous, right?

Robbie slaps Erik's arm, just in time to point to a pair of twins staring from the other side of the bar.  Two blondes with the body of Tanya Tucker, and the chest of Dolly Parton.  The girls get up slowly and walk over toward the brothers... brushing past Robbie, and right up to Erik.

Twin 1:  You were impressive out there.

Twin 2:  Stella, why don'tcha just ask him to whip it out here and now.  Though, I did always wonder if wrestlers were too tired to show a girl a good time after a match, or if the adrenaline makes them more vicious...

The girls lean in and share a giggle as they stare Erik up and down.  Robbie doesn't seem to happy about being passed up for his little brother.  He butts in next to his brother, but basically knocking him a few feet to the side.  He covers up his jealousy with a laugh and a bright smile as he licks at his teeth.

Robbie:  Only one way to find out.  Why don't you ladies join us at the hotel for the after party.  Got some party favors if you're interested?

The two country girls stare at the alternatively dressed brothers, and the contrast in style seems to intrigue them even more.  They nod their heads as Erik groans, looking completely unsure of this.  Robbie claps his hands, rubbing them together with an almost giddy laugh as he brushes Erik on.

Robbie:  Awesome.  Let us get changed and we'll head on over on our bikes.

Stella:  Okay... We'll meet you outside then.

Robbie continues to walk on by, pushing Erik along as they walk toward a small locker room at the back of the bar.  It is dimly lit, and a bit on the grimey side.  Robbie rushes around, collecting his things, sliding his tattered blue jeans over his trunks before pulling his Ramone's t-shirt on.  Erik stands there, glaring, and Robbie goes to question his brother, but Erik doesn't give him the chance before he lays into him.

Erik:  You're an asshole, Robbie!

Robbie:  Yeah, yeah... whatever bro.  It's twins... TWINS!  I wasn't expecting two tag matches in one night...

Erik:  You actually expect me to participate in that?  Nose candy and bar sluts is more your thing than mine.  But if you think for one second I'm going to participate in this, you're insane.  On your son's birthday on top of that?  What's wrong with you?!

Robbie picks up his leather jacket, but he doesn't put it on.  Instead, he turns around and stares right at his brother.  Anger is burning in his eyes as he glares ahead.

Robbie:  Then don't participate in this.  Play along until we get to the hotel, and then disappear for a few hours.  Just don't ruin this for me, or I'm gonna kick your ass.  Are we clear?

Erik:  You've got problems.  You're disgusting, and one day, you're going to regret it.  The day your wife finds out what you do on the road, she's going to leave your sorry ass.

Robbie:  That's fine.  I'll manage, but how's she gonna move on with a kid clinging to her saggy tits?  Or, are you going to take over?  You couldn't take care of a hamster, let alone a woman and her illegitimate child.

Erik looks completely disgusted by this as Robbie shakes his head.  He picks up a wadded up outfit and tosses it at Erik, who barely catches it.  Robbie stares for a minute as the two cowboys come walking into the room, glaring at the two of them.  Robbie fakes out a lunge at them, causing them to jump a little before he looks over to Erik.

Robbie: Just get dressed and meet me by the bikes.  It's going to be the second dick down we've given to twins tonight...

Robbie sneers as he turns and leaves the room.  Erik shakes his head as he pulls on a pair of dark jeans with the knees blown out, and a black tank top with the Misfits logo on it.  He puts on a studded leather jacket as he leaves the room, walking through the crowded bar and to the parking lot, all in a fog.  Even as he gets on his bike, placing a black helmet over his head, he barely even feels the warm caress of the woman behind him as he starts his bike up.  Robbie takes off first with Stella and Erik reluctantly follows.  They leave the dusty parking lot and make their way to pavement, weaving around to go over the interstate before pulling into a seedy motel.  They go down to the middle of the strip and get off the bike.  Erik hangs his helmet on the right handle of his bike before looking down to where a watch should be on his wrist, sighing.

Erik:  You know what, I forgot I need to go to the store for... Twizzlers.  I can't sex without Twizzlers.

The girls laugh at this as Robbie shakes his head, mouthing something toward him in anger.  Erik shrugs his shoulders as the girls turns back around.  Robbie wipes the angry look from his face as he fumbles around for a room key.

Robbie:  No worries, bro.  We'll just get the party started, and you join in when ever...

Robbie looks to Erik and shakes his head in the negative, slowly.  Erik rolls his eyes as he starts walking up the path toward a convenience store with large white, orange, and green signage.  He looks back to see their room door close, and he lowers his eyes.  He places his hands into his pocket as he kicks at a rock on the ground.

"Not that I never realized my brother was an asshole before, but by today's standards, he was a douche bag of the highest order.  He was a terrible human being in every imaginable way, I think.  We had been wrestling on the road in dive bars for a few years at this point; we had won some, and we lost more.  But, this was the first time I got to shine.  It was the first time I got to carry my weight on the team, and get recognition for all of my hard work instead of playing second fiddle to Robbie.  And what happens?  We don't celebrate it... he shirks his responsibilities as a parent, and he celebrates his own way.  Big brothers are supposed to teach you valuable life lessons, and in his own way, he did just that.  He showed me what I didn't want to become.  Some demons are just too hard to overcome, but I never stooped to his level.  I never would..."

Erik pulls some change out of his pocket as he walks over to a small phone booth.  He drops a nickel into the coin slot and begins dialing a number on the rotary.  He places the receiver to his ear as he closes the booth behind him.  Taking a deep breath, he sinks down near the ground as he closes his eyes and sighs out his breath.  Suddenly, his eyes shoot open as he rubs his free hand through his ruffled blonde hair.

Erik:  Lori, hey... yeah, is Spike still awake? ...  No, no, don't wake him. ...  Yeah, Robbie fell asleep too. ... We won, and I got the pin this time. ...  Yeah, I know. So, how are you and Spike holding up? ...

Erik's worries seem to almost disappear as he calms down drastically talking to Lori.  They go on for a minute, as Erik even laughs a little.  His eyes almost twinkle after a moment as he lets out a surprised, yet delighted, gasp.

Erik:  Heyyy... what are you doing up, kiddo?  No, not daddy.  It's Uncle Erik...  Hey, I wanna sing you a song while I got you, okay?  *Ahem*  Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday to you... Happy Birthday dear Spikey... Happy Birthday to you...

Happiness has found it's way to Erik tonight as his paternal instinct seems to kick in.  Fulfillment possibly?  He continues to chit chat with the three year old over the phone, humoring the youngster's babbling with responses as the scene fades out...






St. Louis, Missouri; March 31st, 2002

"Ohhhh... OHHHHH! Oh yeah, right there. There, there, there, oh yeah uh huh..."


Wet skin slapping against wet skin rapidly echoes through the room as the bed creaks loudly.  The only source of light is the moon pouring in through the open balcony double doors, illuminating Erik Staggs' half naked figure as he rapidly and precisely thrusts.  The end is fast approaching now as we pan in slightly, catching the primal glare on Erik's face as he practically growls like a rabid wolf.  He grabs onto a leg as he picks up his pace, causing the female moaning to become more rapid, but broken up by the force until she can't contain it any longer.  A curled up lip is a warning sign, and it isn't long before the show is over.  Sweat pours down Erik's face as he breathes rapidly, playing it cool with a smirk and a stifled laugh before he rolls over onto his back and wipes the sweat from his face.  He looks over to his nightstand and picks up a pack of cigarettes, flipping it open to pull one out.  He lights it and takes an extended drag, holding it in before letting it out.

Woman:  Honey, that's so disgusting...

Erik holds the cigarette between his fingers, fumbling it around a little as he doesn't even acknowledge her at first.  He takes another drag, this time waiting only a few short seconds before exhaling, and then looking over to the surprisingly beautiful, young ebony goddess before him.

Erik:  Believe it or not, I quit three years ago.  Truly a filthy habit...

Erik presses the cigarette between his lips, letting it hang there for a second before the glowing ember finally intensifies.  He puffs it out like a dragon before finally pulling it out from his lips, fumbling it around a little more.

Woman:  It don't look like you quit, bear.  Most people who quit don't leave packs layin' around they houses.

Erik:  I guess I'm just stronger than most.  You know, I only smoke after sex now.  So, by my calculations, I'm down to a pack a day.

Woman:  Erik, you play too damn much...

She gives him a playful shove as he smirks.  However, something about the way his face twists, he's shamefully admitting a partial truth.  Settling down wasn't his bag, and it never was.  Having gone from a somewhat awkward punk kid to the Ladies Man, he never gave it much thought before, but he's about to.  The woman curls up against Erik's bare chest, running her fingers along the light fur of his chest that had accumulated since his time in the ring.

Woman:  It must be lonely having all these girls throwing their bodies at you, but keeping their hearts from you.

Erik looks off into the distance, trying to act as if he hadn't heard what she just said.  However, she doesn't change the subject as he'd hoped she would.  He painfully looks up to the ceiling, groaning a bit at this.

Erik:  No, not really.  It's sort of liberating to rely only on myself while still having my physical needs met.

Woman:  What about your emotional needs?

Erik:  You act as if I have emotions that need fulfilling.  I'm perfectly fine raising my family and running my business.  Plus, I'm too old to suddenly find love, not that I would even know what to do with it if I found it.

The woman nuzzles her head into his shoulder, finding comfort in his physical maturity, while trying to use her own emotional maturity to quell Erik's immaturity in this area.  While her efforts are intended for good, Erik finds it a bit uncomfortable.

Woman:  I've known you for years now, and if anyone could unlock that heart... she would be one lucky woman.  It's never too late.

Erik:  No... it is.  Women like to call me daddy, and awkwardly grand daddy in a recent case, which just shattered my ego completely... It's never about a connection, and that feeling is mutual.  I'm complicated, and I'm far too set in my ways to ever change for anyone.

Woman:  Call it whatever makes you feel better about it, but you don't have to lie.  If you don't want somethin' serious, I can't make you want it.  But, I do, and if this will never turn into somethin', then it needs to turn into nothin'.

Her words have gotten much more firm as she leans off of his chest.  He looks at her as she gives him an ultimatum.  He stamps out his cigarette before replying with a simple shrug.  She tilts her head to the side as if asking him if he's serious.  When he doesn't budge, she scoffs and leans over the edge of the bed, picking up articles of clothing, sifting through them to separate her own from his.  Erik rolls his eyes as he rolls onto his side, staring at her as she pulls her shirt on.

Erik:  Portia, come on... You act like I wasn't honest about what this was from the very beginning.

Portia:  No, you right.  You did, and it's my bad for thinking that could change.  I ain't mad at you.  I'm mad at myself.

Pulling on her white lace panties, and her mini skirt, she stands up from the bed.  She finds her jacket on a chair next to the door, and she picks it up.  Erik crawls to the edge of the bed as he lies his head at the edge, looking up at her in an almost pleading manner.

Erik:  You're being dramatic again, and I have to admit... it's turning me on.

Portia:  It ain't cute, Erik.  Not cute at all.  I can't do this anymore, and I don't have to... I quit.

Erik's jaw hangs open slightly as he questions her.  She doesn't give him much of a chance as she opens the door and walks out into the hallway, leaving the door wide open.  Erik sighs and clicks on the lamp by his nightstand.  As he does, he notices a late teen's Spike Staggs walking toward the room.  He looks down the hallway at Portia as he lowers his eyes.

Spike:  I assume this is a bad time.  I can come back later, when you're not... naked...

Spike practically gags at the thought, though even the thought of his uncle with clothes is disgusting enough.  He turns to walk away when Erik rolls his eyes and pulls the covers up higher onto his body as he reaches for a pair of pants.  He slides them on, securing them as he looks to his nephew who is turning to leave.

Erik: No, it's okay.  My assistant just quit on me... What do you need?

Spike turns to look to his uncle as he approaches the door frame once more.  He lean into it, not wanting to come in any further.

Spike:  Well, I hate to be the second one to quit on you today, but I'm going to have to give my notice to you as well.

Erik shakes his head in shame as he runs his hand through his now messy hair.  He reaches to the nightstand and picks up a glass of water, taking a sip before letting it clank against the table.

Erik:  Quitting already... I don't know why I expected anything more from the most fickle person I've ever met, but how do you plan to support your child with no job or high school diploma?

Spike:  Wait, isn't that exactly what you've been trying to do since day one?  Get me to quit?  If not, then you have a really weird way of letting someone know you value them...

Erik:  Why should I take it easy on a playboy such as yourself?  You've been doing this for a few years now, but you're still so green, and you lack any real discipline to grow as a competitor.

Spike rolls his eyes now, trying his best not to show his boiling anger.  He looks away from his uncle, and to the door frame itself.

Spike:  I must be doing something right, because Global Championship Wrestling offered me a contract, and I'm taking it.  Roxanne, Sebastian, and several others got accepted.  It's the big leagues.

Erik:  I can understand Sebastian, and even Roxanne.  Some people just get handed opportunity after opportunity, unable to appreciate or utilize them.  You are your father, and...

Spike:  So what if I am?  My dad was a good man, in and out of the ring.  Just because he was always better than you, it's no excuse to treat me like a male Cinderella... Well, the shoe fit, unk, and now I'm going on to bigger and better things, something you never got to do.

Erik:  You ungrateful sonuva...

Spike sneers, though his defensive stance lets us know he's anything but casual about this conversation.  Erik grits his teeth, stopping himself where he is.  He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths.  Erik bites his tongue until the anger is choked back.  Instead, he just clasps his hands together over the comforter as he calmly says...

Erik:  Best of luck to you, Spike.  It appears our business is officially over now.

Spike nods his head as he leans off of the door frame, turning to leave.

Spike:  It is...

Before Erik can say anything, Spike takes a step away.  Pain comes over Erik's face as his words seem to have registered fully.  Residual words that were meant for Robbie has come out to his son, a true chip off the old block.  He closes his eyes, feeling a bit of pain as he turns off the bedside lamp, bringing up back to the rays of the moon coming in through the opened doors before we fade out...






Gimnasio Nilson, Nelson, Brasilia, Brazil; April 28th, 2013... SCW Hostile Takeover

The laughter ringing through the gymnasium is almost deafening, matched only by the loud cheering for Nick Jones, Mark Ward, and Christian Underwood as they celebrate their massive win, vanquishing the remainder of the rebellion from Sin City Wrestling for good.  The look on Erik Staggs' face says it all; embarrassment, anger, betrayal are at the forefront of emotions as he walks through the back, wearing his #TeamErik t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans.  As he walks backstage, no one says a single word, but their laughter rings through his ears as they begin throwing trash at him, and talking about him as if he isn't even there.  He simply lowers his head, trying his best not to react.  He even passes Pussy Willow and Ms Rocky Mountains, who barely even give him a second glance.  He has to accept the fact that he's already old news, and that the cause he risked everything for was nothing more than a failure, and the butt end of a joke now.  He makes his way to a locker room labeled "Team Erik", and without hesitation, he opens the door, entering it, and quickly closing it behind him.  It was quite empty, considering how many people he had recruited to his cause.  There is a solemn quietness amongst the three visible talents... Bombshell Champion, Misty, Roxanne, and Giani Di Luca.  They simply look up at Erik, who finally lets his true feelings show, looking completely crushed.  The Queen of the Damned almost sheepishly walks up to Erik, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Misty:  This isn't over, Erik.

Erik slowly turns his head to his left to look at Misty.  He is almost white as a ghost now as he slowly nods, unable to speak at first.  He finally musters up the words, as they seem to roll painfully off of his tongue.

Erik: No... it kind of is.  Not "kind of", it really is over.

Roxanne:  No!  We can still fight this, Erik!  We...

Erik shoots a glare over at the redheaded amazon, gritting his teeth as he barks at her.

Erik:  IT'S OVER!  I'M... over.

Giani:  We might'a seen people jump awf like rats from a sinkin' ship, but we're still floatin', Erik.  It ain't over 'til Cookie S'Mores sings.

Erik looks around at the papers scattered amongst the floor, and the mess left behind by all of the non-loyalists of the cause and he can't help but lower his head once more.  And, as if it were a sign from God himself, the faint sound of the hefty former Bombshell Tag Team Champion can be heard coming from the hallway.  Giani turns his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as it sinks in.

Giani:  That's irony right there... but it still ain't over.  You can abandon this ship, captain, but we decided we're gonna keep fightin' for ya cause.

Misty:  You're still got a determined rookie, an unstoppable, bloodthirsty Bombshell, and a champion on your...

Before Misty can continue, she is cut off by the sound of a door opening.  Everyone turns to look at the person standing in the doorway, as their voice cuts through the air like a knife.

Necra:  Make that two champions...

Necra Octavian Kane adjusts her Bombshell Roulette Championship on her shoulder as she walks back into the room with Ex following closely behind.  She stands in front of Erik as her eyes flash red.  Sshe nods to Misty in a sign of respect as Misty returns the gesture.  Necra looks back to Erik, focusing all of her attention on him.

Necra:  Don't you find it funny that we have won almost every battle, yet they win the war, but only because they played a dirty trick on us?  They have so many more loyalists than we do, yet we still defeated them at almost every turn until Nick Jones turned on Tom Dudely tonight.  The heart of this revolution is still beating strong, and it is right here in this room.

Erik:  It is ridiculous to even consider the notion.  Besides, after we return from the two week break, I'll be officially served my firing papers.

Misty:  Then let us continue to fight in your honor.

Necra:  Change is still needed around here, whether the heard of sheep known as the fans want to admit it or not.  Whether you support this or not, we're going to change the face of Sin City Wrestling.  Your vision will be realized.

Erik goes to protest this, but he isn't given the opportunity.  Necra looks back to Giani, Misty, and Roxanne, and without her having to say a single word, they stand up and make their way to the open door, leaving the room along with Ex.  Erik and Necra are left alone now as Necra slowly walks over toward the bench where she lies her Bombshell Roulette Championship down to rest.

Erik:  I don't see a point in trying to convince me to give my blessing.  We've done all we could, they tempted our members to leave us with title shots and other benefits, and those who weren't bought off like Amy Marshall and Kevin Carter, have left due to sheer embarrassment.  You four are great talents who will go far around here if you just leave well enough alone.  After tonight, I won't see your faces ever again.

Necra:  I would not be so sure of that, Erik.  Our paths will cross again one day, and who knows?  I may need your help, just as you needed mine, to realize a dream.

Erik:  My road in the wrestling world ends here.  You and the others can do whatever you want, but it is going to be without me involved.

Necra tries to protest this, but Erik clearly will not hear any of it.  He walks past her on the bench and goes to a locker.  Twisting the combination pad of the lock, he quickly unlocks it and opens the door where he starts rapidly pulling articles of clothing out before setting his bag on the ground, tossing the clothes inside of it.  He leans down to zip the bag closed, leaving several items sticking out sloppily from the zipper.  Last but not least, he pulls out his favorite jacket, a studded leather bikers jacket that he quickly puts on.  He leans down and picks up his bag as he walks over to the door.  As he places his hand on the door knob, he turns back to Necra with a look of regret on his face.

Erik:  Regardless of what happens, I want you to know that I appreciate your support.  Not that it is likely, but if you ever need the favor returned, I will do my absolute best to be there for you.

Necra:  It is more likely than you think.

As if Necra knows something, she flashes an almost wicked grin to Erik.  However, Erik doesn't quite pick up on it, finding it more of a maneuver to try getting him to stick around.  He gives an almost sheepish smile before opening the door and disappearing through it.  Necra's eyes flash as she continues to sit in the locker room, completely alone.

Necra:  I will see you a lot sooner than you think, Erik...

With that, the scene fades.






Unknown Location; Unknown Date

"I've seen the number of the beast, marked on the goat-like head.  The clocks are stuck at 3:33am, and have been this way for hours.  Every evil deed I have ever done has come back to haunt me.  Is this a mere dream, or is this really happening?"

Like an overplayed metal song of yesteryear, Erik Staggs is seen lying in his bed, his eyes almost sunken in completely as sweat drips down his forehead.  The flames dance down the walls as the smoke billows slowly, and in a manner that defies physics.  He can't even react as he is paralyzed in a state of shock.  His bed begins to rock back and forth slowly as it rises off of the ground, coming to the middle of the room where is slowly spins around.  Everyone that he's ever hurt is there, standing by, shouting at him with painful reminders that blend together for us, but their sheer presence is enough for him to understand.  It is too much for him so he brings his hand over his ears, but as he does, the sound of their voices only amplifies, torturing his ears as a light crimson stream begins to leak from them.

"I always knew I would be here, but I never imagined it would be so soon.  I am not ready for this, mentally, physically, or spiritually.  I am in Hell."

Erik's thoughts echo through the room despite his lips not moving.  His last word bounces off of the wall, attacking him from all angles as his ears bleed painfully.  His bed continues to spin around, stopping right in front of his brother, Robbie, whose skin is blistered from the heat.

Robbie:  You never tried to save me little brother.  You let me go on my path to self destruction, while you just watched and waited.

Erik:  No.  I tried to stop you many times, but you wouldn't listen to reason.

Robbie:  It was all a cry for help, but you were too much of a chicken shit to try to save me.  You let me fall apart, and then you took my family, and let it fall apart as well.

Erik:  No, I...

Erik doesn't have time to protest this any further as the bed begins spinning around again.  Like a twisted game of Wheel of Misfortune, it is all a gamble on who would get to rip into him next.  Who should we land on now but Spike Staggs.

Spike:  You let my father die, and you would have let me go down the exact same path had I not wised up.  You never cared about anyone other than yourself, and you never will...

Erik:  No!  I sacrificed my career for you boys.  I could have made something of myself, but I decided that you and your brothers deserved your best chance.  I am not perfect, but I gave up everything to be what your father couldn't be!

Spike:  Liar!  We had no one left, and you were stuck with us, and you let us, especially me, know how much of a burden we were every day after that!

Erik:  I'm not denying that I'm a selfish prick, but to say I never cared about you and your brothers is the most ignorant and crass thing you've ever said!  I was more of a father to you than your own, even before he passed away.  I might not have shown it, but you guys are my world, even today.

Spike shakes his head as he looks up at the ceiling.  The horned beast wiggles his fingers in a stirring motion as the bed goes spinning once more.  Still unable to move, Erik is forced to watch as the sea of faces seems to grow by the minute.  He lands on a woman in her early thirties, dark brown hair, and the prettiest blue grey eyes one could ever behold.  Erik's own lip quivers as he tries to address her first.  However, she doesn't give him the chance as her seemingly angelic face twists into rage and anger.

Lori:  You let me live the life of a blind fool, Erik!  Your wickedness disgusts me.  The only thing worse than what your brother did by cheating on me, and putting my own health at risk, was lying to me about it, and then... taking advantage of me in a vulnerable state when I found out...  You're sick!  You wanted what your brother had, and you let him self destruct so that you could take it for yourself!

Erik:  Lori, I... I...

Lori:  "I... I..."  You're pathetic, Erik Staggs.  You're a disgusting human being, a ratfink...  And the sad part is that you're in denial.  Embrace it...

Erik goes to respond, but his face twists into confusion at the last line.  As if this hellish nightmare is ending, the flames and smoke are sucked back up the wall, leaving no trace that they were ever there.  Every face in the crowd disappears except Lori's, who soon turns into that of Necra Octavian Kane.  The smell of rotting meat soon takes the place of the smoke, and death has surrounded Erik.

Erik:  I don't understand.  Why are you here?  What is this all about?

With the wave of her hand, the bed falls to the ground in the center of the room. Erik jolts back to life as he raises his hand, finding himself in full control of his body once more.  She saunters across the room to the foot of his bed as Erik looks up at her in bewilderment and a tinge of fear.

Erik:  Is it... my time?  Are you taking me?

Necra laughs as she waves his comment off, dismissing it as ridiculous.  She takes a seat on the very edge of the bed as she looks over at Erik, seeing if he gets it yet, but he clearly does not.  She sighs as she runs her fingers over the pattern on his designer comforter.

Necra:  Your soul is dark, and it screams in torment.  You are quite arrogant for a coward, and I've always liked that about you.  I can't wait to collect your soul, but now if not the time for that...

Necra raises her finger from his blanket as she brings it up to her long, black hair.  She gently brushes it to the side, out of her face as she flashes her dark, dead eyes at him.

Necra:  You've been terribly difficult to get a hold of as of late.  You must be busy preparing for our match...

Erik: Oh... I am.  Very busy preparing for it.

Necra:  It's just a shame that you have been unable to find time to meet with me to discuss a strategy.  You're a busy man, and I respect that, but I have your promise that you will do everything in your power to help me when I need it most.

Necra looks disappointed in Erik as she stands up from his bed.  Her slender frame is almost appetizing to him, but he is too stricken with fear to even lead this on as he simply stares at her.  She shakes her head with an exasperated sigh as she slowly begins to circle the bed.

Necra:  You've never been a man to go back on your word, but I don't think you understand the magnitude of the situation.

Erik:  No, I do.  I have been in the gym every day since the card was announced, working away feverishly to be the best partner I can be to you.

Necra:  That bitch somehow found her way past me at Inception, and just before that in the Nether Realm.  I have to get back at her, and take what is rightfully mine. I won't rest until she's paid for what she did to me, and what she did to Sara.

Erik fidgets with his fingers nervously as Necra continues to circle him like a shark, sizing up her prey.  Erik flashes his eyes quickly at her before bowing his head again.

Erik:  I mean no disrespect, but she paid for it when you took her life.  You're lucky she came back and didn't press charges.

Necra:  You call that luck?!  It is the furthest thing from luck.  She still lives.  I call that failure on my part.  You made a promise to me almost two years ago that you would repay me for my loyalty to you.  Nobody goes back on a deal with me.

Erik:  I don't intend to, but you have to realize that I am taking this as serious as a heart attack.

Necra:  You better, because that heart attack can easily be arranged...

Necra says this nonchalantly, but there is a slight hint of venom in her tone as she stops circling around him, staring down at him as he lies in bed.

Erik:  I might be a changed man, but there are certain things that never change.  Loyalty has come to mean a lot to me over the years, and I have a vested interest in our match, more than you even realize.  I haven't been in a wrestling ring for almost twenty-five years now.  I'm trying to clear my head and focus my training again, because I want this win more than any other in my entire career.

Necra:  Now you're just trying to persuade me not to inflict harm on you, and it is pathetic.

Erik sits up in his bed, making sure to cover the lower half of his naked form as he looks into Necra's deep eyes, literally staring death in the face.

Erik:  You're wrong about that.  I appreciate the fact that you remained loyal to me, in your own way, ever since the rebellion.  But, this runs deeper than that.  I know I can't face Darknyss personally, but she showed her true colors to me the second the rebellion ended, and she walked off with Raynin and Gothika, as well as the Bombshell Tag Team Titles that they barely held on to thanks to you and Misty.  I was used, and I am not one who likes being used...

Erik narrows his eyes in anger, causing Necra to soften her expression a bit.  She can see the truth in his conviction, feeling it in his words.  She takes a few steps back to let up some of the intimidation she'd been dishing out to him.

Necra:  Then it seems we are on the same page...  We both have our own agendas here, but they culminate this week, working to our respective benefit.  This... now feels a little unneccessary.

Erik:  Indeed... unless you really do want to give me a heart attack, rendering me useless, of course.  Perhaps we could continue this conversation over the phone, or over lunch... but not over my dead body, please?

Necra:  You take the fun out of everything, Mister Staggs. As you wish...

With the wave of a hand, Erik's dream switches over to something much more appealing as he is sitting on a beach lounge chair in a tropical climate, with a cool drink in his hand.  The crystal blue waters of the ocean lap against the white sand as the breeze wafts through the palm trees.  His tense body slowly loosens up as a tanned woman approaches him with a platter of fresh fruit, picking up a bunch of grapes and hanging it above his head.  Wantonly, he looks up at her as she lowers the juicy red fruit down to his lips.  He pinches one off with his pearly white teeth as a few more women approach, topless, and covering themselves.

Woman:  Excuse me sir, but we seem to have lost our tops.  Have you seen them anywhere?

Erik looks over off screen and an almost goofy smile comes over his face as he raises his eyebrows in a wiley manner as we soon fade out as the music of the island leaves a relaxing impression upon us.







SCW home office is a distant memory already as the Las Vegas based company travels across the world.  Not that this is something new or different to SCW, but it is the first time that returning to Las Vegas wouldn't be happening for an entire year.  Many were excited for this, getting a chance to see the world, all on SCW's dime.  Others were nervous and showing signs of being home sick. There is one person who felt neither emotion, a man who is well traveled as it is, one who has seen almost every corner of the world.  This was nothing new to Erik Staggs... well, mostly.  As a promoter, he's traveled across the globe, but this was the first time that he would wrestle overseas.  Any nerves that Erik Staggs was feeling had nothing to do with the location.  Nearly a quarter of a century has passed since he last stepped inside of a wrestling ring as a serious competitor.  Many of the SCW stars weren't even 25 years old, let alone imagining shaking off that much ring rust.

Though Erik Staggs has been diligently preparing for his match against Patient #078 and Darknyss, he finds himself handling his staffing obligations for the better part of this day.  Sitting in his hotel room, he looks at his computer screen, wearing a red cigar jacket with matching pajama bottoms, and a white t-shirt underneath.  His black horn rimmed glasses are perched on the edge of his nose as he types away at the laptop sitting before him on the table.  He closes his eyes and reaches up to rub at his temples.

Erik:  These demands are ridiculous...  "Exactly 35 green and 27 red M&M's in a candy dish must be the centerpiece of my otherwise Vegan friendly spread"?  Do the Irish even know what Vegan is?  If you cut out meat and dairy, you're left eating potatoes and parsnips, Delia... Stupid bit... Oh, hello!  I didn't see you there!

Erik looks up, acknowledging the camera as he removes his glasses from his face.  He folds them together, tucking one earpiece into the collar of his white shirt.  He gently lowers the screen of his laptop as he furls his brow in confusion.

Erik:  You guys are awfully early, aren't you...?

Erik waves his right arm slightly as the sleeve of his jacket rolls up his arm, revealing a Rolex on his wrist.  He looks at the time, and then a slight red shade of embarrassment befalls his face as he bites onto his upper lip, mouthing a slow "soooorrrrryyyy..." as he holds his hands up apologetically.

Erik:  It appears that time has gotten away from me this morning, and I apologize to you for that.  I didn't intend to do my first promotional video in my pajamas, but when you're as busy as I am... you make due.

Erik swivles around in his office chair to face the camera fully as he laces his fingers together.  He tries to remain as professional as he can in the given situation, remaining as poised as he would in full dress suit.  His hair is a bit of a mess as he gently runs his fingers through it to fix it.

Erik:  It appears that Hell has officially frozen over as I've agreed to take place in the Blast From the Past Tournament this year.  In the short time since it was announced, I've heard a variety of very funny jokes, including... "Aren't you worried about breaking a hip, Staggs?" or "I'm excited to see you wrestle.  It was very nice of the retirement home to give you a pass for the day."  But, I'd have to say that my favorite joke has to be... *ahem*  "You suck, Staggs.  You have penis "breathe" and "your" going to lose and have heart attack."  Grammatical errors aside, I rather enjoyed this one.  Does penis even have a smell that would resonate in the breath?  I certainly wouldn't know, so it is a legitimate question.

Erik pauses as the cameraman says something we can't hear.  Erik tilts his head to the side, furling his brow as his hand traces down his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his pajama bottoms.  He looks down to his crotch and then back to the cameraman as if he doesn't quite understand.

Erik:  That's just... I don't know how to feel about that.  I would imagine if one had "penis breath" it would come from performing felatio on someone who was unclean, which can't be good for the health.  So, this random Twitter handler not only thinks I'm a homosexual, but worse, he accuses me of having poor taste in sexual conquests?  I think I'm most offended by the latter.  And the death threat was just overkill.  But, I enjoyed it nonetheless.  It just seems that nobody has faith in my abilities.

Erik looks as if he is a little hurt by this as he places a hand on his chest, patting at his heart, however, he grins as he exaggerates this.  He chuckles half-heartedly before shaking his head and lifting one leg over, resting his ankle atop his knee as he returns to his poised position.

Erik:  The wrestling business has become filled with prima donnas and sensitive types.  In homage to Bruce Campbell... Wrestlers, a bunch of bitchy little girls.  It is a sad state of affairs when a stable formed on the bases of vanity, sisterhood of brainlessness, and egocentric ideals aren't the most insulting thing in a business that people such as myself helped to build.  The Mean Girls aren't the worst thing about wrestling I've noticed, and that really bothers me.  Some would ask why I've decided to have a short stint when things are in this sort of state, but the answer is quite simple.  Sometimes, people need to see a legend do it so that they know how to do it right... and unfortunately there wasn't a legend available, so they asked the oldest fart that they knew to step up instead.  I've got to learn how to say no sometimes...

Erik shakes his head as he takes in a deep breath.

Erik:  Anyway, I've got a match coming up, and I've already stressed that it is the first one in nearly 25 years.  That puts me at a great disadvantage.  To make matters worse, I don't know who my male opponent is.  From the sound of things, it looks like Mark or Christian went above my head and signed a couple of guys from the looney bin.  I'm going to have to beat up a handicapped person, like I need that on my conscience...  I could be facing someone with dementia who doesn't know his fist from his face.  Or, I could be facing someone so hopped up on anti-psychotics that he doesn't even realize where he's at.  Could I even face someone with post traumatic stress disorder from the war?  He heards a loud boom, and then he goes into killer mode, snapping my neck because, in his mind, I'm Vietnamese in disguise.  I'm starting to see some people's gripes that SCW operates loosely in the safety guidelines.  This proves it.

Erik holds a finger up as he reaches across the table to pick up a notepad and a pen.  He jots down a quick note for a possible agenda item for the next staff meeting before scratching the pen with one final stroke.  He sets the pad down on the table and resumes his train of thought.

Erik:  With my luck, I'm making a big deal out of this, and I wind up facing some cog in the machine who tried to hang himself with his tie because he couldn't stand how dull his life of working in a cubical really was.  He probably decided that he needed to spice up his life by learning to wrestle.  That's great, I would normally encourage this of anyone, but I didn't come here to perform community service.  I signed up for this tournament because I want to win.  I owe it to myself to have one last hoorah before I hang up the boots for good without exception.  Whoever SCW's latest inmate is, he is in for a rude awakening at my hands.  I might be considered past my prime, but I know this business inside and out, like the back of my hand.  I know every inch of that ring, and I know every Suplex, Drop, Slam, Toss, and hold that has even been thought of.  Am I an expert with them?  No, but knowledge is key.  I have the mind games down, and with someone as fragile as Patient #078, I won't even need to brush up on them.

Erik smirks, but he remains quiet as his point settles in.  Curiosity settles in and he opens his computer back up.  With a few keystrokes and a couple rapid clicks, he turns the laptop around to show the scwrestling.net home page.  Once he's sure we've seen it, he runs the pointer to the Locker Room tab as he continues talking.

Erik:  Many people have been asking me, "Erik, who are these Patients?  You're the Head of Talent Relations, obviously you signed their contracts, and have some knowledge of them."  One would think I'd be in the loop with such a matter, right?  It makes sense.  But, I'm not... I'm just as in the dark as you are, maybe even more so.  The business is full of people who belong in a nut house, but who has recently been committed?  I don't keep up with the no-namers affairs on Twitter.  I'm not Liz Smalls or Delia Darling.  Perhaps if I was, I'd have some sort of advantage here, but I don't.  Mark and Christian have some inkling of who these guys are, but the person who is responsible for keeping the talent happy?  The one who handles their paycheck delivery.  The one who basically handles every aspect of ensuring that the talents show up for work every Sunday... he has no idea who these guys are.  That is the part I have an issue with.  Throw whoever you want in front of myself or Necra, and we'll knock them right back down.  Stop me from doing my job properly, and ensuring the safety of our talent, and I do take exception to that.

Erik has a stern, almost father-like expression on his face that reads "I'm disappointed in you, Mark and Christian."  He lets this resonate for a moment before tilting his head back to an upright position once more.

Erik:  It takes a very special kind of pussy to hide in the shadows while you run around, collecting information on your opponents.  Sitting back and watching your opponents trying to figure out who you are while you have their name, age, birthdate, height, weight, credit card number, the weight of their last bowel movement...   And what do I know about you?  Absolutely nothing.  I have suspicions, but I haven't even a single certainty in this matter.  I could be going up against a tiny twig weighing a buck fifty who flies around more than Equinox on acid.  I could be facing a four hundred pound, seven foot tall, shit brick house who could snap my and the ring like a twig.  I could be facing Mark Ward's mother, for all I know.  Hell, stranger things have happened.  But what is certain, is the fact that this person knows every little detail about me.  And that's fine.  As a matter of fact, allow me to tell you some things not found on my bio page, or on Wikipedia...

Erik uncrosses his legs, instead switching his right ankle to his left knee as he scrolls through the locker room page, showing no sign of his opponents names, not even a mention, then coming to his own biography.  He opens it, scrolling down to allow people to get a quick glimpse of his information.

Erik:  As you know, I am Erik Staggs, born in St. Louis, Missouri.  I am six feet, three inches, and I weigh two hundred and thirty five pounds.  I now reside in Las Vegas, Nevada.  I am the patriarch of the Staggs Family, a family that has dominated this business over the last decade.  However, I do enjoy long walks on the beach under the moonlight.  I have an affinity for ginger women.  I don't like foods that are phallic in nature.  I am a firm believer that once you pop a can of Pringles, you can't stop until they are completely gone.  I am a Virgo.  My 8th grade English teacher, Mr. Odom, was the one who inspired me to be a better person, and I single-handedly led the class in standing on our desks to recite "O Captain, My Captain"...

Erik looks up from the camera slightly as he reminisces in the moment.

Erik:  ... unfortunately there was a substitute teacher that day, and I got sent to the principal's office... My favorite color is orange, and it is also my favorite word because no other word in the English language rhymes with it... it is a rebel word.  I've watched It's A Wonderful Life approximated 48 times in my life, every year on Christmas Day.  Capricorn's steal my heart.  I am a no-bullshit kind of guy, with nothing to hide, and I find it degrading to your own reputation that you have to hide behind a proverbial mask in order to gain an advantage over a nearly fifty year old man.  The simple fact that you feel the need to do that lets me know I already have you beat.  Your partner in pussiness might have his opponents shaking in their boots, going crazy trying to figure out who he is, but you've got no one fooled, son.  No one is shaken on our side.  Necra can handle herself, but it's down to you and me, man to man... and I use that term very loosely in your case.

Erik lowers his head again, narrowing his eyes as he looks directly into the camera with precision in his eyes.

Erik:  Tell me, what are you going to do when you get your ass kicked by an old man, jacked up on Metamucil and Ostocal?  Are you going to disappear into the shadows once again, waiting for the shame and embarrassment to die down before you find another, weaker opponent you can trick with your pathetic little mind games?  Or will you even bother after that?  If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't.  All of that effort, all of that embrrassment that you're putting yourself through to get inside of my head, all for naught... and you still lose.  Sucks to be you...

Erik gives an arrogant smirk.  He chuckles as he stares at the camera before just waving it off, looking down at the ground for a second.

Erik:  Whatever, there is no use beating a dead horse, which is exactly what their career is going to be when I'm done with them.  Instead, lets talk about someone I am more familiar with... Darknyss.  Hello hon, it has been so long.  I hope you are well?  The last time I saw you, you and your girls were pledging allegiance to me and my cause.  My *air quotes* rebellion, if you will.  Of course, we all know how that turned out, and there are no hard feelings on my movement going by the wayside, because I believe that I was able to accomplish great change within Sin City Wrestling.  Since I've lended my expertise to the company, we've flourished.  We've never been better or more exciting than we are now.  No, I would even go as far as to call it a victory, with harmony achieved...

Erik's optimism almost seem misplaced upon his face.  He traces his finger along the scar on his right cheek before a more sinister look crosses his face.

Erik:  Many of the people I foolishly relied on to help bring about this change, they are the ones  who deserve my wrath.  The ones who abandoned the cause the second Mark Ward or Christian Underwood dangled an incentive in front of their faces, such as Amy Marshall and Kevin Carter.  Even the ones who watched me take the fall for them, and didn't come to my aid, or stepped back and washed their hands of me once I failed.  People such as... well, The Fallen.  Since you are their guide in the world of wrestling, I blame you specifically Darknyss.  Call it petty, but a part of me wants to watch Necra tear you limb from limb.  Sure, it is bitter of me, but I've never once claimed to be a perfect person.  It isn't even about the business aspect of things, for me at least.  It is purely personal.  I could care less about winning a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship.  At my age, I'm not sure I could do it any justice anyway.  No, this is about returning a favor to an old friend who was loyal to me.  And an added bonus is that I get to watch a rat drown in the waters in which she fled to escape the *air quotes* sinking ship of a movement.  That's not a win.  It's not even a win-win.  It's a win-win-win-win...  Now, once I've seen your dreams crushed the way you stood idly by and watched mine become crushed... then we can work on reparation.  An eye for an eye, lovely...

Erik winks his right eye for emphasis.

Erik:  I've taken up far too much of your time by talking about two people who aren't going to matter after three more days.  Allow me to wrap things up by wishing my partner the best of luck, though I don't think Necra will need it.  She has all of the tools of a great competitor, despite the way the fans take to her.  She has had a glorious wrestling career, and I only see things getting brighter for her whether we win this tournament or not.  We have a mutual understanding about things.  I think that alone will lead us to the finals.  Unlike most of these teams, we have worked together in depth in the past.  We have all of the tools to make it, if we apply focus.  I'm relying on you, Necra, just as you are me.  We're in this together, and we're not going to allow a coward and a deserter to knock us off of our path.  I'll see you three on Sunday.

The seriousness in Erik's voice shines through as he places his laptop back on the table.  He turns back to it and resumes business as usual as the camera slowly pans out.  Erik feverishly types away at his computer, answering e-mails.  Eventually the scene fades out completely... TO BLACK!

23
Climax Control Archives / Climax Control'd!
« on: November 28, 2014, 10:40:21 AM »
 
<img src=http://static.tumblr.com/ksjnfqv/lYtlr2v7d/bam_margera_005.jpg>



Laser tag! Stellar pranks!  Daredvil, high flying moves!  Much lack of fucks given!  Yeeeeeeeup!  That’s what most people remember when they think of Jamie Staggs.  Unlike many of the new folks who are watching this video, the die hard fans of SCW past are not at all surprised as this scene unfolds…

The morning light peaks in through the blinds as we find a nude Jamie Staggs, covered only by a giant stuffed giraffe and the arms of a mannequin.  The blankets are thrown about the room, along with a variety of clothes as the excruciatingly loud snoring echoes throughout the room.  His shaggy brown hair blows with each breath taken, blowing around his face.  Once the sun hits just the right angle, Jamie’s eyelids clinch together, and he mumbles something under his breath as he rolls over.  Fresh on his backside is a tattoo that says “Gaylord”, one that he likely has no idea is there.  He reaches back and scratches just above the tattoo.  Yes, a typical after party scene, perhaps even much more tame than expected.  However, there is a sound that slices through the air.

”WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

Jamie shoots up in bed, his eyes wide as he looks around the room.  Noticing the giraffe, he raises an eyebrow and then shrugs, leaning in to give it a good morning kiss.  The mannequin hands hang off of his neck in a strange make shift necklace.  He reaches by the bedside and picks up a pair of jeans, sliding them on quickly as he jogs half way around the bed.  He opens up a bedside fridge, pulling out a baby bottle.  He tosses it up into the air, spinning around in a circle before catching it in one hand, the door handle turning in the other.  We pan around to find Jamie walking into a nursery room where he picks up a young child, past the age of bottles clearly, but… Jamie never was the smartest tool in the crayon box… Wait, that’s not right… Anyway…

Jamie:  Little dude, you seriously need to learn how to sleep in.  It’s Sunday morning.

Sean:[/b ]  Toons!  Bungebob!

Jamie:
 I could totally go for some Spongebob right now!  What about breakfast?

Sean:  Dordogs!

Jamie:  Fuckin’ A little guy!  I was just dreaming about corndogs!

The blonde child squeals in delight, laughing and clapping as Jamie walks down the hallway, carrying him.  Jamie walks into the kitchen, where he gently sets Sean down in a high chair.  He flips the small television on, where… you guessed it… Spongebob Squarepants is playing.  Sean claps his hands as Jamie opens up the freezer.  A big mist of frost poofs out at him, blinding him for a second before he realizes that there is nothing in there, but a few freezer burned ice cubes.  He picks them up, contemplating before shaking his head, setting them back where they were sitting freely.  He opens up the refrigerator and sees the empty state it’s in.

Jamie:  Dude, we’re out of corn dogs.  I told you last time, it was your turn to do the shopping.

Sean:  No!  Dou do eet!

Jamie:  Seriously dude?  You’ve gotta get a job and start carrying your weight around here.  All ya do is eat and shit!

Sean:  Dit! Dit! Dit!

Jamie:  Watch your mouth!

Sean puckers his lips up as he tries to look down at them.  Jamie rolls his eyes, trying to hide a laugh as he looks at the clock on the wall.  8:15am, give or take… I never could read clocks, but this one had half naked ladies on it, so he had to buy it.

Jamie:  Could we wait like three hours for Pizza Hut to open up?

Sean:  Hungy!  Hungy!

Jamie:  Then we’re gonna have to go shopping.  With all the old people.  They smell worse than you do, stink ass…

Sean:  Candy! Candy! Candy!

Jamie:  Do I look like a bad dad?  I can’t give you candy until at least noon. You need real food. At least corn dogs have all the major food groups.  Corn… dogs… sticks…?

Jamie scratches his head as he thinks it over, counting the three on his fingers.  When it doesn’t add up to five, he just shrugs his shoulders and pulls a hoodie over his head.  He scoops Sean up out of his high chair and begins buzzing his lips together as he flies Sean through the house as if he were an airplane.  They come back around to the nursery.  He picks up a few different options for clothing.  Sean points to both sets of clothes, and Jamie shrugs his shoulders, pulling on the TNMT sweatshirt, followed by a Planes T-shirt.  Then, just as quickly, he pulls a pair of green sweatpants on, followed by red shorts.  Giving the feet a quick tickle, Jamie then slides on two socks, and a pair of TNMT shoes… Hey, at least something matches, right?  He scoops Sean up, and grabs a jacket, and a set of keys.  He places the jacket on Sean’s head as he opens up the black Ford Edge.  He sets Sean in the car seat, buckling him in tightly as Sean worms his way into the jacket.  Jamie hops into the drivers seat and starts the car up.

Sean:  Donalds?

Jamie:  No, since you’re such a freaking slacker, little dude, you gotta sit in the cart while we go to the grocery store.  And, I’m gonna stop and look at like… vegetables and shit.  We’re totally going to avoid the candy aisle.

Sean: DONALDS!  CANDY!

Jamie looks back with a serious (at least as serious as he can) expression on his face as he slowly shakes his head from side to side.  Sean kicks Jamie’s seat, but this only makes him widen his eyes more to emphasize his point.

Jamie:  Broccoli! Broccoli! Calley Flowers! Spinach!

Sean:  Noooooooooo! Mean daddy!

Jamie:  I don’t think we can do this anymore.  You’re 18, right?  Yeah, move out and get a job.

Jamie sticks his tongue out as the kid pouts in defeat.  Jamie backs out of the driveway slowly, watching carefully as he does so.  Once out on the road, he sighs as he fumbles through a CD case.

Jamie:  What should we listen to?

Sean:  Didkid Mummies!

Jamie:  Lady Gaga?

Sean:  Nooooooooooo!

Jamie:  Rah rah, ah ah ah!

Sean:  NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!  DIDKID MUMMIES!

Jamie:  You’re totally my kid… Dropkick Murphys it is…

Jamie pops in the Blackout CD and “This Is Your Life” begins playing.  Sean begins laughing and banging his head to the music.  Jamie smirks as he watches from the rearview mirror.  Jamie lets go of the wheel for a second to air guitar when suddenly the music cuts off.  Jamie’s eyes go wide as a beeping noise comes from the dashboard.

Jamie:  Oh my god, little dude!  What’d you do?!?

Sean:  I not doooeeet!

Jamie:  Yeah you did!

Sean:  Noooooooo!

Jamie begins rapidly tapping buttons on the display until a voice comes through the speakers of the car.

Erik: Hello? Jamie?

Jamie:  OH MY GOD IT’S HAUNTED!!! Every man for himself!

Jamie begins jiggling the handle on the door, trying his best to get out of the car, which is stopped at a red light.  Sean giggles, but Jamie is very serious as he tries to get out.

Jamie:  HELP!

Erik:  Whoa, whoa, Jamie!  It’s your uncle, Erik.

Jamie:  When did you die?  I shoulda sent flowers or something, coz now you’re haunting my car!

Erik:  No, I’m not dead.  You have onStar…

Jamie closes one eye as he tries to think on this, muttering a “huh” response to his uncle.  Erik sighs a long winded breath into the phone, and we can only assume he is shaking his head in disbelief.

Erik:  Your cell phone is connected to your car.

Jamie:  It is?

Erik:  Yeah… apparently.  Look, I was calling to wish you a Happy Birthday.

Jamie:  Oh, thanks.  Happy Birthday to you too, unk!

There is a laugh that comes through the speakers, but this only leaves Jamie further baffled.  Cars begin honking behind him as he tries to figure out what’s going on now.  Jamie knocks his fist against the stereo panel as he looks back to Sean.

Jamie:  Can ya get that little dude? I need to figure out how this thing became a cell phone too…

On cue, Sean raises his fists into the air, flipping the honking cars off behind him.  He squeals with laughter as he waves them around with a little dance.  Jamie continues to inspect this as the cars veer around Jamie, shouting obscenities at him.

Erik:  It’s not my birthday, Jamie.

Jamie:  Well, it’s not mine either!

Erik:  Today is November 25th, right?

Jamie shrugs his shoulders, making an audible, yet very jumbles “I don’t know” type of response, despite the date being present on the control panel he’s currently inspecting.

Erik:  It is… Jesus Fucking Christ, Jamie, how did you have a kid?

Jamie:  Well, if you really wanna know, you’re gonna have to wait until I don’t have my son in the car. That’s kinda inappropriate, ya know?

As Jamie says this, Sean has turned over in his seat, mooning the passing cars while puckering his lips together, telling them to “kiss it”, all while Jamie nods in approval.  He reaches back and high fives the kid before shrugging his shoulders and driving off, just as the light turns yellow.

Erik:  That’s not… Anyway, I wanted to wish you good luck with the Battle Royal this Sunday night.

Jamie:  Uhhhhh, yeah… What?

Erik:  Are you stoned, kiddo?

Jamie:  I sell piss to stoners to pass drug tests, so I hope not.  How do you think Scott Oliver comes up clean every time?

Erik:  Nice.  I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that… So, the Battle Royal, you do remember signing up for it, don’t you?

Jamie makes a sharp turn down a busy street as he shakes his head slowly from side to side, letting his uncle know that his answer is a big, fat “no.” Of course, his uncle can’t see this, but the silence is enough of an answer for him.

Erik:  Are you serious?

Jamie:  Yes, I am serious! Nahhhhhhh!  I can’t remember that far back.  What was that, like three months ago?

Erik:  It was actually less than a week ago…  Yeah, so you are showing up to Climax Control, aren’t you?

Jamie:  I don’t know what Kittie told you, but I’m excellent at controlling my climax. That’s why we didn’t have kids for like two years.

Erik:  Sin City Wrestling’s weekly show, titled “Climax Control”!  Will you be there?

Jamie:  Sounds like the set of a porno. We don’t have to see each other’s dongs, do we? That would be kinda awkward.

There is a long silence on the other end as Jamie starts imagining scenarios of the wildest proportions. Having to stop eating phallic items, canceling holiday events, and the definite need for about a thousand lobotomies all run through his mind as his eyes grow wide.

Erik:  Only if you lose the Battle Royal.  It was all in the contract you signed, somewhere in the fine print.  Also, if you don’t show up, you have to… I don’t know… something terrible here…

Jamie:  That IS terrible!  Okay man, I… I’ll be there!  Promise!  I don’t wanna see dongs, or hairy danglers, especially old, saggy, wrinkly ones!

Erik:  I kind of resent that.

Jamie:  Yeeeeeahhhh you do!  So, who all is in this Battle Royal thingy where the punishment is to stare at your dong?

Erik:  Can we PLEASE stop talking about my dong?  I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with my manhood…  Did your mother hug you too much as a child?  Or not enough?

Jamie turns the car into the parking lot of a grocery store, driving around to find a spot, despite the busy holiday shopping crowd.

Jamie:  My mom’s gonna be in the Battle Royal?  Wait… am I… dead?  I hope I’m not dead, and if I am, I sure as hell don’t wanna fight my mom! I knew I shoulda said more Hail Mary’s in the confessional, instead of performing the Hail Mary with a hopeful nun…

Erik:  The card is posted on the site.  You should probably have a look and see who your opponents are so that you can research.

Jamie:  That sounds like work, and I’m not a fan of that. I prefer to just show up and see what happens.

Erik:  Yeah, how has that worked out for you so far?

Jamie shrugs his shoulders once more, letting out a “meh” sound as he pulls into a parking spot, cutting off an old lady in the process.

Jamie:  It’s worked out okay. Ya win some, and ya lose some, right?

Erik:  It’s such a shame. I remember you coming ever so close to a World Championship reign when you actually focused on the big picture.  Some people even said you could have surpassed your brother, you know, since you have charisma, and he is all mopey and whiny.

Jamie:  You sir need to not talk about Tommy like that, okay?!

Erik:  I was talking about Spike, you Neanderthal…

Jamie:  I thought we were German-Irish.  Look, I don’t care where we come from. I don’t care who I’m facing.  I’m just going to party hard, and have fun in the ring.  The fans always seem to like it when I’m having fun, so it’s a double win kinda thing, ya know?

Jamie steps out of the car, and begins getting Sean out of his car seat.  He slams the doors shut with his foot as he walks over to a cart.  He places Sean in the cart, buckling him in as he looks up at the sky.

Jamie:  You there?

*Silence*

Jamie:  Hello? … Well, that’s fucking rude… hanging up on me because I said you probably have a shriveled ding-a-ling… RUDE!

Woman:  You want to talk about rude?  You took my parking spot!

Jamie looks over, confused at the sound of the old lady’s statement.  Before he can respond, she has already approached him, and gets in an epic dick kick that brings Jamie down to one knee.  She slams her cane against the side of his head with the force of a tropical breeze before turning around and walking off.  Jamie tries to speak, but all that comes out is a raspy squeak as Sean points and laughs at his father.  Jamie bows his head in shame as the scene fades… TO BLACK!

24
Climax Control Archives / Deadline
« on: October 25, 2014, 04:10:42 AM »
 The deadline for Climax Control 98 has now passed. Thanks to everyone who got something up!  Now, get working on those segments to make this show... SPOOK-tacular... Yes, I went there \'tongue.gif\'

25
Climax Control Archives / Deadline
« on: August 02, 2014, 12:05:19 AM »
 There was a mix up with the deadline on the card. Apologies to the newcomers. Please feel free to post your RP's by 11:59am EST on Saturday.

Again, apologies for the mix up

26
Supercard Archives / Into The Void III Deadline
« on: July 13, 2014, 12:06:04 AM »
 The first Deadline for Into The Void III has now passed. Anything after this post will count for the second RP Period, ending on FRIDAY July 18th, 2014 at 11:59pm EST.  Thanks and good luck to everyone!

27
Climax Control Archives / Deadline
« on: May 10, 2014, 03:08:27 AM »
 Oops, forgot to post this, but yeah...

Deadline for CC 83 has now passed.

28
Climax Control Archives / Deadline
« on: August 31, 2013, 12:20:57 AM »
 The deadline has now passed

29
Climax Control Archives / The Power of Love
« on: August 30, 2013, 08:19:38 PM »
 
Dream matches…

I was almost offered a dream match, but due to me personally leaving Team SCW and going Switzerland on that whole war, I gave up that right.  But I cannot help to wonder what match I would have chosen if I had, in fact, stayed with Team SCW and sacrificed my own moral standards, the way so many others had.  Would I have given back the time I got to spend with my family in order to smack the pompous ass named Giani Di Luca?  Would I have traded my soul to be a part of an epic battle with the one man I despise more than any other, in my uncle, Erik Staggs?  Would I have thrown everything away just for the chance to say… team with my brother, Jamie and proved why the Staggs Family isn’t categorized by the actions of my uncle?  None of these matches have ever happened, and they would all be worthy of my giving up retirement for just one night…

But, alas, the one thing that nobody had expected to pull me out of retirement, even if only for one single night, more than the idea of teaming with a female to take on the Quintessential Fear and the Goddess of Death in one night.  When you think of the possibilities of what could have made me step foot in a ring after how disgusted I was with the sport when I retired… you can’t help but question my logic, right?  I haven’t always been the poster child for sanity, but the reason for this goes beyond anyone’s comprehension.

When I was approached about stepping back into an Sin City Wrestling ring, I shuddered at the idea.  Even when they said I would be teamed with Vixen, as it was her top choice for her Dream Match, I might have thrown up in my mouth a little.  I could taste the bile of my stomach when I was asked to perform for one night only.  After the way my last official match ended, I can barely stomach showing up at the events.  This was, in fact, the reason I wanted to lay the New X-Tremes to rest… so that I wouldn’t have any obligation to the profession any longer.

You can ask “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward, of all people to call me about this manner… Did I not laugh almost hysterically?  Did he not have to put the phone down from the humor I felt at the preposterous idea of my mortal enemy calling me up to ask if I would want to compete for his company and line his pockets with money?  If you even care to utter a word to the greedy bastard, that is.

Look at me, sounding like a self-important dick.  As if my intended answer would make a big difference in the ticket sales.  I apologize to my loyal fans out there, but you must understand where I’m coming from here.  The last involvement I had in active competition involved getting sprayed in the face with green mist, the absolute deciding factor in whether I won or lost that match.  After being robbed of what was rightfully mine, knowing that I had plans on retiring the moment I lost that belt… I basically gave the title to Kevin Carter.  As I walked backstage, I saw a worried “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward coming by to discuss retribution for the screw job that had just been seen by millions across the world.  However, as he blew right by me to comfort Jordan Williams, it became apparent that he, nor anybody else, could give two shits about my retribution.

You will have to forgive me for sounding as bitter as the taste that was left in my mouth during my last in-ring appearance for this company.  “But, Spike… if you are so upset with Sin City Wrestling, why did you decide to participate in this match?”  The answer is simple.  There are two reasons I ultimately agreed to this match.  After I hung up on Mark, still laughing at the idea, I saw the disappointment in Vixen’s eyes.  For the first time in our relationship, I had let her down so much that she couldn’t even say anything to me.  My humanity showed when all I could do is lift her chin up so that I could see just how important this truly was to her.  Those eyes as deep as hazel oceans where I could get lost for days… those are the two reasons I will be in Aruba.

The more I thought about this match, the more I realized something… I couldn’t have dreamt up a match as perfect as wrestling alongside Vixen on Hadicurari Beach, under the twilight sky as the salty air whistles through the palm trees.  If I could have imagined it possible, I would have listed it as my number one dream match idea as well.



***********************************************************



*GRRRRAHHHHH!*


A faint squeaking noise can be as the struggle ensues.  Sneakers digging into the padding and skid across as the two men struggle against one another.  Skin smacking against skin echoes off of the light gray walls, followed by a sadistic chuckle.  We pan out a bit to see Spike and Jamie Staggs locked up in the middle of a training mat.  Jamie’s face is straining as is his voice, breaking through as sweat pours down his face.  He continues to skid his feet against the mat in his futile attempt to push Spike back more than an inch.  Spike seems less strained, and more focused as Jamie tries to push Spike’s hands off of his shoulders, interlacing his fingers with Spike’s.  He pushes them up and tries his hardest to overpower his brother.  Jamie finally breaks through and spins behind Spike, getting him in a headlock.  Jamie seems all too proud of himself until Spike scoops his slightly smaller brother up and falls back against the mat with him.  Before Jamie knows what has hit him, Spike laces his legs between Jamie’s and sets him up for a Sharpshooter.  Before he even gets there, Jamie taps out against the mat.  Spike drops his legs as Jamie mutters obscenities that are barely heard over the sound of the ventilation fans going inside of Staggs Dungeon.  Spike stands up, wiping at his forehead as if he was as sweaty as Jamie, but it was more for his brother’s sake than his own.

Jamie:  Screw you, scro… It’s so unfair that you still got it when you haven’t been in the ring in, like… months.

Jamie rises up from the mat, more embarrassed than he would like to admit.  He covers it up with anger and annoyance as he shakes his head in a hidden sense of shame.  Spike pats his back, but Jamie shrugs it off dramatically, refusing to look at his brother.  Instead, he looks over to his nephew, Tim, who is holding a five month old baby with colicky blonde hair, napping while Eden watches the baby, trying to be quiet, but she can’t help squeaking with joy.  He sighs and turns around to Spike, ready for another round.  Spike stares at his brother as if to ask him if he were serious, raised eyebrow and all.  Jamie holds out his hands, ready to lock up, yet again.

Spike:  I need a water break, Jamie… From the looks of things, so do you.

Jamie:  Like hell I do.  Show me what you got, Spike.

Spike shakes his head as he walks over toward a cooler sitting on a weight bench.  He pops it open and grabs out two bottles of water.  He opens up one and tosses the other to an unamused Jamie.  Jamie lets it fall to the ground in front of him, staring a hole through his brother.  Spike cocks his head to the side curiously.

Spike:  I’m sorry I was thinking of your health.  I will try to be a little less empathetic next time…

Jamie:  I don’t know why I agreed to do this.  I get embarrassed every time I train with you while you go on to beat someone else.  I hate being reminded that I’m the weakest link in the Staggs Family Tree…

Spike goes to argue, but is caught off guard by Jamie’s choice of words.  He should be used to this by now, but somehow, Jamie always says the one thing that surprises him every time.  Spike walks a little closer to his angry brother, cautious to approach this situation delicately.

Spike:  You are definitely NOT the weakest in the Staggs Family.

Jamie:  My psychotic wife left me… twice.  She dropped Sean in my lap one day and walked out of the door and I haven’t heard from her since.  I can’t ever seem to win a match, if I’m lucky enough to get booked.  Everything sucks, and the harder I try to get back into the game, the worse things get.  And then I look over at my son, and I already know I’m going to fail him.  I can’t do anything right, not even counter a standard tie up…  And you sit here inside of your own gym with awards and title histories and everything that I will never have.

Spike simply holds his hand up in Jamie’s face.  Jamie goes to push it out of the way, but Spike doesn’t relent, placing the other over his mouth.  Jamie growls from under the hand, ready to bite it like a rabid dog.  Spike slowly brings his hand away from Jamie’s mouth, holding a finger up to insist on Jamie’s momentary cooperation.

Spike:  Do you remember what happened in GXW?  I was put out of action and stripped of the World Championship when Mark busted up my knee.  I came to you to capture it.

Jamie:  You asshole!  Why would you even bring that up to me right now?  I lost it to a *air quotes* metrosexual geriatric who wears more make up than Misty.  That was the most embarrassing thing I have ever had in my career, and I D*ck’d people for a living!

Spike bites at his bottom lip, trying not to infuriate his brother more.  He allows him his time to steam up, because he understands the pressures his brother is going through more than anyone.  He slowly nods his head until he sees that Jamie is calmed down.

Spike:  Okay, but you are missing the point here, brother… I came to YOU to carry on the Staggs legacy.  I trusted you enough to follow in my footsteps and hold that title for another 6 months or more.  I trusted you to perform at the same level, or higher, than I did by taking on some of the toughest wrestlers in the company, and you came within inches, literally inches, of winning that match, and the title.  If I am honest, you came closer than I could have.

Jamie rolls his eyes as he concedes to Spike, leaning down to pick up the bottle of water.  He unscrews the cap, downing half of the chilled bottle in a second, sighing before taking another small sip.

Jamie:  I might be stupid, but I’m not fuck-tarded, Spike… You are just saying that so I will go back to being your punching bag, or your little pawn.

Spike:  Pawn… what?!  First off, did you just name off a chess piece, as well as use it as a euphemism?  I’m impressed.

Jamie:  I been reading books without pictures lately.  I wanna be able to help my son with his homework past kindergarten…

Spike raises his eyebrows in pleasant surprise.  He nods his head with a slightly proud smile on his face.

Spike:  Well it shows.  Now, back to the point…  You are anything but a pawn to me.  You are my brother, my best friend, the best uncle in the world to my children, and a great father in the making.  Not to mention that, if you put your mind to it, you could take the game of mindfucking to a whole new level that would make me out to be nothing.  I’m a little batty, that is no secret.  You have a keen ability to make people underestimate you while screwing with them.  If you could work on your arsenal of moves, I think you could take down the best of them.  Even me, if I’m honest.

Jamie:  For reals?  I mean, you really think so?

Spike simply nods his head with a bit of a smile spread across his face.  Jamie wraps his arms around his brother for an embrace.  If this were a cheesy sitcom, the live audience would have let out a resounding “Awwwwwwww…” with sad and sweet music playing in the background, and the whole bit.  However, this is not a sitcom, but a Staggs Family moment, and those never have “awww” moments.  Instead, we hear a slow clapping sound coming from the door, getting louder with each footstep coming closer.  The two brothers slowly look over to the side to see this intruder.

Tim:  Uh oh… ummm… maybe I should… change the baby?

Without giving any time for an answer, Tim scurries away to the bathroom.  Eden chases after her brother, grabbing onto the back of his shirt to tug upon it.  He mutters back at her to stop and follow him, but she grunts in aggravation.

Eden:  But Timmy!  How can you change the baby when the diaper bag is over there?!  And you just changed him five minutes ago!

Tim shushes her as they disappear into the locker room area.  Slowly but surely, Erik Staggs walks into the picture, still slowly clapping his hands.  He is wearing his usual blue dress shirt with a gray suit and tie.  His perfectly polished black loafers squeak with each heavy, confident step he takes.  As we spin to the side slightly, we see Erik grinning while Jamie and Spike both look less than thrilled to see their uncle there.  Erik finally stops clapping his hands, letting out an arrogant laugh as he looks from one to the other, and back.

Erik:  It makes me happy, knowing that the gym I partially funded is being used for brotherly love.  But no, seriously… I came to talk to you about something, but I didn’t realize Jamie was here as well.

Spike:  That’s a good thing, because he will stop me from shoving my foot up your ass… with all due respect, uncle.

Spike matches Erik’s arrogant, goading smirk with one of his own.  This causes the corners of Erik’s eyes to crinkle in a false sense of delight.  Erik pat’s Spike on the shoulder gently, chuckling under his breath as his eyes look over to the silent Jamie for just a second.  He looks back to Spike as they lock eyes.

Erik:  I suppose you could try, my dear boy.  But that doesn’t mean I won’t crack your skull open before you even got your foot close enough to my ass.  I guess when you don’t have a bunch of talentless hacks following you around your entire career to make you look better, you actually have to learn how to wrestle!

Erik’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth at his own zinger.  Spike narrows his eyes at Erik, reaching over gently to dust off his uncles left shoulder.  He then moves over to the next shoulder, doing the same thing with a bit more detail, picking a piece of lint from it before abruptly grabbing onto his uncle’s jacket, pulling him in as close as he can get him.  Erik seems more shocked than anything as he senses a bit of fear as Spike lifts him up so that the tips of his toes barely touch the mat.  Spike grits his teeth as he glares into his uncles widened eyes.

Spike:  State your business, Erik!  If it is only to piss me off, you have achieved it, and you can get the FUCK out of here right now!

Erik:  Come on now, Spike… Just think of how disappointed Vixen would be if she couldn’t team with you because you forced me to press charges against you.

Spike:  You don’t EVER mutter her name again.  Unless you want to see me get reeeeeeeallllllllly pissssssed…

Spike’s voice trails off into a low toned growl as he furls his brows, bringing his uncles nose to his own.  Erik starts to pull out his phone, but Spike lets him go, having achieved what he sought out to do.  Erik shrugs it off as if it were nothing, trying to hide the fact that his phone was ever out of his pocket.  He straightens his jacket out and clears his throat to regain his composure.

Erik:  I came here to check on my investment.  I figured it would be nice to see a student or two in here, but apparently I helped pay for an NXT training facility and not a wrestling school…  If that is how it is going to be, then I expect you to buy out my portion.  Otherwise, I would start recruiting students here… paying students.  I don’t invest in anything that doesn’t make me money…

Spike:  I can hardly get my own NXT team to train with me because I don’t take shit.  What makes you think I could do that with total strangers who just like the idea of wrestling more than committing to it without scaring them off?

Erik:  I don’t care how, but I want to see money out of this within the net month, or I will be stepping in and somehow I don’t think you would like that too much…

Spike cracks his neck and smirks the most fake smile he can muster up, causing Jamie to giddily await the ensuing fight.  Spike folds his arms across his chest, looking into Erik’s eyes.

Spike:  You must be a mind reader, uncle…  You will get your money.  Count on it.

With that, Erik turns on his heel and walks away, studying the state of the gym with a bit of disgust.  He shakes his head as he disappears through the door, allowing it to slam shut behind him.  Jamie looks over to Spike, seeming a little disappointed not to see at least a small scuffle.  Tim and Eden poke their heads out of the locker room, seeing that it is all clear as the scene fades out.


***************************************************



The Power of Love

”Ahhhh-ruba, Jamaica... Ooooh I wanna take ya… Bermuda, Bahamas… come on pretty mama…  Dammit!  I knew it! I just knew it!  Seeing the gorgeous beach for the first time ever, and I have a cheesy Beach Boys song stuck in my head…”

Spike’s voice echoes through his head as he looks out of the window of the rental car as he pulls up to the Marriott Aruba Beach Resort off of Hadicurari Beach.  He nearly rear ends the car in front of him as he seems a bit star struck.  He slams on the brakes just inches from their bumper as the valet attendants works their way through the line of car.  His eyes are locked on the beautiful white sand that lines the crystal blue water that sparkles under the bright summer sun.

”I have got one hell of a match coming up, but I have never seen such a sight before in my life.  I can’t keep my eyes off of them.  This is the same calming effect I get when I look into Vixen’s eyes.  Except her eyes have a much greater depth to them, like oceans of gentle brown with gold specks…”

Spike glances over to the passenger’s seat to see Vixen, who is almost as mesmerized by the beautiful sight as Spike is. In the back seat, his children are clamoring for the best spot to see the gorgeous ocean view.  He smirks momentarily before hearing a horn honking behind him.  He snaps back to reality for a few seconds to pull the car forward a few spaces.  The hotel is now blocking most of the view, but this doesn’t stop Spike from drifting off into deep thought once more.

”Lately, there has been something different about her.  It is almost as if the roles had reversed.  She nearly killed two people at Sumer XXXTreme II, and the only thing that stopped her was gazing into my eyes as I was pulling her away from what could have turned into life in prison.  I have seen the hotheaded French side pop out from time to time, but lately, it is as if my own Dark Passenger had laid an egg inside of her head, and she doesn’t know how to react to it.  I have dealt with my own blood lust for the better part of my life, but Vixen?  She has had but a mere month with this, and it is driving her insane.”

Spike’s face almost seems to void itself of the joy it had proudly displayed moments ago.  He pulls forward one car length as they continue to wait.  Spike gently taps his fingers against the steering wheel in what appears to be an act of annoyance with the wait, but is actually his way of sorting out his thoughts.

”There is no real benefit of two psychopaths who are around one another constantly.  This is a recipe for disaster, but somehow, it works out.  At least thus far, we have seen tremendous results.  But what happens if we both go on a war path at the same exact time?  What would stop both of us from turning innocent people into a pile of blood and broken bones?  Especially if Brother Grimm brings my children into the equation as I’m sure he will.  This is the main reason I have decided to bring the children with us, so that I can keep an eye on them, and protect them from the Boogeyman.  I won’t hesitate to ripe his throat out, letting that sick, sadistic smile take over my face as I revel in it.  Vixen will be so preoccupied with tearing Necra apart.  No one will be able to stop us, not even ourselves as per usual.”

Spike pulls the car forward now and an attendant approaches the car.  Spike gets out of the drivers seat as the attendant opens the back door.  He moves over to open the passenger’s side door so that Vixen might step out.  She grabs onto a gym bag as Spike pops the trunk.  A bellhop begins loading the suitcases onto carrier at lightening speed as Spike opens his mouth, speaking to him, but his words of appreciation go unheard to us.

”Wouldn’t it be a shame to stain this beautiful sand red, or black, or whatever color these supernatural beings bleed.  Leaving their filth strewn about this lovely paradise location seems like such a waste.  But what can I say?  If there is no one left to protect them from the reptilian beasts digging their sharp, disgusting talons into our brains, then you might see our mug shots on the five o’clock news.  Just imagine the murderous Bonnie and the dark, debonair Clyde, making out for the cameras to see just how insane we have let each other become.  The idea sounds… almost appealing at the moment. Of course, I have to remain in control of my emotions, at least for the better part of this match.  It is time that I returned the favor to my beloved.  She has stopped me from appearing in Charles Manson-esque mug shots all over the Clark County, Nevada circuit more times than I can count.  Let’s see if I still have the ability to keep my own thirst in check.  Unfortunately for Brother Grimm, he gets to be the guinea pig in this little experiment of self control.  Though, I’m not sure I could imagine many other people who deserve it more, save for perhaps my uncle, or Giani Di Luca...”

Vixen:  Spike?  Spike?!  Earth to Spike?  Are you there, darling?

Eden:  Daddy had his thinking face on, mommy Vixen… My mom must have called him mean names or kicked him in the nards again…

Everyone looks over to the precocious raven haired girl as she shrugs with a hint of red coming from her cheeks.  Tim giggles at the suggestions while Vixen folds her arms over her shoulders, stopping the flow to the hotel lobby. Spike slowly comes back to reality again, staring at his family while seeming unsure of what the sudden fuss is about.

Spike:  Wait, what?  You act like I forgot a birthday or something… Wait, I didn’t do that, did I?

Vixen:  No, but Eden seems to think that her *air quotes* mother… has called you names, or kicked you in the… mmm hmmm…

Spike sputters out a surprised laugh as he tilts his head to the side, staring at his daughter in even more confusion than before.  She hides behind her brother as if she thinks she might be in some sort of trouble such as having her dessert privileges revoked for the night, as is so important to children of her age.  He lets out a warm smile that lets her know she is not in any sort of trouble.

Spike:  Why would you think that?  I haven’t seen your mom in a very long time.

Eden:  I know, but ummm… you just look like you did after the wedding.  I remember it even though I was only four then.

Spike isn’t quite sure how to react to such a statement as he holds his arms out toward Eden.  Her worried expression fades a bit as she wraps her arms around Spike’s shoulders.  He lifts her up, planting a kiss on her cheek for reassurance.  She nuzzles her head against his, seeming to calm down a little bit.

Spike:  You don’t need to worry about me, honey… It’s my job to worry about you, not the other way around.  I just have a lot on my mind is all.  I haven’t wrestled in a long time, so I’m a little nervous about it.

”Such a perceptive little girl I have.  She is more like me than I had ever thought possible.  Let’s hope the similarities continue appearing in my favor.  Better that than turning into her mother…”

Eden buries her face in Spike’s shoulder as the sun has nearly faded off into the horizon.  Vixen holds onto Spike’s right arm as they approach the lobby doors.  She looks at him with a bit of concern spread across her normally hard to read expression, cunning like a fox.  Spike looks ahead as the greeter opens the doors, politely greeting the family with a genuine smile as he recognizes them.  He holds his arm out, inviting them in as Spike nods in appreciation.  The lobby is dimly lit, giving it a very charming, calming effect.  The desk is to their right, just mere feet from a fountain that leads into a small brook circling an indoor gazebo.  Spike admires the unique feel as he leads his family to the counter.  Vixen looks up at Spike, making sure she has his attention.

Vixen:  Tend to the kids, I will check in for us…

Spike nods his head as he sets Eden down on the ground.  She immediately runs over to the fountain, Tim following her.  Spike slowly follows as well, but allows them their space for exploration.  He simply leans over the wooden railing next to the water, thinking to himself.

”Now just seems so… right.  Waiting so long has never worked for me in the past.  Wrestling with my gut instinct is just something I refuse to do any longer.  I need to do this.  I…

Vixen sets her hand on Spike’s shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts as she holds up the room key.  Spike nods as Eden comes circling back around to them, wrapping her arms around Vixen’s waist, eliciting a strange yelp of excitement as she tries to steady herself.  She looks back to Spike.

Vixen:  We had some complications with our room.  Apparently they accidentally double booked us with Jamie, due to the last name, but I talked them into comping us with a suite instead…

Spike smirks as his eyes wander about the background nervously.  The bellhop awaits the family by the elevator.  Spike leans in for a peck of a kiss before catching sight of what he had been looking for.

Vixen:  Also, they said our reserved table is now ready for us?

Spike:  Yeah, yeah, I thought dinner on the beach would be romantic, and that is why I’m so glad to see… JAMIE!  How’s it going?

Jamie approaches the two, patting Spike on the shoulder as he silently goads the children into following him.  Spike smiles an awkward smile before taking a deep breath after his long winded, rushed greeting.  He wraps an arm around Vixen as she giggles, hugging onto his side as they walk through the long stretch of lobby.

Vixen:  Spike, are you okay?  You are acting strange today.

”Is that so uncommon…?”

Spike:  No, yeah… I’m fine.  I have just never been to the Caribbean before, and I’m excited to be hear with you…

”Saved!”

Vixen sighs, not completely believing him, but going with the flow anyway.  Spike holds the door open for Vixen, running his fingers over the NXT emblem on his t-shirt, matching her women’s tee.  He soon follows her, grabbing onto her hand, clutching it tightly as they walk across the sandy white beach.  The torches burn, leading a lighted path toward the large cabana-style structure in front of the beachside tables, spaced apart very liberally.  They are met by a man in a suit who needs no introduction before leading him to their table.  It is nearly perfect as the stars begin to glow above them accompanied by a slight orange glow to the west.  The waves gently lap up, coming but a mere five feet from their table.  Spike pulls out Vixen’s chair for her, letting her get comfortable before moving over to his own seat.  Everything was perfect, simply perfect.  Vixen looks across the table, admiring the soft candlelight and the single red rose in a mini vase.  The waiter comes over with two crystal glasses of water.  Spike waves him over, whispering into his ear before he can even say a word.  He speaks very direct as a smile comes over the waiter’s face.  Spike leans back and shakes hands with the waiter.

Waiter:  As you wish…

Spike:  Thank you kind sir.

Vixen leans over, studying Spike’s practically unreadable expression.  She watches the candlelight reflect off of his icy blue eyes, and that barely noticeable upturned corner of his lip, and she leans back in her seat.

Vixen:  You little sneak… I told you, we don’t have to get some fancy bottle of wine every time we go out to dinner…

Spike:  I know, that is why I asked for their best champagne.  It is a very special occasion.

Vixen:  Yeah?  And what might this be?

The French accent tickles at Spike’s ears, causing him to blush a little bit.  He looks deep into her eyes, knowing that he is under scrutiny at the moment.  Instead of trying to be vague, or give the runaround, he laces his fingers together, giving her exactly what she is looking for.

Spike:  No need to sugar coat this… We actually get to wrestle together, as a team, on this beach.  I can’t help it if that seem oddly romantic to me.  Even if we do have to face the bottom of the barrel around here, we get to do it as a team.  Chances are, this opportunity will never come around again.

Vixen smiles sweetly, reaching across the table to grab hold of Spike’s hand.  He runs his thumb over the top of her hand while smiling sweetly as he looks into her eyes.  She looks back into his, and it wouldn’t matter if they were on the beaches of Aruba, or in the middle of landfill… They were lost within each other at this moment.  None of the worries, the doubts, or the other crazy thoughts that plague their minds could contend with this moment.  However, there is one thing that could kill this faster than anything…

Pussy Willow:  Spike!  Vixen!  You made it.  Oh my god, I was so worried we wouldn’t be able to get word from you.

Spike takes a deep breath, clearly annoyed as he looks over to see the busty blonde running across the sand as if she were Baywatch on fast forward.  She takes a deep breath as the chunky cameraman tries catching up to her.  She rests her neatly manicured hand on the table as she catches her breath and waits for her cameraman to arrive.  Spike purses his lips, nibbling on the inside as he stares daggers through Pussy.

Spike:  There couldn’t be a worse time than now, Ms. Willow.  I say this with all due respect, but we are clearly in the middle of din…

PW:  Yes, but the deadline for promo interviews is just a few short hours away, and this match is one of the highly touted ones of the night.  I was hoping to get some thoughts.

Spike takes a deep breath as he unfolds his napkin.  He places it over his lap as he shakes his head in what might even be disgust.  He turns toward Pussy and stares at her blankly for a moment before licking his lips in an attempt to calm down.

Spike:  What is there to say?  Brother Grimm is some nursery rhyme peddling idiot who is being teamed with the Goddess of Death who can’t even manage to hold on to a title meant for bra and panties style matches.  You have a former Bombshell AND Bombshell Roulette Champion here, and the current ACW Women’s Champion.  Then you have got a former 2 time N-W Explicative World Heavyweight Champion, and one of the longest reigning SCW Heavyweight Champions teaming with her.  We aren’t some flash in the pan wrestlers like our opponents, and our own personal relationship will only strengthen our chances of walking out with the win.  I feel like I've said everything about this guy already, like in another life or something, so there just isn't much more to say… Now if you will excuse us…

PW:  That is a very good point.  Now, Vixen… What are your thoughts on facing the Goddess of the Dead?  Are you…

*AHEM!*

Spike:
 Excuse me!  I gave you our collective thoughts on the matter, and we are *trying* to have a nice, relaxing dinner here.

PW:  Just a few quick words is all I need…

Spike growls as Pussy circles around the table to get closer to Vixen, who seems about half as annoyed as Spike, which is still a dangerous amount.  Vixen takes a deep breath, composing herself for her die hard fans.  Spike begins quickly shaking his head in the negative as the waiter approaches the table.  He clearly doesn’t see this as he sets the wine glasses on the table.  He pours one glass and hands it over to Vixen, and then pours the other for Spike, who simply sinks down in his seat.  Vixen takes a small sip from her glass, setting it down on the table.

Vixen:  As Spike said, I believe… I…. what is…?

She squints as she studies her glass of champagne, seeing the bubbles clinging to a diamond ring that is settled on the bottom.  She furls her brows in confusion for a second as she looks over to Spike.  He sinks down in his chair in a bit of embarrassment as his face is visibly red.  Pussy sees this and she slowly retracts the microphone.  She looks to Spike very apologetically as she steps back a few feet.  Spike sucks on his bottom teeth as his eyes flare up for an instant.  He scoots his chair out, rolling his eyes at the camera and at Pussy before he bends down on one knee, in the sand.

Spike: I… I know this is far from perfect.  Nothing is ever perfect, except the time we spend together, with the family, or just the two of us.  I love you, the kids love you… I just can’t imagine life without you.  I hope the feeling is mutual, but I refuse to wait around and go back and forth within myself about why I should or shouldn’t do this.  I refuse to take it back down.  My undying, death defying love for you will never go away.  I can’t come up with the perfect words for this imperfect proposal, so I’m just going to cut to the chase… Vixen?  Will you marry me?

Spike reaches into the glass, pulling out the ring.  He dunks it in his glass of water and then wipes it off on his shirt.  He holds it out so that the diamond sparkles in the moonlight.  He looks up into her eyes as she bites onto her bottom lip, trying to comprehend exactly what is going on.  He takes a deep breath, accompanied by one from her…

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Fade to… BLACK!

30
Climax Control Archives / Deadline
« on: July 20, 2013, 03:14:41 AM »
 The Deadline for CC 56 has now passed

31
Character Building Roleplays / Shooting Straight (LOTR RP)
« on: May 22, 2013, 01:39:29 AM »
 ”It has been one wild roller coaster folks.  I have been at the lowest of lows… So low, that I hope no one in the world ever has to feel that low.  I have been at the top of the world, at points feeling like I might never come down.  Those, of course, were not the parts that have made this journey so spectacular.  It was the twists and turns that have made this, quite literally, the ride of my life.  I have sailed across the seas of… unique… relationships.  I have travelled down the road of parenthood twice.  I have been the fans most hated asshole and most revered superstar.  I have worked dark matches for promotions where you could hear crickets chirp, and I have sold out stadiums across the globe.  I have made the best of friends, and the most bitter of enemies, and it feels like the ride is has just started…

I have decided to take this time to cut out all of the extras, and just shoot straight with you all.  With that said… Enjoy the show…



We enter the home of Spike Staggs.  The lights are shining brightly through the windows on this warm spring day.  In the background, you can hear the laughter of children, and the sultry French-Canadian accent that presumably belongs to the Xtreme Bombshell, Vixen.  They joyful voices echo in from the back yard.  We pan inside further to enter the kitchen area.  The sienna walls are lined with various family photos and random pieces of art that might evoke an abstract mind.  Sitting at the long table in the open concept dining room connected to the kitchen is none other than the man of the hour, Spike Staggs.  In front of him is the NWA World Heavyweight Championship.  He is wearing his usual sunglasses, a plain white t-shirt, and an NXT emblem choker chain around his neck.  He looks deep in thought, despite the joyful sounds coming in from the outside.  He has his hands in front of his face, tapping his index fingers softly together before sighing.

Spike:  It is no surprise that I have been called a rather theatric performer over the years. I have been a fan of the shock approach.  Whether I want you to love me, or I want you to hate me… I know the right way to really make my actions stick in your heads.  It is what I am known for.  While this is normal for me, I have decided to skip the theatrics this time around.  I am just going to shoot straight with you all…

Spike looks straight ahead at the camera.  He pulls his sunglasses off of his face, revealing his cold blue eyes.  He sets the glasses down on the table next to the NWA title.  He focuses his stare for a moment before continuing.

Spike:  This match against Nick Jones has been a very… very… VERY long time coming.  The fans of the NWA have been pining for this, some calling it a “dream match”.  Nick and I have a very sordid history… Some of it has been good, but most of it has been filled with lots and lots of bad blood.  Every time I turn around, Nick Jones wants to bitch and moan about how he is better than me.  He wants to say I cheated him out of the SCW title seven months ago.  But, anyone who knows how to use a computer can see that this is the furthest thing from the truth.  I beat his ass all over that ring.  He tried to pin me to the mat, but he could NEVER!  Our first SCW encounter, he has Mark Ward disqualify me because his little buddies decided to get involved, and my buddies came in for damage control.  They shoved his guys into him, and I got disqualified…

Spike pulls out his cell phone, giving a quick glimpse of the video on Youtube.  Rather than letting the whole match play, he fast forwards the feed to reflect his statement from before.  Satisfied with his proof, he sets the phone down on the table.  He runs his finger over the screen as he continues on.

Spike:  Our second encounter saw us going toe to toe once again.  I must admit that we kept it pretty even, but in the end, his buddies tried every little trick in the book to stop me from winning the Heavyweight Championship.  They tripped me up from outside of the ring.  They set his foot on the rope to break up pins.  They distracted the referee, and even “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward flashes his tanned buttocks to Christian Underwood so that it wouldn’t be seen that his guys were trying their damnedest to stop me from doing what I ultimately did.  I overcame the odds, and I still beat Nick Jones.  I could do it again, too.

Spike shows another clip that reflects what he is saying.  This time, he lets it play through the entirety, and just as he stated, so it happened.  Spike stops it after a while, and he slides the phone back into his pocket and his face reflects a new level of intensity that has not yet been seen from Spike.

Spike:  Since that first encounter, I have defied odds.  I have proved to everyone who ever called me a joke, that they are nothing more than stupid fucking dipshits.  Occasionally, I stumble upon someone who is extra idiotic, and they think I am some push over.  They all find out the hard way that this simply isn’t true.  Look at the list of people I have defeated over the last year, and you will see.  The only way to defeat me is to royally screw me over.

Spike quickly blinks twice as he pauses.  He licks at his lips as he prepares to spit venom.

Spike:  And that has been done at every motherfucking twist and turn.  It all comes down to one single attribute, of course…  “Hot Stuff” Mark Motherfucking Ward…  I won a World Championship in GXW back in 2005, and I was undefeated.  Mr. Ward couldn’t stand the fact that I was on the verge of eclipsing him, so he severely fractures my leg.  When he opened Sin City Wrestling, he brought me back so he could embarrass me.  When he failed, he made it his personal mission to fuck me over at any and every opportunity.  Even when these Team Wars started between him and Christian, and my uncle, I joined Team SCW.  I fought to protect the integrity of his company.  I thought for one split second that things had changed, but they did not…

Spike shoots his icy stare back to the camera, focusing in on the lens as if he could somehow murder “Hot Stuff” with a simple glare.

Spike:  One of Mark’s buddies got a shot at me, and he couldn’t defeat me on his own either, so he spit poison in my eyes, and still couldn’t get me down until he hit his finisher due to the distraction.  Did Mark reward me for trying to save his company?  Nope!  Did he even offer me a rematch?  Fuck no!  Should I ever expect to get a rematch?  Very unlikely…  Now I know I said I was cutting out all of the bullshit, but there is a point… I promise you.

Spike cracks his back and then pops his neck very loudly.  Even though the joyful noises are coming in through the window, Spike seems to be completely focused still.

Spike:  I have been used, abused, screwed over, looked down upon, and turned into a joke despite defying the odds.  No matter what I do, someone wants to make a buck at my expense.  I have been beaten down and defeated outside of the ring, where I never thought it would count.  Everyone from “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward to Mr. Batee to the pimple faced teenager at the local 7 11, and everyone in between, has taken me for granted, or screwed me over, or tried to take away what is mine.  When I want a Slurpee at midnight, I have to deal with the pizza faced prick.  Everyone else can fuck right off.  Nick Jones can fuck off.  “Hot Stuff” can fuck right off.  Mr. Batee?  You guessed it!  What does that mean?

Spike strokes his chin carefully as he pauses for dramatic effect.  He looks behind him to see the children running around with Vixen.  Vixen stops and puckers her lips up at Spike, gaining a momentary smile from him in the process.

Spike:  What this means is that my match against Nick Jones will in fact be the huge blockbuster everyone has been waiting for.  Do you know why?  The answer is simple… It is because it will be my last match ever.  While I have put my all into my career, and I have put on the best performances that I possibly could… I just can’t do it anymore. I have been beaten down by one too many people, and I won’t do it anymore.  I refuse to become the asshole I was seven years ago.  I won’t be jaded, and this is the only way I can ensure that it won’t happen.  So, win or lose… June 1st, 2013… I will be officially retiring from wrestling.  I don’t like you, Nick Jones… and I know the feeling is very mutual… but let us put on the most amazing show we possibly can.  Let’s blow the motherfucking roof off of the Bellagio… See you at Lord of the Rings…

With that, Spike picks up the NWA title and sets it on his shoulder.  He gets up from his seat at the table and walks over to the back door.  After a second, he opens it up to joins his children and his lovely girlfriend and we fade out… TO BLACK!







OOC:  Sorry this RP was rushed, but real life has been kicking my ass over the last two months and every time I think I couldn’t lose any more free time… Well, ya know.  Thanks to everyone for giving me such a wonderful opportunity, and sorry it was short lived.

Special thanks to Mark and Brad for believing in me!

32
Character Building Roleplays / Transmission of Unknown Origin
« on: May 06, 2013, 06:43:06 PM »
 
QUOTE
DISCLAIMER: The following is an audio transmission received just moments ago.  It has been requested to air immediately so the Sin City Wrestling community might be “warned”.  Contains sounds that might suggest themes not suitable for children.



I… I had a vision.  In that vision, everything was red.  Gorgeous, crimson beauty surrounding me.  And then I heard the cry of a child.  It… it asked for my help…

<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/AwzaifhSw2c" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>



I… I told him that I couldn’t help because I didn’t know where I was.  I had been lost for thirty years in the deceiving light of the sun.  I was forgotten and alone.  Just like Him… I was forsaken.  I finally found my place amongst the shadows, bathing in the pain, the anguish… the life of those who have spilled it in the name of the false one.  The ignorance of the self-righteous pricks!

A faint, almost child-like laugh is emitted through the speakers abruptly, repeating for a few moments as her taunting voice picks up once more.

You sheep have no fuckin’ idea.  That is what is so wonderful about it.  You feed Him with your celebrities, your rock stars, your porn star sluts, your big fuckin’ egos, and you wonder why these shitty fuckin’ things happen in this world.  Corruption!  It is all about the corruption!  This wasn’t supposed to happen for another three hundred years, but your greed, your pride, your lust, your envy, your rage, your sloth, your gluttony has sped up the process.  And now you have to deal with me.  It is inside each and every one of you ever since the fig fell from the tree, repressed by the blood of the innocent, just waiting to crawl out of your putrid gourds…

It is time.  I have arrived now.  You don’t want to see what I can do.  Now that I know what I am… WHO I AM!  Listen up, pigs!  AND so it has BEGUN!  The name is Lilith… bow before me you sexy, filthy fuckin’ fuckers!


With that, as the music fades out, we are left with the child-like, high pitched laughter of the woman who is taunting at the very core of our existence.


//End of Transmission

33
Supercard Archives / Manifesto of Madness
« on: April 25, 2013, 08:31:20 PM »
 April 22nd, 2013

Charity:

The idea of charity is not always derivative of donating money.  Sometimes charity is taken a step further by taking actions.  Sometimes it isn’t enough to write a check to pay for your sins.  Sometimes, action and compassion are required… Ahhh, Compassion;  This is something that I have been losing a lot of lately.  My proverbial “Give-A-Fuck” Meter has been in the red for months now.  I go out there, do what I do best, and walk out as a dual champion.  I have fought the odds as long as I could, but the odds are becoming overwhelming.  I am starting to see people as nothing more than obstacles to get over, with only a few exceptions, such as my children, NXT, and my girlfriend.  You can only abuse that cute little puppy before he turns into a rabid, blood-thirsty beast.  The motivation for this is that we all want to get ahead in this cut-throat world.  We will take whatever we want from whoever we want because we are a nation of greed.

Humility:

Am I the only person who knows how to practice this virtue?  I look forward to a match with nothing on the line but one of my titles, and a whole hell of a lot of pride.  I try to show humility to any opponent I encounter, but nobody ever accepts the handshake and warm wishes without spitting in my fucking face.  I can only take so much of it before I fucking snap.  I can only let so much go without reacting before I lose it and go ape-shit on somebody.  We are so caught up in our own pride that we are consumed by it.

Diligence:

This is something I have always practiced, no matter how much of an ass I was.  I always believed in a cause, and I always fought for it regardless of who else fought by my side.  Often times, I stood alone, but I have always been persistent.  I always stuck by my ethical code.  As I evolved as a person, so did my code.  It got me this far, but only because I hung on to them by the skin of my teeth.  I am growing tired.  I am growing wary of everything around me. Looking around in this sport, it seems like I am the only one who holds true to honor, dignity, and the virtues. I am beginning to wonder why I even bother.  We are dishonorable because we are lazy… (Sloth)

Chastity:

We all know I have never been a chaste person, if I had one vice, it would be lust. After all, I never claimed to be a saint.  Allow me to substitute one trait that falls within this realm that I truly believe to be a virtue of God… Trust; Can I really trust anybody?  It has been said a hundred times that I have a big red bulls eye painted on my back.  Better yet, I have felt the knives whirring past my head in every attempt to take away what I worked so hard to earn.  Members of my family have turned on me.  Both friends and past acquaintances have thrown knives at me lately.  I can only find reverie in solitude.  But I am beginning to wonder if I can even trust myself… I don’t want to become like I used to be.  I want to remain a role model for my children, and to be a better person in general.


Temperence:

Self control… Honor… JUSTICE!  These three things are missing from wrestling today, and their absence sickens me.  All we want to do these days is play nice with people until we see their weaknesses.  We are like cockroaches… snakes even.  We strike at times that are only opportune for ourselves, grinding the honor of our opponent into the ground.  This is sad.  It disgusts me beyond explanation.  We have become lazy, and gluttonous.

Kindness:

Where is loyalty in wrestling today?  When I left the business back in 2009, even if you were considered a low-life, you respected your peers.  You may not have liked them, but you generally respected them.  You gave them the courtesy to at least punch them in their fucking face instead of racking their nuts when they weren’t looking.  Okay, I am being a bit lenient here… It wasn’t as common.  If you wanted to hurt someone, you did it in a somewhat honorable way.  Now, it is the cool thing to ruin someone’s reputation in this business.  We want to take what others have only because we envy them.  We don’t want them because of what they represent; we just don’t want someone else to have them.  This is where I gain a bit of satisfaction.  People like Nick Jones or Jordan Williams, legends in their own rights… they want what I now have because it is something they don’t have.  Whenever they utter my name in discontent, it is because I am top dog now.  Gentlemen, green is not your color…

Patience:

Over the last several months, I have represented this virtue in spades.  I have let people trample over my name with their filthy fucking mouths.  I have let them get away with stabbing me in the back, or kicking me between the legs, because it showed their weaknesses.  I have listened to people call me a loser.  I was under the impression that losers didn’t win.  At least that is the subtext.  If I didn’t win, I wouldn’t have two championships, top regional, and top world levels on my shoulders.  SCW title has been present for nearly 6 months now, and the NWA title will have been defended twice in a few short days, successfully I am betting.  My point is that I have showed a lot of patience, but that patience has worn thin over the last couple of weeks.  I have been fighting a losing battle with myself in this category.  Wraith is taking over… and I’m in love with the feeling.

In ways, all seven of these heavenly virtues have been present within me since SCW’s inception.  I have worked hard to fight with honor, dignity, justice, and integrity.  Have I been perfect?  By no means.  Each day I live in the city of sin, the seven deadliest of sins are trying to consume me.  You don’t want to see what happens if they do.  It is an ugly sight.  Unfortunately, the likelihood of a glimpse of the old Spike just might rear his ugly face, and my desire to stop that from happening is practically non-existent.



************************************************************************


April 23rd, 2013

As I sit here today, I can feel the pressure weighing down on my chest.  It feels like, any second now… my ribs are going to give way.  I can almost feel them cracking.  I can hear it as my mind shatters into a thousand pieces.  Like glass breaking against the cold hard recesses where my heart should be.  Am I losing it?  Or have I finally, TRUTHFULLY, found it?  I can’t be sure that there is an answer to that because I can’t be sure of anything.  Are you off your fucking meds, Spike?  You’re God Damned right I am.  Wait, I took them this morning.  Who remembers?  Surely not me.  Why are you looking at me?



************************************************************************


April 24th, 2013

I am driving myself crazy and I can’t stop it.  As I sit here with my angel deck in hand, I shuffle them, feeling them glide between my fingers.  They move effortlessly, interchanging position with one another.  This has become my saving grace, relaxing me for a moment.  The stories they tell, and the guidance they give me has lead to a serene feeling this afternoon.  I know what I must do, and I know how I will get there.  With two titles on the line this weekend, the stress levels are high, but I can’t let it get to me.  I must persevere.  That is what I have done all along, and I will continue to do it.  The angels are telling me that they have an important message for Jordan Williams, but they say I’m not ready to relay it just yet.  Could this mean that they know it is my time to overcome the veteran?

Surely it must, but I can’t stop wondering.  I am not ready to give up my SCW championship.  I don’t want to, and I won’t do it.  After what Jordan did to me at the end of the last Climax Control, he doesn’t have the honor that I have tried so hard to restore and reflect with this championship.  He has proved nothing to me, other than the fact that he is nothing more than the children running around with Team Erik.  He is a sneaky, cowardly, jealous pussy and that is not the type of person we want leading Sin City Wrestling.  With this war going on right now, we have to make sure that those who aren’t sided with Erik have some kind of ethical values.

We haven’t done that great of a job so far.  Outside of NXT and Sinful Obsession, we have the slimy, slithering, painted Goth.  We have the self-entitled, rambling prick known as Kain.  They can’t get along with one another to function as a team.  No one can trust Mark.  The only people who can are the ones that have dicked him over in the past like Jordan Williams, or a man so obsessed with himself that he can’t see past a reflective surface, and neither of them even believe in what we are fighting for.  I fight for what I believe in, and I believe in the foundations, the traditions, and the practices that encourage hard work, ethics, and integrity.  Those values are present with Mark and Christian.  They are not with my uncle.

How can I be confident that this war is worth fighting anymore?  Team Erik has numbers, and they have instilled doubts in everyone’s minds.  Whether we like it or not, they are winning.

I can’t trust anyone going into this match against Jordan.  I simply cannot.  I can’t predict any real outcomes, because the ideal of good prevailing over evil is being thrown out of the window right before my very eyes.  I will fight this battle alone if I have to, even if it costs me… everything.



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April 25th, 2013
Video Entry


We focus in on the flickering of a candle.  Its flame dances with the persuasions of the light breeze circulating throughout the room.  The fragrance coming from the candle is almost intoxicating.  There are various small stones set out around the candle.  These gems almost glow from the light of the candle.  Upon further inspection, there is a deck of cards, blue with golden celtic weaving around the edges.  They are spread out in an arched line, bowing out away from the chair.  Heavy footsteps are heard from outside of the room.  They get louder as they approach, and soon they stop.  The door handle rattles a bit before the old door creaks open.  The footsteps start up again, this time it is much louder.  There is a faint clanking noise reminiscent of chains as a shadow appears behind the chair.  The legs of the chair screech as it is slowly pulled out.  The shadow steps around and sits down in the chair.  From the light of the candle, Spike Staggs face is seen.  He is wearing a somewhat devious grin as he chuckles.  He scoots forward in the chair and his hand reaches in to grab a translucent white stone.  He grips it in his hand as he closes his eyes.  He goes into an almost meditative state as his lips move, allowing whispers to escape them.  His eyes eventually open up and his smile returns briefly.

Spike:  Welcome.  I have asked the angels for their permission to video tape this reading, and they have agreed.  As I stated yesterday in the manifesto, they have a very important message for Jordan Williams.  The angels have chosen me as their oracle, although I am fairly new to this, so bare with me…

Spike reaches in with both hands, sliding the cards together toward the center.  He sweeps them up into his hands and begins shuffling with the stone still in his hand.  He closes his eyes and begins mouthing something else.  As we pay closer attention, we see he is repeating the name, “Jordan Williams”.  After a moment, one of the cards falls from the deck. Spike’s eyes shoot open as he heard it.  He smiles and sets the rest of the cards off to the side.  He rubs his hand over the small crystal and then he looks down at the card.  He slowly flips it over and studies it in the shroud of darkness.  He spins it around and slowly slides it out into the camera’s view.  Red borders the white angel holding her hand up toward a radiant, heart-shaped star.  In Celtic lettering, it reads Divine Guidance.

Spike:  Jordan, the Angels are trying to tell you that they are there for you.  They have seen you through these tough times.  Divorce caused by your many infidelities.  Your excursions with a taken woman in hopes of stealing her away from her boyfriend.  The treacherous attack on me… the angels want you to know that, even though you are a piece of shit with absolutely no business being anywhere near something as prestigious as the SCW Heavyweight Championship… they are still there for you.  Isn’t that special?  But wait, there is more…

Spike smiles as he speaks in a calm, soothing voice.  He allows the card to sit there.  He picks up the deck of cards and begins shuffling them once more.  He feels them gliding effortlessly between his fingers.  He looks up at the camera as his mouth still makes the motions of his opponent’s name being spoken.  He looks down at the deck as if he were cued to do so, and he pulls out another card.  He looks at it, taking a moment to really soak it in.  He seems a bit taken aback by it.  He slides it out in front of the camera, next to Divine Guidance.  It has an image of a woman crying on a set of steps with an apparition of an angel behind her, touching her shoulder.  It reads, Guardian Angel.

Spike:  The love of your angel is unconditional, Jordan.  They know that every action has a consequence.  Again, your divorce with Vanessa.  She got tired of being treated like shit, so she divorced you.  Odette saw you for the player you were, so she humiliated you in front of the world.  The same way that I will humiliate you for being the slithering snake that you are.  You will be resorted to a slobbering, sobbing mess.  But rest assured, your guardian angel will be there for you as you take those pain pills and get those stitches.  They will be there…

Spike nods his head in a very reassuring manner.  He rests his eyes on the deck of card, just looking at them and waiting for something.  He finally gets his answer and he picks the card back up.  He shuffles the deck one last time, very vigorously.  You can hear the whispers repeating.  “Jordan Williams… Jordan Williams…”  He keeps shuffling them and shuffling them until he feels satisfied.  He stops and looks at them before one catches his eye.  He nods his head and pulls it out, looking at it for only a second.  His eyebrows furl up as he studies it carefully.  He slams his fist against the table, shouting “DAMN IT! NO!  NOOOO!”  He looks up at the ceiling in an angry tone.  He shakes his head as he tosses the card onto the table.  There is an image of a female angel holding a bouquet of flowers and a solemn look on her face.  Below it, the card reads New Beginnings.  Spike growls as he gets up from the chair.  He gets in view of the camera, widening his eyes as his nostrils flare up.  He sits there, seething as he looks into the camera silently.  After a moment of this, he points back to the table while never breaking his stare and he shouts “NO!”  He shoves the camera down and it falls to the ground.  It continues rolling as Spike is seen pacing back and forth, with his hands running through his black spiked hair.

Spike:  Why?  WHY!?  How could you do this to me, I told you I was trying to be a good person, I really REALLY did!  How can you take this from me?  I will fight it. I WILL!

Spike flips over the table in a fit of anger as he lifts the camera back up.  He takes several shallow breaths as he raises it up and points it down.  He looks up into the lens, showing off the damage he has done to the room.  His eyes show intensity as he stands there, trying to get a grip.

Spike:  The only new beginning you will see is reincarnation, Jordan.  I will defeat you.  I will humiliate you.  There is no way in FUCKING HELL that I will stand back and let this one slide.  You attacked me like a bitch.  I will treat you like a bitch, Jordan!  I will do it.  I’m not a fucking joke… I’m not!

Spike stumbles a bit as he sits down in a chair.  He tilts his head down and runs his free hand over his hair once more.  He smacks himself on the side of the head a few times to collect himself.  Once he feels a bit more calm, he slowly looks back up into the camera.

Spike:  I have worked too fucking hard to let some old has-been who can’t even commit to a serious cause that his best friend is so adamant about.  It is because you are selfish, Jordan.  You don’t care about anyone but yourself.  You stepped on me to get back into the wrestling world by using NXT to build your credibility back up.  You stepped on our backs to get further ahead, and then you climbed onto Mark’s back.  You used him, then you used Odette to win back some popularity, and you can’t give any of us the fucking courtesy of a “Thank You”?  You are a snake, and I won’t let anything, not even the Heavens, stop me from blocking your path.  You don’t have anything it takes to be a champion.  You still won’t even back your best friend… who you stabbed in the back for a bit of notoriety… and that is a damned shame, man.  You are pathetic.

Spike takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down as he can’t seem to shake the look of disgust from his face.  He grunts as he clinches his eyes shut.  He keeps them closed for nearly a minute before finally opening them.  The intensity hasn’t left one bit, but he seems closer to normal that he had moments before.

Spike:  If the angels think you are worthy of such a new beginning as they say you are… you will have to make it a true new beginning, Jordan.  No more being a backstabbing sack of shit.  If, and that’s a big fucking IF, you can beat me… you will have to make sure you have the guts to lead an entire company.  Can you be a role model?  You are going to have to find out quickly, because Hostile Takeover is just a few days away now.  Just remember… you have to get through me first.  Be prepared.

Spike takes a moment to look into the camera, showing how serious he is.  The flame of the tipped over candle is raging underneath him, casting an eerie, sinister glow on his face.  Finally he looks down away from the camera and we slowly fade out… TO BLACK!

END FEED


///The preceding was a written documentation of days leading up to the present.  All parts were written by the same author, one Spike Staggs.  In no way was the video portion edited by Sin City Wrestling, the National eWrestling Alliance, or any affiliates.  This was an independent work, published by Gen-X Wrestling Inc, and does not reflect the views of it, or subsidiaries.  Please refer all questions, comments, or concerns to the author of this manifesto.

34
Archived Roleplays / Freedom
« on: April 20, 2013, 05:32:40 PM »
 My time in St. Louis helped me to realize what needs to be done.  This Mister Nice Guy needs to disappear.  I am tired of getting raped at every corner I turn.  Whether it be schedule mix ups, or young punks named Kevin Carter who want to take away what is mine, or someone like Jordan Williams who takes advantage of a slight lapse in judgment… it comes down to me looking like a fucking fool, and that stops right here… right now.

The past two years, I have made it my mission to watch other people’s backs.  I have been looking out for the best interests of everyone around me, but who has had my back?  Nobody is exactly right.  I have been nearly stripped of my SCW title, had schedules mixed up on me twice, dropped on my head, smacked with a chair and pinned in a match that, in all rights should have been a disqualification, banned from competing in a match I was rightfully admitted into, framed for a beat down on somebody while having my locker room trashed, and verbally smashed by people who only wish they were good enough to come near either of my titles.  I had taken the majority of it in stride, but I am tired of looking like an idiot.

I am not the champion of my region, AND of the world, because I am this spineless, dishonorable piece of shit that everyone is making me out to be.  Call me lucky all you want, but it wasn’t by luck that I won and defended my NWA World Heavyweight title.  It wasn’t by some coincidence that I have held onto the SCW Heavyweight title for over five months.  I have earned every single one of my accomplishments, and I’ll be damned if I stand idly by and allow it to happen.  If Sean Jackson is good enough to beat me, then he is going to get me at my best.  He gets to meet the real Spike Staggs, the monster that has been dwelling inside of me, begging to be let out, even just for a few moments.  The insatiable bloodlust from within me will get a small taste, Mr. Jackson.  That is a promise…



**********************************************************************


Today, the sun has prevailed on this beautiful day in St. Louis, Missouri.  The birds are chirping, basking in the warm reverie of Spring time.  A gentle breeze wisps by as the families flock to the world famous zoo in Forest Park.  The joyful squeals of children echo throughout the parking lot.  Off to the right, a little league team plays baseball on the small diamond as their parents competitively cheer them on.  Just behind them, children fly brightly colored kites with their friends and family.  All in all, it is a perfect day to be outside.  Just about fifty feet away, Spike is seen sitting on a concrete wall, enjoying the shade and the crisp breeze that comes along with it.  He has his feet propped up as he lies across the upward slope of the wall.  His eyes dance across the scene unfolding before him, wandering over to his 14 year old son, Tim, and his 5 year old daughter Eden.  He watches as his ginger son chases his daughter around the green field before him.  She is carrying a Frisbee, but rather than throw it, she simply runs from her big brother, squealing in delight.  Spike slowly lifts his sunglasses off of his face and tucks them into his shirt pocket.  He dangles his black boots off of the side of the wall as he sits up.  He soaks in the joy of his children that he has missed so much with being on the road.  He watches as Vixen comes into the fold, playfully shouting with them as she chases them around in a circle.  Eden turns around and hands her the Frisbee and runs far into the distance, shouting for Vixen to throw it.  Spike’s lip curls up into a smile as he leans his head back to observe it.

Spike:  Sometimes, you just have to take a step back to really enjoy what you find most important to you.  My family has always been, and will always be, number one to me.  I am fortunate enough that my children have grown up in this business, and they understand.  I miss the opportunity to tuck them in at night.  I miss the opportunity to hear their laughs.  The last four weeks have been hell for me in that respect.  Finally, I have the opportunity to truly unwind and spend time with those most important to me.

Spike eyeballs Vixen and the kids to make sure they aren’t looking right at him.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter.  He breaths it in deeply, enjoying the bittersweet tingle in his lungs.  He holds it there for a moment before slowly exhaling.  He leans back slightly, holding the cigarette between his fingers as he leans off of the wall.  He drops down to the ground, leaning against the six foot wall.  He takes in another puff before turning to face the camera.

Spike:  I have been criticized for allowing my children into the spotlight.  I have been told I use them as a storyline.  Sue me if I have pride in my creations.  I love them more than life itself.  I might have had my issues in the past, but my children make me a better person.  It is because of them that I feel like I have a reason to be an upstanding person.  Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to convey to them how to be strong, integral, and independent.  For them, I feel like I must undergo another metamorphosis.

Spike takes another long drag from the cigarette, flicking the ash off of the end before exhaling a big cloud that gleams silver in the sunlight that pokes through the budding leaves of the trees surrounding him.  He kneels down as the camera follows him.  He takes in a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the fresh cut grass around him.

Spike:  No more Mister Nice Guy from here on out.  Being naïve has never been my forte.  I was much better off when I only trusted people as far as I could throw them.  If I haven’t spent a great deal of time around someone, the chances are, I will take my eyes off of them.

Spike kicks his feet out, trying his best to conceal the cigarette from his children who run in his direction.  They swerve, shouting to get his attention.  “Dad! DAD!” He smiles and waves at them as Vixen winks in his direction.  Spike chuckles a bit as they circle around the tree and back onto the field.  He slowly brings the cigarette back to his lips, taking in another puff before he continues talking through the exhaled cloud.

Spike:  Right now, I don’t trust my opponent Sean Jackson.  Out of any opponent I have faced in recent years, he is the one I will have my eyes wide open for.  Does he have talent?  Yeah, he does.  Does he have intelligence?  Minimal, but yes.  Does he lack common sense?  Hell yeah he does.  I understand trash talking your opponent as much as the next guy, but damn son…

Spike takes the last long drag from the cigarette, putting it out in the nearby grass.  He savors the last bit of smoke, holding it in a few extra seconds before slowly releasing it.  He slides the butt into his pocket as his eyes wander back to the camera.

Spike:  Let me speak to you directly, Sean.  I’m not good at talking about someone because I like saying things directly to them.  Since it is in your best interest to stay hundreds of miles away until we meet up in ACW, I have to settle for talking to a camera, visualizing you are right in front of me… You are poking a sleeping lion, and you think it is funny.  I know your type, Sean, and you want to get a rise out of me.  Everyone likes to get a rise out of good old Spike Staggs.  I have to ask you something, kind sir...

Spike leans forward; his eyes wide open as he pauses for emphasis.  His joyful expression melts from his face as it is replaced by a very stern, serious look.  He takes in a deep breath, doing his best to stifle his anger.

Spike:  Is it funny?  Do people think it is humorous to piss me off?  There seems to be a lot of that going on around me, and since you are the mind master, please answer this for me…  Are you a masochist, son?  I can understand the first few people thinking they are tough shit, so stuck in their own little world that they don’t pay attention to the asshole before them getting their ass handed to them.  I get that, but what I don’t get is why every stupid fucker lines up to throw shots at me like I were some outcast in high school that the populars like teasing, only to get their heads bashed in ever… fucking… time!

Spike shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head in a mimicked confusion.  He rolls his eyes, sighing as he leans back against the wall.  He takes a moment to adjust his demeanor, refocusing on the matter at hand.

Spike:  I find it pretty funny that you think I am like the suits that run this company, Sean.  I find it fucking funny, as a matter of fact.  You come around, making accusations, telling me that I am this, and that I am that, right after accusing me of doing the same fucking thing.  Let me tell you something, Sean…

Spike slowly stands up and the camera follows him.  He stares deeply into the camera, showing off the intensity of his eyes.  His nostrils flair up as he tenses his body.  He takes in a few forced breaths before continuing.

Spike:  You don’t know a fucking thing about me.  At least I admitted I don’t know you.  I know your type, but I don’t know you.  See, you act like you know my whole life story, which if you looked hard enough, you could find it in paperback now.  You think you can get inside of my head by comparing me to Brad fucking Batee.  You think you can get to me by talking about my girlfriend?  You want to go on down the line and insult every fucking person I ever came in contact with?  Go right ahead, Sean.  Beat around the bush some more.  Tell me I am worthless.  Tell me I rely on suits to win matches.  Bring up the fact that I *air quotes* LOST to Spectre.  Ignore the facts, man.  Prove your own fucking ignorance without me having to say one word.

Spike stretches his arms out to the side, popping them loudly before doing the same with his neck.  He begins walking forward toward the blacktop walking path, stepping into the sun.  He walks as we follow him along the way.

Spike:  The truth of the matter, Sean, is that I abided by the rules through my entire match against Spectre.  I played it clean, because ‘thems’ the rules.  If I wanted to play dirty, I am no stranger to extreme, hardcore, backyard, underground, bar room brawl-style fighting.  I would have knocked Spectre out in three hits and put him through a flaming table if it were allowed.  The fact stands that they were not.  Spectre bashed me with a chair when I wasn’t looking.  He should have been disqualified for doing that, and I would have walked away with my title.  Instead of whining and complaining about it, as I am sure someone like you would do, I spun him around and I knocked his ass out…

ONE! *clap*

TWO! *clap*

THHHREEEEE!

With one final clap, Spike continues walking again.  He has an almost wicked smile on his face now as he continues on.  A child runs a few feet in front of him with a dog on a leash.  Spike pauses just long enough to let them get some distance before starting back at his original pace.  He looks over to his side at the camera as he moves along.

Spike:  Batee can take credit for restarting the match, and claim that he is the sole reason I am still the champion, but the fact of the matter I that he helped me save face.  Instead of walking out with a win by disqualification, I walked out with a pinfall victory.  If you think that I don’t pay attention to what is going on around me, then you are the fool, Sean.  You and Batee might think I am his champion, but I am the World’s champion.  I am not owned by anybody.  Of course, you will find that out come next Sunday.

Spike comes along to a bench now to bask in the sunlight.  He has the perfect view of his children and girlfriend now, watching as they frolic around together.  The joy of watching them mixed with the anger boiling within him is shown as a purely stone-like expression.  He studies the scenario a bit more, stroking his chin lightly in his silence.  He straightens out his black jeans, removing the annoying ruffle as he speaks again.

Spike:  And then you want to talk about blindsiding a champion who had no idea he was supposed to defend his title.  You have the nerve to call me out for the way things went down with Spectre and I, yet you went way below the belt by doing what you did to him.  He came out to promote the match he and I were about to have, and you put a knife in his back.  If you are trying to lecture me on honor, then anything you have to say on the subject is falling on deaf ears.  Pot calling the kettle black?

Spike shakes his head, baffled by the claims of his opponent.  He offers a soft chuckle at the ridiculousness as he lifts up his shirt just a little bit.  He shows off the NWA World Heavyweight Championship belt, giving Sean one last look at it before their meeting as a silent warning that it will never happen.  He brings his shirt down with a cocky, devious smile on his face.

Spike:  Each second that passes makes me want to kick your ass that much more.  Hearing the hypocrisy that comes spewing out of your mouth makes my blood boil.  At no point have I ever agreed to get help from Batee.  As a matter of fact, I don’t want it.  I don’t need it.  See, the reason I asked you to meet me in the real world is because you are so delusional, dumb, naïve… I haven’t figured out which of those yet… and you jump to all of these conclusions about me.  When I asked you to join us in the real world, it was a legitimate request.

A gust of wind sends leaves blowing past him on the bench.  Another crowd of children, carrying balloons and stuffed animals from the zoo, walk by, chattering with each other as they move along.  Next, a bicyclist rides by on the path, but Spike hardly pays them any mind as he is focused on the task at hand.

Spike:  Your head is so far up your ass.  Am I repeating myself?  Yes I am, but that is because you just… don’t… get it!  I am the best in the world, and you couldn’t hold a candle to me.  I find it heartwarming that you believe you are.  It almost makes me sad that I have to crush your dreams, but I am not done realizing mine.  You are right about one thing, though.  I knew I could beat Jack Kraven.  I was even more sure that I could beat Chris Xtreme.  The difference is that I could, and I did.  Call me a cocky prick, but there is no way in hell I will ever let you beat me.

Spike gets intense as he goes along with his rant, poking his finger into his chest as he speaks.  He is leaned forward on the bench, his eyes and nostrils are nearly the size of saucers as he pauses.  He takes in a long, deep breath as he tries to calm himself down a bit.  He closes his eyes and moves his lips as if he were counting to himself before slowly opening them to speak once more.

Spike:  I called myself your nightmare, because I am the one who will shatter your preconceived notions of this sport.  I will take you to your limits, and I will make you feel pains that you never though possible.  I am making it my mission to make you regret coming up against me, and I will make you wish you never tried getting inside of my head.

Spike knocks on the side of his head for emphasis.  He straightens his back out, popping it as he leans back on the wooden bench casually.  He places his hands on his knees as his eyes darken.  He relaxes his posture a bit before flicking his tongue across his lips, getting a sick joy out of the demented things he is beginning to imagine for Sean Jackson.

Spike:  Now… as for your claims about my girlfriend…

Spike’s eyes wander over to Vixen who is still running with the kids.  As if she knew he was thinking of her, she looks back to him and gives him a heartwarming smile.  He forces one of his own in return, but as soon as she looks away, it turns even darker than before.  Spike lets out a bellowing laugh and then quickly covers his mouth to stifle it.

Spike:  I’m sorry.  Is it unprofessional for me to laugh?  Better yet, am I going to be in the dog house for laughing, or even better, what I am about to say?  You must think you are carrying some big balls, don’t you Andy Kaufman?  As if it is supposed to impress anybody that you beat on a woman who is half your size?  Trained military or not, it is still sad my friend.

Spike nods his head along with his statement.  His skin crawls in utter delight as the demented thoughts continue to pile upon each other.  He flashes his pearly white teeth at the camera as his eyebrows jolt up in ecstasy.  He knows he shouldn’t feel this joy building up in him, but the wait is simply killing him.  However, he controls it as his eyes continue to dance over Vixen as she tumbles onto the ground with Eden.  They laugh as Spike turns back to the camera.

Spike:  Vixen is pretty headstrong about things, I will give her that.  However, where I come from, you don’t hit a lady.  It is disgusting, and it proves just how much of a man you really are.  If it were strictly business, unfortunately the lines are rather fine in this line of work, but you enjoyed it…  You must be awfully proud of yourself for it, aren’t you?  You busted her open.  You made her bleed and the thought of it makes my blood boil.  I didn’t say a thing because it was Vixen’s decision to get involved with BACW, and I have to respect her decision.  See, it is one thing to get through the match and win because that is what you were booked to do.  To take things as far as you did speaks volumes about your character.  Where I come from, people would line up to take turns kicking you in the balls, because you don’t deserve to have them.

Spike pulls on the crotch of his pants to emphasize his point.  He gives them a couple jiggles before letting go and leaning forward.  He scoffs at the thought of Sean Jackson being a member of the male gender, leaning back on the bench as he runs his hands over his head, sliding them back over his messy black spiked hair.

Spike:  You brutally attacked her she had to get stitches all over her body.  You thoroughly enjoyed it, and it makes me fucking sick to my stomach with just how despicable you are, Sean.  And the icing on the cake is that you are bragging about it!  You really, truly do make me sick.  I will take pleasure in manhandling you to the point that you beg me to stop. I want to hear you plead with me, Jackson.  The thought of doing so makes me feel all tingly inside.  And that is all because you are a creep.  You are despicable, and I will make sure someone like you doesn’t get to represent this company as their World Heavyweight Champion.  I will ruin you, and as long as I am the champion, I will make sure you never lay a finger on MY championship.  Not to mention that I have been waiting for the time when I could get a match against you to treat you the way you treated Vixen.

Spike watches as his children come running in his direction from across the long field.  They shout out for him in excitement as Spike gives one final thought on the matter.

Spike:  This match is more personal than any match I have competed in recently.  I am dying to get in the ring with you.  I am itching to kick your ass all over that ring.  I long to watch the crimson regrets pouring out of your body.  I yearn to hear your screams of pain.  But most of all, I am looking forward to putting you exactly where you belong… back in the shark tank after I pin your shoulders to the mat for the three count.  If I have it my way, you will be on the verge of a career-ending injury.  But I won’t destroy you, because I want to see if you learned your lesson.  I will see you on Sunday, Mister Jackson…

Just as Spike says this, his daughter comes crashing into him, nearly knocking the breath out of him with her velocity.  His mood changes like the flick of a switch as he begins laughing with her.  Vixen comes up to them, her chest heaving as she smiles.  She sits down on the bench next to him as his son reaches the bench. Eden begins incoherently chattering on about something as the scene fades… TO BLACK!


***********************************************************************


Whether she likes it or not, I will avenge her.  I will avenge my own honor by proving to the world that I am not a champion because of luck.  I get to kill two birds with one stone.  I am counting down the days, Mr. Jackson.  The opportunity to achieve your greatest dreams is ticking away.  Your days of hopes and dreams are numbered.  If you don’t believe me, let’s consult the angels, shall we?  Let us see what the cards have to say about you and your chances of winning this match…

Interesting.  What have we here, but the “Freedom” card.  The angels never have a negative message to convey to the reader of the cards.  They have put it in a delicate manner.  You are free, Sean.  You are not to be saddled with the weight of being a World Champion.  You are free to do whatever you please, whenever you please without failing anyone.  You feel trapped by life conditions.  By drawing this card, the angels ask you to realize that you are your only jail keeper to surface in your own life.  Everything that you do in your life involves choice.  You are free to choose and choose again.  Ask God and the angels for guidance in your choices, and they will show you alternatives.

The angel cards are always peaceful and positive, and they never put things in a negative manner.  Unfortunately, I am not quite as positive.  This card means you WILL fail.  It means that you better start making a back up plan for what you are going to do after I humiliate you.  It says that you fucked up royally by pissing me off, and you better pray to God that I can stop myself from putting you on the shelf, son.

In other words, you don’t stand a chance…  If you want to live under the delusion that you do, then by all means, please continue.  It only means that when your dreams come crashing down on top of you, shattering into a million pieces, that you will feel the crushing blow of it that much harder.

I look forward to meeting up with you in the ring, Sean.  I have been waiting for a very… very long time.  Good luck, because you are damn sure going to need it…

35
Archived Roleplays / YOUR Fk'n Nightmare!
« on: April 16, 2013, 08:43:37 PM »
 Out of Control!

Spike Staggs was livid following the taping of Climax Control in Bogota, Columbia.  Every ounce of his being wanted to be excited for Vixen winning the NWA Cruiserweight Championship, making them SCW’s and NWA’s only Golden Couple.  He wanted to hold her hand up in victory, leading her to the back with a glass of champagne in every New X-Tremes member’s hand and toast to her incredible feat.  Perhaps the fact that he couldn’t control his temper enough to do these things for Vixen was fueling his anger into something dangerous.  The walls were closing in around Spike as he felt like he was going into Hulk mode.  Each breath becomes harder to take than the last one, and he is seething.  He stops and smashes into a wall out of frustration, growling as he tries to get a grip on himself.  He strains to take in a deep breath, but it has absolutely no effect on him.  He works his way down the hallway until he reaches a door marked “Erik Staggs”.  As much as he tries to refrain from it, he throws the door open, finding Erik sitting in the chair, enjoying a moment of silence after his eventful evening.  He is surprised to see Spike, but that quickly changes to a look of panic when Spike lunges over the desk, grabbing onto his jacket and lifting him up out of the chair.  He pulls Erik in as they stand there, nose to nose.

Spike:  YOU!  You piece of SHIT!  How dare you pull that shit on me of all people!

Spike doesn’t expect his uncle to shove him back into the door, cracking his spine against the edge of it.  Erik straightens out his jacket while taking in a deep breath to calm himself down.  Spike looks as if he is about to attack against when Erik spears him into the door once more.  Spike fights his way back to his feet, and Erik stands at the ready, waiting for Spike to make another move.

Erik:  How dare you come in here and attack me, Spike?  How fucking dare you?  After all I have done for you?  When nobody else wanted to deal with your bullshit, who took you and your brothers in?  Who raised you?

Spike:  ME!  I raised myself and my brothers.  Just because you put a roof over my head after my parents died, that doesn’t give you any right to claim raising me, Jamie, or Tommy!  So why don’t you cut the concerned uncle routine and admit that you are nothing but a dirty, bottom feeding rat who rode on the coattails of my father, and then me…

Erik’s eyes widen and he lifts a hand up in the air.  Spike gets a masochistic grin on his face while laughing.  He leans forward, putting his cheek out for Erik to smack.

Spike:  If that’s what you gotta do to make you feel like you matter, then go ahead and do it.  Bruise up my face like you did when you *air quotes* raised me.  Find what makes your life mean something and quit chasing after what two people created, trying to claim it as your own.  Stop trying to run this company, and me, into the ground!

Erik:  You always were, and always will be, a spoiled little brat who likes to play the pity game.  Was I perfect guardian?  Admittedly I was not.  Was I better than a good old fashioned St. Louis foster home?  You bet your ass I was!

Erik lowers his hand to his side, but his menacing demeanor remains the same.  He and Spike stare each other down very carefully and silently for quite a while.  Spike leans back, popping his spine, and then his neck.

Spike:  This all boils down to one thing, uncle… You have never been the best.  You haven’t ever been a well known champion.  No one ever talked about you in your entire career because you were overshadowed by my father and…

Erik:  Your father was the Tiger Woods of the Indy feds way back when.  Your precious father was a cheating, lying, neglectful piece of garbage who was lucky to have married such a gullible woman as your mother who only found out a decade after it all started.  He stole the spots from the person who carried him on their back until the day he died, and that’s the honest truth, Spike.  If I didn’t feel like I had to clean up his messes, I would have been where you are right now.

Spike:  Make another excuse, because I was the one who raised my brothers in every way other than financially.  Whether you admit it or not, you have no real excuse for pulling all of this shit.  You are just lashing out at everyone because your wrestling career was shit, your looks have gone to shit, and your personality is shit.  Basically, you are shit and I’m tired of you punishing me because I have been able to make something of myself.

Spike turns toward the door, but something inside of him beckons him to stay for a response.  Most of what Spike is saying is rooted in truth, but a part of him wants Erik to assault him so that he comes in violation of his contract, thanks to “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward’s advice.  Erik quickly catches on, as both men are no stranger to mind games.  Instead, he meets Spike with a smile.  He walks up, gently patting Spike on the shoulder.

Erik:  Without my training, you would be shit, too.  I did what your father could never do… I motivated you.  I paid for your training.  I put you up in Germany.  I motivated you and your brothers, and you are the only one who has never thanked me for it.  You are an ungrateful little prick who is so self-righteous that you can’t even see them spinning their webs of lies and deceit in all of your heads.  You don’t deserve to be branded as a double champion.  Do you know what you do deserve?  You deserve a wake up call, and Kevin Carter will be the one to give it to you.

Spike grips onto the door handle, shaking with rage as he tries his best to control it.  He shakes with rage as he tries to make himself leave.  Every part of him wants to walk out of the office right then and there, but he manages to calm down just enough to not wrap his hands around his uncle’s throat.

Spike:  You just can’t stand the fact that I would slaughter Kevin in the ring.  This is all about your need for control.  You want to punish me and cost me the SCW Heavyweight or the NWA World Heavyweight Championship because I didn’t side with you.

Erik:  Before you even continue, that was strictly for your benefit.  I was trying to be a god uncle once again… and once again you spat in my face.  You will see a day where you regret that decision…. whether you know it or not.

Spike shakes his head, turning around as he walks out of the door, slamming it behind him.  His uncle stands at attention for a few more moments before sighing and taking his seat at the desk as we fade.


*******************************************************************


That last line stuck with me…

In case you don’t follow Sin City Wrestling, the management ruled that my title wouldn’t change hands via a count out.  That is good news, isn’t it?  I would say so.  I will walk into Parade of Champions as a double champion.  It is a sign that if you do what you feel is right in your heart everything will work out in the end.  Well, most of the time.

My uncle tried to take something away from me, and he failed.  He was right about one thing.  As many problems as he and I have, this little Civil War of SCW has made me question why I side with Team SCW.  It has turned into several attacks against me, with nobody to back me up in a gang attack setting.  I spend every minute of every day looking over my shoulder.  Not only do I have the SCW Heavyweight and NWA World Heavyweight Championships to look after, but I have to watch my own back twenty-four seven…  It isn’t just against Team Erik members either.  My latest challenger for the SCW title decided he wanted to make a statement last week.  He and I took out some assholes who thought it would be a good idea to try ganging up on me.  Do you know what happened next?  He hit a cheap shot on me, dead center of the ring too.  He laid me out, which is a position I have started to become acquainted with.

I can’t lie and say I am happy about that.  Honor in wrestling is dead.  Nobody respects a proper challenge anymore.  It has become a game within a game.  Your abilities are only a small part of the equation.  The rest of it is getting inside the heads of your opponents, attacking them like a little p*ssy from behind when they aren’t looking.  You have to give yourself an edge outside of the ring, or else somebody else will come along and tear you apart.  I know because I have been there.  If you are asking yourself if I just admitted that I used to be a p*ssy, then yeah, I was.  It makes me sick to my stomach when I see people walking around, claiming they earned something when they haven’t done a fucking thing but kiss ass and lick the bosses nutsack.  That is something I have never done, and will never do.

However, I have to admit that, if there is one thing I respect about my NWA challenger for this month, Sean Jackson, it is that he doesn’t do that.  He and I have that little bit in common.  We go against the grain and we stand up for what we believe in, regardless of what others think about us for doing so.  The reason I refused to stay with the mind games and the backstabbing is because I refused to be like everyone else.  I pride myself on sticking out in one way or another.  However, I stuck with it because I believed very strongly in it.  That all ended on April 14th, 2013 in Buenos Aires, Argentina in the final seconds of the show.  I heard the fans cheering as I fell down to the ground.  I heard their excitement as I, the man who has devoted the last nearly two years of his life to building up this company, fell down to the ground after a cheap shot by a geriatric idiot named Jordan Williams.  In a way, it was like a wake up call.  I have to look out for myself, and I will do just that when I head into Parade of Champions.


******************************************************************


Ah, the war of seasons, that very indistinct line between winter and spring.  It is like a war within the Midwest… and winter was winning with frosty temperatures barely above freezing, and the rain just made this return that much gloomier.  Spike Staggs stepped out of Lambert Airport in St. Louis, Missouri, looking for a bit of rest and relaxation after the craziness that has surrounded him over the last month.  He expected to feel rejuvenated being back in his hometown, but the grey abyss of a sky simply makes him yawn.  He zips up his black leather coat over his New X-Tremes graffiti t-shirt and picks up his duffel bag as he continues on.  The chains dangling from the belt loops of his tattered black jeans cling together as he hails down a taxi.  One of many sporadic downpours begins before he can spot an open taxi.  He removes his sunglasses as the rain falls down on him, sliding the earpiece into the slight opened crease of his jacket.  The rain pelts his spiked black hair as he squints as part of his journey to track down a taxi.

”Great… this about sums up my luck over the last month, short of walking out of Grinder with my title still on my shoulder.”

He spots one and begins walking up to it when a man in a business suit jogs out of the doors with a briefcase over his head and a cell phone pressed against his ear.  He flings the door open and slides inside before slamming it shut behind him.  Spike looks annoyed, shaking his head from side to side as he tries to press himself against the concrete brick wall.  The wind changes course and begins lashing at his face fifty times.  He lets out a low tone growl as he watches the taxi that should rightfully be his taking off.

”Fucking prick…  I guess I’m living up to my moniker of Mr. Nice Guy.  How tiring and dull is that?”

Spike places his hand above his eyes to guard them from the rain so he might be able to see more clearly.  He watches as the faint light of the taxi sign lights up once more.  He sighs in relief and picks up his bag once again.  He starts moving over to it as another businessman in a navy blue blazer, holding a black umbrella, bumps right into him, snarling at him as he messes around on his PDA.  He shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath before walking over to the taxi.  He puts his hand on the door handle, but is quickly spun around.  He sees Spike standing there and he rolls his eyes, attempting to turn back to the door.

Spike:  I saw this one first, buddy.

Man:  Yeah, well you snooze, you lose punk.  Go get a job so that you actually have somewhere to be.

Spike:  Oh, I have a job, and it is kicking the shit out of people on Pay-Per-Views all around North America, and recently South America too.  If you don’t want to find out first hand how I became a double champion, I suggest you back the fuck away from this cab.

The man stares at Spike, wide eyed.  It is obvious he doesn’t believe Spike, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is nearly pissing himself because he thinks Spike is crazy.  Regardless of the factors, the end result was that he steps aside for Spike.  Spike nods his head in appreciation and opens up the door.  As he is about to step inside of the cab, he turns back to the man.  He rips the umbrella from his hand and closes it before getting inside of the cab, leaving the man standing there to get soaked.  Spike slams the door behind himself and looks to the buffed up driver who glares back at him.  With a Caribbean accent, the driver asks Spike…

Driver:  Where are you going today, sir?

Spike thinks about it for a second.  The droplets fall from his face as he tries to figure out where to go in the city that was his playground up until he moved to Vegas.  The possibilities were nearly endless for a town that supposedly had nothing to do but ride buses and walk around the airport.

Spike:  Please don’t call me “sir”… it makes me feel like a pompous asshole.  You know, like the rest of your usual clientele you deal with daily?  What’s your name?

Driver:  My name’s Amani.

The driver is stunned yet delighted by Spike’s inquiry.  He flashes his pearly white teeth through his dark ebony lips as he begins slowly merging into the traffic.  Spike taps his chin, thinking curiously as the shimmering water droplets fall from his face and hair.  He thinks over his choice of destination further.  As he watches the rain let up just a bit in the distance against the buildings leading toward the highway, Spike gets his idea.

Spike:  Take me to Historic Downtown St Charles, please Amani?

Amani:  Ameristar Casino, or Main Street?

Spike:  I just came from Las Vegas, so a casino is the last thing I want to see right now.  Let’s go to Main Street, please?

Amani:Yes sir… I mean, Spike.

Spike looks curiously as the driver looks back at him in the rear view mirror.  He didn’t recall giving Amani his name yet.  Amani looks back to the road as he merges onto the busy highway.  His grin is still on his face as they drive on in the rain.  The windshield wipers slap time with a beat that causes the eccentric Spike to bop his head from side to side as if it were a musical beat.

Amani:  You are probably wonderin’ how I know ya name?  Dat’s cause I watch da Sin City Wrestlin’ sometimes.  My frien’s back home tell me all about it so I watch on da internet.  You are Spike Staggs, SCW Heavyweight Champion and NWA World Heavyweight Champion too, ya?

Spike stops dancing to the beat of the windshield wipers long enough to nod his head with a bit of a smirk as his ego gets stroked.  He tries to tone down the dancing so it is less noticeable, but the bobbing is still there.

Spike:  That would be me.  I’m on break before the end of the South American tour, getting ready for an NWA title defense in New Orleans against Sean Jackson.  I don’t really know what to expect… so I am just taking it easy this week.

Amani:  Gettin’ some much needed rest an’ relaxation?

Spike:  Yes.  I don’t know much about my opponent as is usual.  I hear they call this guy “The Mental Rapist”, formally a “Nightmare”.  One in a million, I imagine.  I find it funny because nobody listens to what I say and do outside of the ring.  They think I am some starfucker who kisses the fans asses to pull in money, and I just happen to get lucky and win my matches.  Nobody realizes that I was a mindfuck and a half before I signed up for SCW almost two years ago.  I played the mind games like nobody else, and I loved every minute of it.  Since then, I realized I didn’t need to play those games anymore because I had the talent to win matches on my own.

Spike looks out of the window as they cross the Missouri River, coming up on Fifth Street as the signs reveal.  He loses himself in his mind, telling his story once more so people *might* hear it and stop making assumptions about him.

Spike:  I have proved that time and time again.  Ever since I won the SCW title about five months ago, I have listened to people call me this, and call me that.  They laugh at me and make claims of beating me and taking one or both belts off of me.  They think they are better than me because they think of me as a joke.  It was funny the first three months.  I loved watching their stunned faces, looking up at the ceiling in disbelief as I stand over them with MY titles held up in the air after they got defeated, but frankly it’s gotten fucking old now.  I am tired of the same old speeches.  Every asshole with a Contendership thinks they are going to be the one to take me out.  Five months later, here I am.  Chris Extreme found out the hard way.  So did Spectre, and now it will be Mr. Jackson’s turn.

Amani:  I like seeing you as champion.  It’s like watching a rock star.  Good luck to you.

Spike watches as they arrive on Main Street.  He snaps back to reality, reaching for his wallet from inside of his duffel bag.  He reads the meter and hands a card to Amani.  The driver swipes the card and hands it back as Spike tucks it away.  He hands a small clipboard back.  Spike signs it and reaches forward with a handshake.

Spike: It has been a pleasure sir…

Amani:  Don’t be callin’ me sir.  It makin’ me feel like a pompous asshole.  Have a good day Spike.

He smiles at Spike who shakes his head and chuckles as he gets out of the cab.  He grabs his bag and flings it over his shoulders and then shuts the door behind him. As the cab drives off, Spike admires the old buildings and the cobblestone streets.  The rain barely drizzles as Spike begins walking by all of the old stores and cafes lining the street.

”Parade of Champions 2013 is just around the corner.  It is a chance for one seasoned veteran to stand in the ring with another, trying to realize a dream.  That dream rests just inside of my duffel bag, Sean.  Will you be able to pull your head out of your ass long enough to give me a real challenge?  Or do you think you know me the same way Nick Jones, Rage, ‘Primetime’ Matthew Kennedy, Casey Williams, Blade Alexander, Jack Kraven, Chris Xtreme, and Spectre?  Do you think you will be the one to humiliate me by ending my reign when all of these others couldn’t?”

Spike walks along the street, feeling the eyes burning at him as people stare.  He shakes it off with a smirk as he approaches a door to a small shop called Enchanted Attic.  He walks through the door and the fragrant incense tempts him further inside.  He is surrounded by energy stones, candles, pentagrams, and blessing oils, amongst may other decorative trinkets and books.  Aside from the elderly lady standing at the counter, he is the only one inside.  He walks slowly through the store as he curiously admires the many Wiccan, Buddhist, and alternative Christian items, feeling drawn to the back corner of the store as he is still deep in thought.

”Right now, I have achieved my dream for a second time.  I am living mine, while you wander around in a world of shattered dreams, picking up the pieces to try assembling a newer, jaded version of what you once thought was the ultimate dream in this business. For all I know, you could come out of nowhere and prove me wrong.  You are more than welcomed to try, so long as you can pull your head out of your ass long enough to take me seriously.  That is the difference between us.  I see you as a valid competitor while you think nothing more of me than just a minor hurdle.  Reality check, Jackson… I’m Spike Fucking Staggs, and I just might be YOUR nightmare come Parade of Champions.  Open your eyes and join us in the real world for a minute.  Until then… I will be waiting.”

Spike’s fingers trace over a box on the mahogany shelf in front of him.  He admires the yellow and blue box depicting an angel.  He studies it carefully as his impulses drive him to pick it up.  Prayer cards... interesting.  He reads the back quickly, but doesn’t realize he is already walking up to the counter until he gets there.  He sets them down on the counter as the scene fades… TO BLACK!

36
Climax Control Archives / Up In Flames
« on: April 12, 2013, 02:31:02 PM »
 
I am not one who likes dwelling in the past.  Sure, I could sit here, pissing and moaning about how bad my childhood was, but what is the point?  What good would that do me right now?  At the end of the day, I would still be sitting here, polishing up MY SCW Heavyweight Championship that is sitting next to MY NWA World Heavyweight Championship, reading MY Twitter feed, laughing MY ass off at these jokers who want to put me down, and put my organization down.  And for what?  Because they tried to screw me out of my SCW title, and it backfired on them?  First off, you have my uncle all but denouncing me all over Twitter, saying that his meal ticket, Kevin Carter, could beat me any day of the week.  If that were true, why did he have to single out the one day of the month that I am unavailable for SCW booking?  Why didn’t he come at me for a fight when I would actually be there?  It is because he is a coward, Erik.  He couldn’t beat me on my worst day.  He couldn’t beat me if he barged into my house at four in the morning, waking me up with a chair shot to the head.  It just couldn’t happen, kind sir.  Side note, both of those words are used VERRRRRRRRY loosely.

Speaking of Mr. Carter… Oh, I have got a lot to say about him, but most of that will have to wait for my lovely interview.  However, he said many things about me.  He is more ENTERTAINING than me?  Funny, because when his face winds up anywhere near the fans line of sight, you can hear them yawning between boos.  The asshole gimmick was played out by Blade Alexander.  He is more OVER than me?  Interesting, because people in the locker room are still trying to figure out who the hell this guy is, let alone the fans…  He is BETTER than me?  Like I said before, if this were true, he would have cashed in his title shot on a day where I would actually be there.  He is BIGGER than me? HA!  Literally and figuratively, I tower over him.

And Ms. Andretti… The bubbly little dim-witted blonde from Los Angeles.  We have had many problems in the past with you sticking your nose in my business, my brother’s business, and my ex-fiancé’s business.  Of course, we were on opposite ends of the spectrum at that time, as everyone hated the sight of my face back then.  Then, you come back into our lives on Climax Control last week.  I had to wonder what my uncle told you that would make such a sweet, innocent little girl decide to join up with him.  Then I realized, any idiot could spin a web of lies around you, and you would believe it was cotton candy.  Just know that when he is done with you, he won’t hesitate to have you disposed of very quickly.  Then your shockingly, half way witty jab at me on a social media site from hundreds of miles apart might not seem like such a good idea sweetcheeks.  Unlike my uncle, some broad with an open mouth can’t persuade me to put my neck on the line for her worthless ass.

Now children, I have said this before and I will say it again.  I don’t plaster my every thought and every grudge over Twitter.  I promote my matches and promos, say an occasional thought on a match, and sign out.  I am not a child who thinks it is “cool” or “awesome sauce” to flame others online.  Maybe I am just ”OVER the hill” that way.  Call me old-fashioned all you want, but I prefer to keep the trash talk for my promos, and the ass beating in the ring.  I have never, and will never, back down from a challenge.  Call me a coward all you want, but if any asshole wants to jump in the ring with me, I will put them in their place the way I have for the last year and a half around here and through the NWA.  If not, I will give it all I got, but I will NEVER run away from a fight.  EVER!

I swear I had a point that wasn’t about childish actions.  What was it, what was it…?  Never mind, it was about my uncle Erik, so it actually was about childish actions after all.  If I had one thing that ever bothered me the most, it was how my uncle and I got to this point.  He used to be the cool uncle that would slip you candy when your parents said it was too late for it.  He was the guy who would come over with “WWF: There Goes the Neighborhood” on NES, and play on two player with Jamie and I, letting us win so we felt like hot shit.  How did we go from being best buds to going for each other’s throats?  If he and I could have a civilized conversation, I would ask him that…


***********************************************************************


The young, spiky raven-haired kid sitting in the back row of chairs is wearing a numb expression on his face.  He doesn’t move his head, only his eyes.  Everyone around him is crying in their fanciest black clothing, which for a lower middle-class family, that doesn’t say much.  He is wearing a cheap little black suit with a thin black tie over a pressed white shirt.  His hands rest calmly in his lap as he hunches over, taking in the entire picture.  His mother is wailing loudly next to a display of white roses.  She falls into a much younger looking Erik Staggs’ arms, weeping into his shoulder as he leads her off to a side door with a curtain hanging in front of it.  He can’t help but hear the elegant music playing in the background because it makes him think of a classy dinner party in a big banquet hall, like off of The Shining during one of Jack Nicholson’s famous hallucinations.  He finds it tender and comforting for only a mere minute until he looks around the room of strangers who are weeping.  He spots a five year old Jamie walking with a baby Tommy, holding his hands up above his head, taking it extra slow with Tommy as he whispers words of encouragement.  Spike looks just a little to the left, seeing an elderly man pulling out a padded bar from in front of the shiny black box everyone is making a big fuss over.  The man kneels down, placing his index and middle finger against his forehead, before moving it down to his stomach.  He moves it to his right pectoral, and then to his left before pressing both hands together.  He whispers some prayer as he runs his fingers over a set of rosary beads.  This intrigued Spike just a little bit as he watched the silver cross dangle from the necklace.  Each glossy bead holds onto his attention until the next one comes along.  There might as well be nothing else in the room besides the man, the beads, Spike, and that soothing music.  A few minutes later, a hand jolts Spike back to this past reality, and the young boy jumps.  He looks up at the person the hand belongs to, studying the sweet elderly face of the woman staring back at him.

Spike:  Oh, high oma.

Oma:  My sweet, dear Spike.  My poor boy, come give your oma her hugs, ja?

The thick German accent almost makes it hard to understand what she is saying at first.  Spike lets a faint smile appear on his face as he reaches over and gives her a big hug.  The sweet woman nearly purrs, speaking kind words to her grandson as she caresses him gently.  He sits there as she goes on in words he couldn’t even begin to fully understand as she rubs her fingers through his hair.

Oma:  I never thought I would see the day when mein Robbie would leave this Earth.  No parent ever should, mein kleines Wunder.  Ohhh how you look just like him.  As he looked like his father, and his father looked like his father before him.  Let me see that sweet face, kind.

Spike pulls back for just a moment.  He looks back at her, a single tear forming in the corner of his eye.  She forces a smile on her own face, but she isn’t as successful in holding back the flood.  The overhead light causes her face to become illuminated to the point she almost seemed to glow.

Oma:  It is okay.  Let it out child.  You are far too strong for a boy your age.  The burdens you carry…

Mutter, ist es Zeit… (Mother, it is time…)

She chokes back her tears and gives Spike one last strong embrace, speaking indistinctly in German once more in between sniffles.  Spike nods his head as the elegant elderly lady stands up from the seat.  She walks toward the exit as Spike watches her.  His eyes follow her as she meets up with Spike’s father in the doorway.  Spike smiles slightly as his father tips his top hat in Spike’s direction before the two disappear into a haze of light.  Spike doesn’t have much time to relish in it before a small hand tugs on the sleeve of his jacket.  Spike is sitting sideways in the chair as he slowly looks over.

Jamie:  Tommy pooed his self.  Dumb babies don’t know how tuh use the big boy potties.

Spike:  You just stopped pooping in your pants last summer, Jamie.

Spike rests his eyes on Jamie who scrunches his face up at him.  Spike nudges him playfully, but Jamie doesn’t find it very funny as he slaps Spike’s arm.  Meanwhile, Tommy is fussing as his knees buckle.  Jamie keeps his hands held tightly while pushing his upper lip against his nose in dismay.  Spike sighs and picks Tommy up along with the bright blue diaper bag.  He drags the bag on the way toward the viewing room’s exit.  He shoves his way into the bathroom, on his way over to the changing table stall.  Tommy cries as Spike sets him down on the cold steel table, flinging the bag up next to his little brother.  He clinches his eyes closed as the floodgates open.  He whimpers as he tries to power through the changing.  The door flings open as a low toned grunting is heard, followed by a loud, drawn out sigh.  Spike sniffles, trying to hold it back, but it doesn’t seem to work very well now that his guard has been let down.  He unclips one side of the diaper before letting out a whiny voice as low as he can.

Spike:  Ohhh, Tommy… What’d you eat, a skunk?

Soon after, he hears a familiar voice call out his name questioningly.  He tries to choke it all back, letting out a small whimper.  The door slowly opens as Erik walks in with his eyes planted firmly on the ceiling.

Erik:  Are you okay, kiddo?

Spike wipes at his face quickly and sniffs up what he can to hide the evidence of crying, but it is of no use.  Erik slowly looks down with a grimace on his face.  He pulls off a few pieces of tissue and cleans Spike’s face up before leaning down to his level.  Tommy kicks as he squeals in dismay, but Erik tunes it out for just a second.

Erik: This is the kind of garbage I told them about.  You are not an adult, you are a kid.  You shouldn’t have to change shitty fucking diapers.

Erik sighs, running his hands over his slicked back blonde hair.  He unsnaps the other side of the diaper and winces, making a face as he pulls out a few wipes.  He hesitates for a few seconds longer before getting hands deep in the mess.

Erik:  You should be running around, playing with your cousins, trying to get your mind off of things, not taking care of your brothers.  I should be the one doing this for you after such a loss.

Spike:  It’s okay.  I just miss him.  I read in a book that it’s okay to feel like that when you lose a parent.

Erik:  That… that right there is maturity well beyond your years, and I hurt for you every fucking day I hear you sound more adult than your own parents ever fucking did.  I have half a mind to get custody from her and let you be a damn kid for once in your life.

Spike looks at his uncle with bloodshot eyes as the tears start to dry from his cheeks.  He lowers his head in disappointment but doesn’t make a sound as Erik continues on with his speech.  Erik throws his hand up in the air, looking up and shaking his head in response to what he is saying.  Finally, Spike looks up slowly with a quizzical look on his face.

Spike:  Did I do something wrong, uncle Erik?  If you want, I can run around with Sebastian and Gunter and Jamie, but mom needs to watch Tommy.

Erik drops the diaper in a waist basket as he dusts his hands off for a job well done.  He slides Tommy’s pants up and picks the child up.  He leans down and looks at Spike with a bit of life we no longer see today.  He gulps a bit as he studies Spike’s face, looking apologetic and disappointed at the same time.

Erik:  No, you are just being who you have been taught to be.  The only thing wrong with it is that you haven’t been allowed to properly mature to the age of nine.  You went from diapers to silently wearing the pants in the family.  You are the strongest man in that house, and you always have been, but you should be allowed to be a kid.  If you want to play with them, I will watch Tommy.  It’s your choice.

Spike thinks it over for a moment and then a smile creeps onto his face for a faint moment.  Erik goes to ruffle Spike’s hair, but stops, shaking his head side to side.  Spike pushes the unlocked stall door open and they both move over to the sink.  Erik puts Tommy down and he holds onto Erik’s leg as both men wash their hands.

Spike:  Before I play, I want to see him.  I’m afraid to look all by myself and Jamie won’t look at all.  He’s too scared.

Erik:  Let’s go take a look.  I will be there the whole time.  It is a good way to say goodbye one last time.  If you change your mind, it’s okay too.

Spike nods his head as he grabs onto the towel machine and wipes his hands dry.  He picks Tommy up as Erik does the same, and they both walk out of the bathroom together.  They walk back into the room and Spike would swear to this day that it was the longest walk he has ever taken.  He steps slowly toward the casket, one inch at a time.  Erik puts one hand on his shoulder as they move forward.  Everyone around them whispers to one another as they watch Spike move.  Spike gulps once they pass the chairs, and he looks back to Erik who gives him a warm smile.  Spike looks back to the box and continues walking with Tommy in his arms.  Spike gets to it, but can’t look yet.  His eyes rest on a senior picture of his father.  Spike clams up a bit, wanting to shy away when Erik starts to pull him away.  Spike shakes it off and walks over to the casket, looking on the other side of the roses.  They feather across his line of vision, softening the tone ever so slightly.  He looks down at the pasty man.  He looked like he was wearing lots of make up, but in essence, it still looks like his father, sleeping peacefully.  Tommy’s dark eyes light up as he reaches out.

Tommy:  Dah-dah!  Wekup dah-dah.

Erik purses his lips, showing the same restraint as Spike.  He gently takes Tommy from his arms as Spike places his small hands on the casket.  He looks down as if he was trying to say something in his mind.  He stares there for a total of a minute, but it felt like an hour.  He nods his head, as he and Erik walk off.  Jamie comes running up to them quickly as if he were so amazed.

Jamie:  You looked?!  Whudareyou crazy?  Yer gonna have nightmares for like a year!

Spike shakes his head gently as Tommy looks back at the box, grabbing his hands out at their father’s body.  He fusses to go back, so Erik takes Tommy from Spike to return to the casket.  Spike shows a relieved face.

Spike:  No.  I kinda feel better coz I feel like I get to see him again.  He just looks like he’s asleep.

Jamie:  Nuh uh!  You just want me tuh have nightmares too and I ain’t gonna look!

Spike:  I promise.

Jamie:  Cross yer heart?

Spike:  And hope to die…

Jamie:  … an stick a needle in yer eye?  You really mean it?

Spike nods his head slowly so Jamie understands how serious he is.  Jamie reluctantly turns as Spike holds his brother’s hand.  They walk up to the casket and Jamie puts his hands over his eyes.  Spike nudges him a little and Jamie slowly pulls his hands out like blinds.  He stares for a moment at his father as Spike holds an arm around him.  Erik wraps an arm around both as they pay homage together as a family.


************************************************************************


I don’t know when it happened, but I know that there is no turning back from it now.  What is done is done. Moving on to the present, we have a power hungry jackass who has a large portion of the Sin City roster drinking his Kool-Aid.  He has so many people fooled into thinking he can magically attain power from “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward and Christian Underwood.  I have not heard him come out with any real information that would make me believe it was true.  The only way it would be true is if more and more people step forward and side with him.  Then it isn’t about him anymore, it is about the roster and the empty promises he is making them.  When it is time to cash in those promises, he will find a way to get rid of them, or get rid of you.  That is how he is, and how he always has been.

Never once has my uncle been successful in his career aspirations.  He tried to be a top tier wrestler.  He failed.  He tried to run an underground wrestling company in St. Louis.  Aside from getting some notoriety for a few current SCW stars, he failed.  He tried running a wrestling talent agency that showcased wrestlers abilities once every few months.  After a year… he failed that too.  He tried coming into a wrestling management role where he was sure he would be successful with two of the hottest wrestlers from five years ago.  What happened there?  He failed, so he through a big baby fit and started organizing a rebellion.  If the past is any indication on how that’s going to turn out, he will fail there too.

The only thing he didn’t fail at was pushing me further into my dream of becoming a professional wrestler, and showing me how to attain any goal I set my mind to.  No matter how much I try to show my appreciation, the jackass rubs it in my face while hiring someone to drive a knife in my back.  He raised me from the age of nine, and played a significant role in my life since I was born.  Over the last decade, that role has been a pain in my ass.  I always showed respect toward him for everything he’s done, but I will not stand by any longer.



************************************************************************



The screen is dark, but a low buzzing sound can be heard in the background.  There is a mediocre pop as the light flashes on for a brief second.  During that time, you are able to see a leather chair sitting in the middle of a room.  As you try to take in more of the scene with your eyes, the light goes out.  That buzzing sound gets just a little bit louder, causing a tinge of feedback in the microphone in the form of an electrical squealing that lasts about four seconds before dying down to a background noise.  Another surprise pop shows a championship belt sitting on the left arm of the leather chair.  It is the NWA World Heavyweight Championship.  As our eyes try to focus in the short timeframe we have to study the scene, the light goes off again.  Within a few seconds it pops back on, making a crackling noise.  We see the SCW Heavyweight Championship sitting on the right arm of the chair.  We catch a glimpse of what appear to be snowflakes gently wafting along in the air.  After only a second longer, the lights go out again, but not before we see the image of a ghostly face moving in from the shadows slowly.  With the lens focused on the chair, the face is blurred beyond any sort of recognition.  The footsteps echo within the dark room as they slowly approach us, getting louder as they come.

”These are dark times.  These times where hopes are merely quick flashes of light, surrounded by nothing but darkness.”

The low toned, booming voice belongs to none other than... Spike Staggs.  Well, who did you think it was?  What?  You knew?  Even Michelle Andretti knew that one?  DAMN!

The footsteps creep up upon us as yet another flash of light shows Spike Staggs sitting in the chair, dressed in his usual black leather jacket, stylishly tattered black jeans, studded leather boots, a tow chain wrapped around his neck, and a ring on every finger.  The gem upon his face is the piercing blue-grey eyes, staring directly at us, as cold as the arctic tundra.  He simply stares into our souls as the lights flicker out once again.  A soft chuckle escapes Spike’s lips in the dark, echoing throughout the large, mostly empty space.  Periodically, a few glowing embers fly across the darkened screen as Spike speaks once again.

Spike:  To borrow a line from Aaron Eckhart, a la Harvey Dent of The Dark Knight… “The night is always darkest before the light.”  People are probably laughing at me right now because of the context.  How could I possibly compare the reign of Terror on Gotham City caused by The Joker to what is going on right now in SCW?  It is simple…

A loud popping noise causes a faint flicker of light, followed by another as the florescent light above the chair fights to stay on once again.  It fails its first attempt, but another pop causes an intense light to pulse through the long bulbs.  Spike’s eyes are still training on the captivated audience or the camera lens at least.  The look on his face is more serious than any other time that we have seen him.  The light fizzles out once again, as the gentle stream of white flakes turn to small, glowing orange dots, floating along the cameras line of sight.

Spike:  With the exception of last week, we have seen multiple attacks on Bombshells and male stars alike.  Even I fell victim to these attacks.  All of NXT did, and many others.  Very few have put the pieces together, but the orders and executions all came down from our very own version of The Joker, and his thugs.  Furthermore, no one has been able to stop them.  They sneak in when we have our guards down.  They terrorize us, and few have stepped up to try stopping them until last week.  We are united, but that doesn’t give us an advantage over them.

Another pop sends the lights back on long enough to see Spike sitting forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees, and his palms pressed together, tapping the soul patch of his chin.  He is slowly shaking his head from side to side.  The light fades out, and then pops again, and again, causing a strobe effect for a few moments as Spike’s eyes widen.

Spike:  Why would it?  They have shown time after time that they are more united than we could ever be.  Think about it.  Other than Giani Di Luca considering jumping ship, they have shown us nothing less than a united front.  They get along with one another perfectly.  Even two arch enemies have buried the hatchet, and not in each other’s backs for once.  No matter how much we try, many of us will never be able to trust Mark Ward.  We try to deny it, but we won’t.  I hardly respect the man, but I fight by his side because it is what I feel to be right in my heart.

Spike looks up to the camera just as the light crackles on once again.  He remains silent through the flickering for a moment until he adjusts his posture.  His back cracks loudly, followed by his neck as he jerks it to the right.  His jaw tightens as he sighs in relief.  He closes his eyes as the light goes out again.

Spike:  The only thing I will agree with my uncle on is that Team Erik isn’t a joke.  Everyone watched us clear house last week, and they loved every minute of it.  It boosted morale in the locker rooms for Team SCW, but I hardly found it worthy of celebration.  If I know my uncle at all, it is because we think alike.  If it were me, I would be plotting revenge of the worst kind right now.  I would step up my game, and stick it to each and every person who made a fool of me.  With a group of such immensity backing me up, I would expect a lot of retaliation this week.  My point is that we are still a while off from the darkest moments of the night.  I am considering this the twilight.  When the time comes, call me… Batman.

The light struggles to come on once again, but to no avail.  The burning embers floating across the screen grow in size as an orange flame ignites to the right of Spike.  It crackles as it slowly rises, half an inch per minute on average.  Spike takes in a deep breath as the flame only illuminates the upper left side of his face.  The flame dances in his eye as he continues on.

Spike:  As your Dark Knight, I am ready for a battle.  Clash of the Champions part two and it is an honor to be in it.  It is a time when the Heavyweight and Roulette Champions must find a way to team together, despite the fact that neither has likely ever worked together before.  We must face off against a group of men who have made it far enough as a team to take out any other tag team in the company, many of which share such strong bonds that have been able to withstand the tests of time.  In Sin City Wrestling, you have to be prepared for anything.  I am more than ready to prove myself once again. As a matter of fact, I am giddy as a fucking school girl to get the opportunity to step in the ring for this match.

The corner of Spike’s eye curls up slightly as it narrows, glowing joyfully in the light of the flame.  He lets out a muffled giggle as he contemplates the possibilities and the brutality that will likely take place.  He is completely overcome by the thought, but he finds the restraint within himself to compose himself once again.  After a deep breath, he focuses once again.

Spike:  Before I send out messages to my opponents, let me first show a sign of respect to my partner.  Thatcher Rex, I am happy about the opportunity to team up with you.  I have seen what you can do in the ring, and I am very impressed.  You represent exactly what the New X-Tremes is all about.  You go against the grain, you do it in style, and you get results.  I understand the lone wolf act, but if we expect to give Team SCW the edge in this match, we need to co-exist in the ring together, and figure out a way to get on the same page.  If we want this match to swing in our favor, we need unity, because our opponents definitely have it.  Do you think you could make an exception, just this once, in the name of loyalist unity?

Spike hangs on the question for a moment, allowing his message to resonate.  He softly blinks as his eye seems trained on us again.  The flame has risen up enough to where only his eyes, his defined eyebrow, and the mess of black spikes are seen now.  The soft glow gives an almost menacing look as it goes higher.

Spike:  “AMAZING” Ace Baldwin… Simply amazing, you say?  You definitely have potential here in Sin City.  Sadly, you killed it the second you decided to join Team Erik.  You could have gone places if you stood on Team SCW instead.  Now, you are on a slippery slope to the bottom of the barrel along with the rest of his angry and jealous team of misfits.  Many of us in SCW are making it our mission to ensure my uncle doesn’t make it very far, and every one of you will be remembered only as those people who threw a bitch fit because they weren’t handed unearned opportunities.  It really is a shame, because you have the talent.

Spike looks as if there is some sort of regret in his eyes.  A faint shadow of Spike’s shoulder rises up beside him as the regret melts away from his face.  He sighs and then looks over toward the flame.  He studies it for a second and then returns his focus back to the camera.

Spike:  Had you decided differently, this match wouldn’t be as exciting, now would it?  Not only is this the second installment of Clash of the Champions, but it is also Clash of the Alliances.  Thanks to your poor choice, at least we have the opportunity to get more recognition for this match, and make it a true Main Event.  Because of your idiotic decision, there is more than just pride riding on this match.  Whoever wins this one will put an important mark in the win column for which ever side takes it, leading up to Hostile Takeover.  I hate to break it to you, buddy, but that will be Thatcher Rex and Spike Staggs bringing it home for Team SCW.

Spike’s eye opens up widely as he steadies it on the camera.  Another loud pop causes the light to turn on for twice as long as it had previously been on.  As it fades out, the flame is seen as more intense than it had previously been.  They lash out from the corner of our line of vision, barely making their presence known aside from the faint light cast upon Spike’s body.

Spike:  Let’s see.  Who am I forgetting to mention…?  Who has been a pain in my ass for the last couple of weeks?  It is someone who I am very happy about the prospect of wrapping my hands around his throat and choking him until he turns blue in the face.  Hang on, it will come to me.  It is someone who has this undeserved sense of entitlement that walks around here with this expression that makes me think he’s got a stick up his ass… and he is loving it.  Who could it be… OH!  Erik Staggs.  No… He matches the description, but that’s not right because he’s too old to do anything inside of a wrestling ring these days.  But I can’t help feeling like I’m getting warmer here.

Spike thinks about it really hard.  He taps his chin, deep in thought.  He points up as an excited look takes over his face before quickly disappearing.  He shakes his head from side to side in disappointment.  He throws his hands up in frustration.

Spike:  Obviously this person doesn’t mean shit around here, or I would remember them.  Is it Giani Di Luca?  That has got to be it.  Wait, he’s too afraid of actually getting near an SCW championship, or else he would work his ass off to try getting one.  Plus, no one could stand him long enough to be a Tag Team Champion with him…  Hawkes couldn’t be it for the same reason.  I’m going through this list, and I’m not coming up with anyone who makes sense.  “Primetime” Matthew Kennedy talks big game, but he always comes up a little short.  I think that is why every bombshell laughs when he walks by.  Tom Dudely was dead to SCW since he lost the tag titles a year ago…  Kevin Carter?

Spike’s eyes light up once again, but this time they stay that was as a silhouette of his lips curls upward.  He chuckles in satisfaction before leaning forward for the camera.

Spike:  DING! DING! DING!  We’ve got a winner folks.  The self proclaimed “Main Attraction” of Sin City…  That is very debatable.  See, a Main Attraction fights to win matches.  He doesn’t rely on count outs and disqualifications to win matches and maintain championships.  He goes out there and gives the fans a worthwhile fight that leaves them satisfied when they leave the venue.  I think I fit that bill way better than you ever could, little man.  I have held the championship you tried to screw me out of two weeks ago.  I held it for five months now, and I have done so by going out there and putting everything I have into winning.  If somebody told me I would be in a wheelchair by the time I was forty, I would tell them it has been worth it.  You would follow in the Nick Jones tradition and find easier ways to cheat for an easy victory.

Spike furls his eyebrows, becoming aggravated with the idea of someone like Kevin Carter becoming any champion.  He nearly shakes from the intensity of the anger he feels from such an absurd idea.  His hands contort in an odd formation as he tries to pull himself back to a state of calm.  He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath through his flared nostrils before finally calming down.

Spike:  Unlike my feelings toward your tag team partner, I actually hold a contempt for you.  I have this deep-seeded hatred for you, Kevin.  You remind me of Nick Jones, the man I worked so hard to defeat so that I could restore honor to our top championship.  Worse than that, you remind me of Blade Alexander, a self-entitled little prick that bitches and moans when things don’t go his way.  Both men made a mockery of me, and both had their dreams and aspirations gutted right before their very eyes.  I have been in this business for more than a decade, and I have dealt with your kind before.  They are a dime a dozen

Spike adjusts himself in his seat, crossing one foot onto his knee.  He leans back in his chair, tapping at his labret piercing as he contemplates.

Spike:  The ones who surprise me are the cocky ones who talk the talk, and then step in the ring and back it up without having to use cheap tactics.  Unfortunately, that isn’t you, Carter.  If it were, then you would have called me every name in the book, and then waited for me to get back from Manhattan to challenge me for the heavyweight belt.  Instead, you wanted to try to make me look like a jackass and challenge me when you knew I wasn’t going to be there.  You tried to break a fragile Team SCW by taking away my championship, my pride, and my fans.  Not only did you fail in all three of those categories, but you made Team SCW stronger and more united.  You fucked up, Carter.  You lit a fire under my ass, and now I’ve got the scent of your blood on my mind.  You’ve awakened my bloodlust, and it won’t be satisfied until I see you bleed.

Spike gets a wicked grin on his face as he pauses, allowing another moment for his point to get through.  He puts his foot back down on the ground, leaning down and putting his hands together as he licks at his teeth.  He doesn’t allow the raging fire to his side to distract him any as he continues on.

Spike:  You might think that you are what every wrestler in this business wants to be, but last time I checked, nobody wants to have they nose up Erik Staggs’ ass.  Nobody wants to stroke an ego to get recognition in this world.  Of course, you are so full of yourself that you don’t even realize what is going on around you.  You think he is kissing your ass because you got some defunct championship belt that I held for a year, and several after the company went under.  He pried my name off of that belt before he gave it to you, Kevin.  You are lusting after my property so bad, because what?  Do you want to be me?  Is that what this is all about?  Are you some grade school child who has a crush on someone, and instead of having the balls to admit it, they sit behind them pulling their hair and throwing spitballs at them?  Get a fucking clue and grow the fuck up!  This isn’t the second grade, it is adulthood.  Please join us at your earliest convenience.  Maybe when your testicles drop from your abdomen, then I will take you seriously, Kevin.  I am bigger, better, stronger, more over, more talented, more experienced, more entertaining, more liked, and more hung.  Face it. I am better than you in every possible way.  That is why I come home to someone like Vixen while you dredge along on your home to someone like Amy Marshall.  That’s got to feel like making love to a herpes infested paper bag, you ball-less sonuvabitch!

Spike nearly hisses at the camera as he lunges forward.  His eyes are wide and his nostrils are as round as saucers as he stares, shaking.  He holds onto the arms of the chair, keeping himself seated for the moment.  The burning to his side snaps him back to reality finally, and he simply clinches his jaw before calming himself down completely.

Spike:  Who do we have to thank for this man child running around acting like he means something in this company?  That’s right, Erik Staggs.  His ego is contagious.  Look at Giani Di Luca under his leadership.  He can’t own up to a single loss even though he has suffered a number of them.  He is the only undefeated wrestler that I know who has lost like three times in recent history.  My uncle has that effect on people because he has never earned a damn thing in his life, other than my momentary respect as a child, and he shit all over that.  He is pompous, and that is his most redeeming quality.  He wants to take this from a beef with the bosses and make it personal?  This is a realm I am familiar with, uncle dearest.  Send your boys my way, and Thatcher and I will turn them into Bitch Du-Jour.

Spike finally stands up from the seat, pulling a small chain on the malfunctioning light.  The buzzing in the room stops as we see bigger chunks of flaming embers fly in the direction of Spike.  He stands amidst them, pulling his jacket over his bare chest and abdomen.  He picks up his titles, putting them over his shoulders and smiling as he slowly walks toward the flames, one very slow step at a time.  He pauses just short of the wall of fire, turning back to the camera with a finger pointed in the air for importance.

Spike:  I am going to walk out to that ring on Sunday, Erik.  I am going to stand side by side with Thatcher Rex, and I am going to dominate your little meal tickets and prove that Team SCW has the best of the business.  Do you want to know why we always get the title shots, Erik?  Unlike your pathetic fools who follow you, we win… consistently.  We climb up the ladder, one rung at a time.  We don’t expect things to be handed to us because they are worth nothing unless you fight for them.  TRUE champions prove their worth so that their title belts mean something.  Not only will we beat them, Erik… we will watch as they go up in flames!

Spike takes a few more steps forward, standing right in front of the fire.  His sweat begins to trickle down his chest as his jacket falls open once more.  His hair slowly sticks to his forehead as he smirks.  He poses for the camera, putting his arms out to his side as if flexing.  He holds it there for a second until he slowly points up at the ceiling.  He nods his head as he begins laughing a sadistic laugh.  The camera slowly works up the walls of fire to see the flames eating up two twenty foot banners with pictures of both “Amazing” Ace Baldwin and Kevin Carter.  The flames whip at their faces, leaving scorch marks as Spike’s laughter gets louder.  We focus on the raging flames that consume the faces of both men as we fade out… TO BLACK!

37
Character Building Roleplays / Fruition
« on: March 15, 2013, 06:11:50 PM »
 The crowds are cheering loudly in the low brow bar on the outskirts of Dallas.  The floors are caked in dust, and the air is filled with smoke.  It isn’t the kind of place you would expect to find kids, but lone behold, the young Spike and Jamie Staggs are sitting in the front row of wooden seats surrounding the ring.  They are wearing t-shirts from the merchandise table, showing off some Staggs pride.  The crowd surrounding the boys are going nuts as their local wrestling heroes come out to the ring to “Rock You Like A Hurricane”.  They are decked out in semi-professional wrestling gear with tan tassels on their black cowboy boots, sunglasses, black cowboy hats, and two tacky looking Tag Team belts.  They play to the fans, raising their arms in the air as they walk to the dirty looking ring.  They pull themselves up onto the apron and enter the ring.  They walk around, owning the ring to the best of their abilities by showing off their gold.  Once they are settled in the ring, “Where Eagles Dare” by The Misfits begins playing. The audience gives off a mixed reaction until Robbie and Erik Staggs hit the stage in their punk rock attire.  For the time, and the area, this is an immediate call for boos and distasteful shouts.  Robbie and Erik look to each other and high five before running down the aisle.  Robbie leapfrogs Erik and lands on the second rope, bouncing wildly.  Erik slides under the bottom rope and jumps to his feet as Robbie enters.  They work both sides of the ring, getting the fans riled up, and booing them at the same time. Erik makes a special stop to point out Spike and Jamie with a thumbs up and a wink to his nephews.

Jamie:  It’s daddy and unkie Erik!  Go daddy!

Spike is filled with an immediate sense of pride as a wide smile spreads across his face.  He raises his arms up in the air and cheers as loudly as he can.  The rough looking characters around them boo in their faces, but Jamie doesn’t back down a bit.  She gets in the late thirties man’s face and shouts as loudly as possible.  Spike joins him and tugs at his shirt to show off his support.  Robbie smirks as he watches his boys get into the show.  As the heat starts to die down, Robbie and Erik turn to their opponents.  Erik steps outside of the ring, but their opponents have a different idea of how things are going down.  Both men charge at Robbie and Erik, knocking Erik to the outside. They double team on Robbie, chopping at his back and knocking him down to the ground.  They stomp away wildly as the referee allows it to go on.  The fans cheer even louder, shouting words of encouragement to their hometown boys.  Erik leaps up onto the apron and launches himself onto the top rope, hitting a double crossbody to his opponents.  He gets up and helps Robbie to his feet.  They circle around each other, locking arms as they stalk their opponents.  Both good ole boys get up only to be leveled by a double dropkick, mosh pit style.  Robbie picks up the blonde one and tosses him across the ring.  Erik jumps onto Robbie’s shoulders and leaps off with a clothesline, taking him outside of the ring.  Spike jumps up excitedly, his arms in the air.

Spike: GO ROBBIE STAGGS!  Kick his butt!

Jamie:  YEAH!

Robbie catches a surprise clothesline from his opponent.  The brunette cowboy stomps down on Robbie, leaping into the air with a powerful elbow drop.  The momentum exchange causes the crowd to burst into cheers.  Spike and Jamie are the only ones booing.  The opponent picks Robbie up and sends him into the ropes, catching Robbie with a big boot that levels him.  Jamie tries climbing over the steel barrier to help his dad, but Spike holds him back.  The brunette cowboy kneels down over Robbie for the pin.

1!

2!

KICKOUT!

Robbie surprises the audience by kicking out of the early finisher attempt.  He is quickly put back on the mat by a punt to his chin by the brunette.  Jamie and Spike rally behind their father, trying to work him up for the win.

Spike:  Come on, dad!  Show them how we fight in St Louis.

Jamie:  Do The Drop!  Do it, dad!

The boys watch on in disappointment as the cowboys got the better of the Staggs Brothers.  Spike feels a nervous rumbling in his stomach caused by the extreme disappointment.  His eyes widen as he shouts out loud.  He and Jamie jump up and down in support, but the memory is a bit shaky. Spike only remembers feeling the biggest disappointment of his life, watching the Cowboys shut down any momentum his father and uncle try to build.  His shouts seemed to d no god as Erik is caught in mid air and dropped down hard against the mat.  Time slows down for Spike as the cheering seems to fade.  Only Spike’s heartbeat can be heard, speeding up in the excitement.  He watches as Erik gets up from the mat ever so slowly.  He remembers turning to see his uncle’s eyes, widening as he takes a deep breath.  Spike watches as the blonde cowboy connects with a hard boot, knocking the spit from his uncle.  He watches it fly in slow motion as Erik’s eyes roll back and he slowly falls toward the mat.  The blonde cowboy shouts something, but Spike doesn’t hear it, or anything.  The cowboy falls to his knees in a sweaty mess, hunching over Erik.  The referee rushes to his knees, pounding the mat.

1!

Spike looks around, a tear forming in the corner of his eyes.  He almost couldn’t bare the thought that his father could be defeated.  He watches the men and women throw their hands in the air with excitement.  He doesn’t understand why these people would cheer for these men.

2!

Spike growls out as the man he and Jamie had been arguing with points to them and laughs.  The image engrained in his mind forever as the toothless, bearded redneck points and taunts the boys.  Jamie turns and shouts fearlessly in the man’s face.  Spike grips onto the barrier as he looks out into the ring.  His uncle was down for the count, and he couldn’t bare to watch it happen.  He stares at his white knuckles before slowly clinching his eyes closed, seeing only the referee’s hand descending upon the mat.  He stands up in aggravation, ready to shout out in anger, that is… until he hears the booing all around him.  He looks over to see Jamie jump up in the nearby redneck’s face.

Jamie:  HA!

Spike looks back into the ring to see his uncle getting up to his feet as the referee holds up two fingers.  Robbie hunches over the blonde cowboy, pounding at him viciously.  The referee forces Robbie out of the ring. With the distraction, Erik hits a surprise Blood Mist to the cowboy.  He stalks around the ring, gloating over it before picking up the blonde cowboy, putting him in a Torture Rack.  He wrenches the hometown boy a few good times before dropping him down Samoan Drop style.  The brunette cowboy tries to move in, but Robbie hits a Hurricanrana to him, sending him sliding outside.  Erik drops down for the pin after his patented Goodnight Ladies maneuver.

1!

2!

3!

The audience boos, but Spike and Jamie are ecstatic as they jump up and down.  Robbie and Erik yank their title belts from the referee and rub them in the audience’s faces.  A miniature riot starts to form as chairs go flying.  Robbie cuts the celebration short as he and Erik go outside.  They scoop up Spike and Jamie, moving quickly up the aisle and toward the bar’s exit.  Erik and Robbie let down the boys as they scoot out of the exit quickly.  A chair collides with the door frame as the door closes.  Outside, Erik lets out an excited shout for joy.  Robbie lifts his title in the air victoriously as Spike grabs onto his side for a celebratory embrace.

Erik:  We did it, bro!

Robbie:  I know I should be worried about getting the hell out of here right now, but I can’t believe we pulled that off!

Erik and Robbie give a “bro hug”, patting each other on the back as the kids go crazy in excitement.  They are celebrating in a loud mixture of indistinct talking and hollering. Just then, the door flies open and an elderly man with a big belly and an even bigger silver mustache waddles outside with an angry look on his face.

Man:  You two degenerates weren’t supposed to walk out with them there belts, and you know it.  I suggest you do what’s right and get back in here and lose them in a “rematch”.

Erik:  Like hell we will, old man.  We won these belts fair and square.  We can’t help it if your boys aren’t up to par.

Robbie looks down to Spike.  He didn’t realize it then, but now he knows the fight was scripted.  His father and uncle couldn’t bare to lose in front of Spike and Jamie, so they pulled the old switcheroo and booked it out of there, just to give their boys a good showing.  They were successful in that, and started something.  As much as Robbie wanted to avoid it, the end result was a second World Heavyweight title reign in the most prestigious wrestling company on Earth, and a successful regional title reign on top of that.  Even though Robbie Staggs didn’t want this for his sons, he is most likely looking down on Spike with a sense of pride.  This very moment in time sticks out as Spike’s fondest memory of the wrestling business, and his greatest inspiration that made him realize this was the career he was destined to embark upon.



Spike’s dilated eyes soon adjust to the spotlight shining upon his face as he walks through the door of his hotel room.  He has both of his title belts sticking out of his duffel bag as he sets it down on a black leather padded chair next to the door.  He sets down a second bag next to it.  Vixen walks in behind him with her phone pressed against her ear.  She looks to Spike apologetically as she walks over toward the bathroom.  She rolls her eyes as she converses with someone in French.  Spike studies her with a bit of a frown as he listens to her voice getting louder and more impatient. She leans against the door frame and looks back to Spike with an apologetic look.  Spike closes the door to the Manhattan room and his stern look overtakes his face.  She doesn’t feel like getting attitude from both sides, so she turns away from Spike.

Vixen:  No!

Vixen sighs in frustration before finally handing the phone out toward Spike.  Spike looks a bit surprised and nods his head as if to ask if it is truly meant for him.  When she nods her head in an irritated fashion, Spike takes the phone from her.  They exchange a glare between the two that is almost completely uncommon for them.  They share an awkward silence as Spike holds onto the phone.  Vixen breaks the awkward silence by stating the obvious.

Vixen:  It is Devlin.

Spike:  Yeah… I kinda got that.

Spike clears his throat as Vixen gives him a dirty look.  The whole Grinder event has put a strain on him and Vixen to a point he had never expected.  He takes a deep breath and brings the phone closer to his mouth, speaking in a low, calm tone.

Spike:  Hello?

Spike sits there silently, listening to the desperate arguing of his girlfriend’s brother.  His face doesn’t lighten up a bit as he simply nods his head.  He closes his eyes, taking in every word that comes his way.  As he sits there deep in thought, he hears the bathroom door close.  The bath water begins running from within, and Spike becomes just a tad bit more impatient.

Spike:  Yes, yes I know…

That should suffice.  Spike’s mind is somewhere entirely different right now, and the sound of Devlin’s voice almost had the effect of fingernails on a chalk board right now.  Spike nods his head with more and more authority, spindling his fingers as if to silently tell him to wrap it up.

Spike:  I am aware of her decision, and there isn’t a whole hell of a lot that I can do about it, Dev.

Spike is officially annoyed as his eyes and nostrils flare open.  He stares at the bathroom door as if it were Devlin himself, and he balls up his fists.

Spike:  Don’t you dare challenge my manhood, buddy!  It isn’t like I don’t realize she is in for one hell of a beating.  I would do anything… ANYTHING… to avoid that, Dev!  I am not some chauvinist that can just tell her to get in the proverbial kitchen.  This is 2013 and she is welcome to do anything her little heart desires.

Spike grits his teeth at the end as Devlin remains silent on the phone.  Spike is on an unusual rampage that is just as common as he and Vixen arguing.  He paces back and forth in front of the bathroom door as he hears Vixen mutter something from the bath tub.  He tosses his head back, taking a deep sigh.

Spike:  Hey, here’s an idea, Devlin… How about you tell me something I don’t already know.  How about YOU give me some sort of magical idea that will solve this entire dilemma? *pause*  Yeah, I’m a little edgy. *pause*  Oh, could it be because I am not on the best of terms with Vixen because I want to protect her, and then I have her brother bitching incessantly at me to do exactly what I am already trying to do?  Yeah, that’s probably it, bud…

Spike rolls his eyes as he falls back on the bed.  He stares up at the ceiling quietly fuming as Devlin responds.  Spike just tries to send it out of his head so that the real issue doesn’t come up.  Of course, it wasn’t that kind of day.  Devlin mutters a few short words that sends Spike back into his mood.

Spike:  Yes, that has something to do with it too.  You try giving respect to someone, and they wipe their ass with it?  Maybe I am a bit naïve, but does anyone adhere to anything traditional in this sport anymore? *pause*  Yeah, I didn’t think of that.  “Oh, how about you just kick his ass because of it?” That’s the plan, Captain Obvious.  Why don’t you give me some other bit of “vital” information that only a retard wouldn’t think of…

Spike rolls his eyes in annoyance as he props the phone against his shoulder and ear.  He places his hands behind the back of his head, getting comfortable.  His eyes wander across a tiny, almost inconspicuous crack in the ceiling, following it for several feet before he stops dead in his tracks.  He looks as if he wants to retort with another smartass comment, but then it hits him… This idea is actually genius.  A sly smile spreads across his face as he nearly becomes giddy.

Spike:  Did I say retard?  I meant *whisper* genius!  Why didn’t I think of that myself?

Spike sits up, taking hold of the phone once again.  He goes to the edge of the bed, setting his feet against the ground.  He grabs onto his knee, excited as if he had just learned the meaning of life.  He nods his head as Devlin continues.  His smile grows wider as he listens on.  If only Devlin had started out this way in the first place, Spike might have been able to avoid the slight tension headache forming.

Spike:  I think I officially have a man crush on you right now… No, seriously though, that is an amazing plan.  I will see what I can do about that.  Oh, and promise me one thing, man… Don’t tell Vixen about it.  I think she might have something to say about it if she found out, and neither one of us want to give her the chance. *pause* Don’t worry, I will deal with the aftermath myself.  At least this way, we know she will be safe.  We might need a sedative to make this work though…

Spike snickers at his joke.  Devlin is heard chuckling through the phone.  Finally, the two had cooked up something that would help remedy the situation at hand.  Spike listens as Devlin wraps up the conversation.  He nods his head, throwing in an occasional “Okay” in response. He hangs up the phone quietly and sets it on the nightstand next to the bed.  He rolls to the edge and stands up, stretching a bit.  His smile is still present, but he reaches his hand up to wipe it off.  He sits there and practices a solemn face in the mirror before “sulking” over to the bathroom door.  He gently opens it and looks over to Vixen in the tub.

Spike:  I’m… sorry, Vix.  I shouldn’t have tried to talk you out of it.  You knew what you signed up for when you joined BACW, and I knew what I signed up for when we first kissed.  It was… foolish of me to think I could talk you out of this.

Vixen:  Yes it was.

Vixen splashes around a bit in the tub, but is blocked from view by Spike’s body.  Spike bows his head, presumably trying to conceal a bit of a smile.  He takes a couple steps inside of the bathroom, looking over toward the tub, still blocking Vixen from view.

Spike:  In case you didn’t know what you signed up for, I will always do my best to make sure you are safe, properly cared for, and loved.  If that is a crime, then put the cuffs on me right now…

Vixen:  Maybe later, Spike…

It doesn’t take Spike long to catch onto that one.  His smile returns to his face and he lets out a sultry sort of chuckle in response.  He peels off his shirt and begins unbuttoning his pants, as he invites himself in to the bath tub.  He shuts the door behind him and we fade out.


\'user


”The last man who brought up my children in their promo wound up on the early retirement list…”

NWA World Heavyweight Champion Spike Staggs mutters to himself as he walks into the studio booth.  In the background he hears “Numb/Encore” by Linkin Park and Jay-Z.  He shrugs his shoulders at it until he peers around the room.  It is riddled with Taylor Swift, Katy Perry, and Maroon 5 posters and stickers.  He takes a deep breath when he notices the aging wannabe hipster in the backwards hat sitting in the chair, eyeballing him with the same sense of surprise.  Spike puffs out his chest a bit, pushing through the leather jacket t reveal his red graffiti print New X-Tremes shirt.  He runs his hand over his black, messy spiked hair, and his icy blue eyes stare back at the bushy browed man.  He takes a few steps forward, but the New Yorker stops him dead in his tracks.

JJ:  Whoa-ho-ho… The Edward Cullen look-a-like contest is bein’ held in the other building across the street, bro.

Spike: Ha, that’s funny because I haven’t heard that one before. Note the sarcasm… Yeah, anyway.  I am Spike Staggs, set up for a 4:30 interview with JJ on Z100, but I guess they forgot to tell me they replaced him with Randal from Clerks?

JJ:  Heheh, I like you kid!  Come on in and have a seat.  You must be that wrestling guy everyone around town is makin’ fun of?

Spike grins in a sort of oddball way.  He should be somewhat upset by the fact that he is going into a second town with the NWA title where people want to see him fail, but it almost seems endearing.  There was a time where Spike thrived on such emotions from the public.  He steps forward and shakes hands with JJ.  He pulls out a seat and sits down across from JJ, putting a set of headphones over his ears.

JJ:  So once this song is done playin’, I will introduce you and we will bounce around with an intro and you can answer a few calls, okay?

Spike:  Yeah, it’s not my first radio show, buddy.

Spike listens as the latest Lady Gaga tune progresses.  He catches himself slowly bopping to it while JJ snickers and points it out to the producers.  Spike catches on and slows it down, resisting the urge of commercialized pop music.  He clears his throat as the music tempts his feet.  He desperately waits until the song finally comes to an end.  It goes directly into a brief sound byte.

*GET READY FOR THE SMACK DOWN!*

JJ:  That’s right New York, we got the opportunity to have the National Wrestling Alliance’s own WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… Spike Staggs… sitting in for some Spectre smack talk, and then he will answer a few questions from our listeners!  Yeah, you heard it right.  So, Spike, welcome to the Tri-State area.

Spike listens on with a smirk spread across his face.  Once he hears his cue, he clears his throat with authority, leaning forward against the table.

Spike:  Thank you, JJ.  It is great to be here, even if I had to go into New Jersey to reach out to New York.

JJ:  Ooooh, harsh bro.

Spike: I kid, I kid!  The smog is only half as bad as the Midwest rumors it to be.  ANYWAY… I look forward to appearing at the Madison Square Garden which I hear is sold out for the biggest Bad A$$ Championship Wrestling show of the year, Grinder!  Spectre and I have been given the task of pumping the crowd up for the bloodiest match in the history of BACW, and I think we will do exactly that.

JJ:  C’mon!  Maybe in little old St. Louis, Missouri, that is how they trash talk, but New York wants to hear you rip Spectre apart, or at least try…

Spike spreads a sly grin across his face as he has been given the green light.  He takes a sip from a nearby water bottle, wetting his throat down.  JJ gives him an eye motion, telling him to go at it.  Spike lets out an almost sadistic laugh as he obliges.

Spike:  You see, I really… really don’t see a point in telling New York that I will slaughter Spectre.  Why the f*ck should I go on about how my c*ck is bigger than his, or some other macho bullsh*t?  I am tired of hearing all of it.  Person A says Person B is a piece of sh*t wrestler, then Person B retaliates with some menial garbage about how Person A sucks worse.  I was the bigger man when I stated on a national level that I respected Spectre.  He chose to slap me in the face as if I were some sort of b*tch who would just sit back and take it.  The sad fact is that I am the NWA Heavyweight Champion because I don’t play your typical smart a$$ big c*ck macho man.  I have a brain, and I use it.

Spike nods his head, letting JJ know that his short rant is now over.  JJ claps his hands and points at Spike as if the listening audience could see it.  He lets out an obnoxious laugh before turning in his seat to face the prompter.

JJ:  There you have it!  Now let’s get some callers.  We got Javier calling in from Newark.  Javier, you are on the air.

Javier:  Hi Spike.  Welcome to New Jersey.  I am a big fan of you, but I am worried.  Are you at all afraid that Spectre transcended the big c*ck macho man “bullsh*t” in his early airing promo?  He brought up some legitimate claims saying that you put your family and friends in the line of fire for your opponents to use against you.

Spike:  Let me bring up some facts that the world might not know about me and y family.  I am a second generation wrestler, along with my brothers Jamie and Tommy Staggs.  We lived our lives under the wrestling spotlight. I haven’t known life to be any other way.  When some dumbass tries to drag my brothers into it, they are capable of handling themselves.  I expect in the next few years, my son will also enter the wrestling world.  In twelve or so years, my daughter will probably enter the sport.  It is in our blood.  I don’t regret showing them off to the world because I am proud of my greatest creations.  Just don’t let that fool you.  I understand the wrestling world isn’t built around integrity anymore.  If some piece of trash wants to exploit my children, or threaten to harm them, then you will see a real monster come out of me.

Spike gives a nod to JJ once more to signal he is done with the topic.  JJ scrolls back to the prompter and turns his headset back on.

JJ:  Well said.  Let’s welcome Sam from Staten Island to the air.  Sam, you are live.

Sam:  Yeah, I was wondering why you’re such a smug bastard, Spike Staggs.  I ean, you walk around like a rock star, but Spectre said it straight when he called you out on ya short title run last summer.

Spike:  Awesome.  I guess this is a case of opinions and assholes, right?  Everyone’s got one.  Well, Sam… Sometimes people reach for things that make them feel safe.  Excuses and misinterpretations of facts are the main safety nets people fall back on.  Spectre is right in the fact that I did fail to retain the NWA title belt for very long last summer.  I felt a duty to help rebuild my home region after a few things went on, and they needed me.  I didn’t feel like it was in my best interest to split my priorities.

Sam: Well, ain’t that what you’re doin’ now, jerkoff?

Spike pauses for a moment.  Deep down, he wants to read this guy his constitutional rights, but he simply takes a deep breath.  An arrogant smile comes over his face, but he does his best to choke it all back.  JJ silently cheers, throwing his arms up at the ratings being drawn to the broadcast.

Spike:  The difference is that I realized I am capable of such greatness.  I proved it when I defeated Chris Xtreme, just days before defending my regional title two weeks ago against Rage at SCW’s Blaze of Glory II.  I defeated both men in a matter of days, and then I realized I can carry both my region and my alliance on my shoulders, and lead them into greatness.  Spectre can blind himself by exploiting my past insecurities, but the fact is that I have defeated enough BACW legends to prove my worth as the head Champion of the NWA.

JJ:  A lot of initials there!  Is everybody at home following?  Anyway, we got another caller.  Christy from… Las Vegas… calling?  Christy you’re on the air!

Christy:  Oh my god, HI! Spike.  I wanted to ask… will you let me have your third Staggs love child?

Spike can’t help but burst out into laughter.  The absurdity of his own local fan sends him over the edge of professionalism.  JJ joins in on the laughter as Spike tries his best to catch his breath.

Spike:  I am afraid I have to decline.  I am happily paired with Vixen, and I don’t think she would be open to that.  Why don’t you try for Jamie?  Next caller?

JJ:  Alright then.  Looks like we have time for one last caller.  We got Jeffrey from Manhattan.  Jeffrey, what you got?

Jeffrey:  Hey, yeah I wanted to tell Spike something… YOU SUCK!  Get outta here!

JJ:  Oh-ho!  That’s not a question.  One more, bring it on folks. Looks like we got… Tony from the Bronx.  Tony, you’re live bro.

Tony:  First off, welcome to New York, Spike.  I’m an objective kinda guy.  I was just wonderin’s if ya had any words on Spectre’s claim that ya really don’t respect him.

Spike folds his hands in front of him on the table after taking a quick sip from the water bottle.  He nods his head, appreciative of someone who can actually stay on topic.

Spike:  Well, thanks for the welcome, Tony.  I didn’t really think much of it, actually.  This sport is filled with back stabbing and lies, so it is to be expected that some would come at it with a skeptical view.  The thing that gets me is that I am not your typical wrestler, like I said before.  I enjoy friendly competition just as much as I enjoy an all-out brawl.  Something about a friendly bout helps one sleep easier at night… Well, at least for me it does.  When you are occupied by anger and rage, you don’t truly get a chance to show off your skills, and show why you are the best. I sit up and wish I would have done something differently, whereas when it is a friendly fight, I go in with a clear head, and leave with no regrets win or lose.  I truly meant it when I said I respected Spectre.  I am not just a Sin City guy.  Fed boundaries mean nothing when you are serious about being a WORLD tier champion.  Anyone competing on the World level aren’t defined strictly by their region in my eyes.  Competition is competition.  I am the champion for a reason.  I missed my throne, and I will stop at nothing to stay in it, but Spectre should know better than to assume that I am a liar.  Respect or not, a fight is a fight.  Integrity is always present with me, even if I am a bit unorthodox.  I stand by the fact that I truly respect The Spectre, even though I like him a whole lot less now.  I still wish him luck at Grinder… March 31st, live on Pay-Per-View.  Check your local listings *AHEM* Cheap plug.

JJ:  Well, that’s all the time we have, folks.  Big thanks to Spike Staggs for joining us today.  Like he said, you can find out who wins now that the war of words is over, and the fists will fly… March 31st, BACW Grinder comes at you from Madison Square Garden, and we got four free tickets to this sold out event for caller number 100!  In the meantime, thanks Spike, it has been great.

Spike:  Yeah, wonderful… Good day New York slash New Jersey.

With that, the “Smack Down” by Thousand Foot Krutch plays as they lead to a commercial break.  The phones light up as Spike removes his headset.  He stands up from the seat and shakes hands with JJ and the producer, chatting with them as we fade out.;.. TO BLACK!  

38
Character Building Roleplays / Memories and the Future
« on: March 09, 2013, 10:00:38 PM »
 We fade into a dimly lit living room where E.T. is playing on the small television.  Elliot has just discovered his best friend is dead.  His light has been extinguished as Elliot wails over the vessel.  His cries continue as we pan out to see clutter strewn about the tired looking home.  A young four year old boy colors in a magazine on the floor, humming some nursery rhyme.  His dark brown hair is combed over to the side as he sits there, completely amused, and paying no mind to the faint yelling going on in the other room.  He sighs as he chooses a different color to put on young David Bowie’s face.  About ten feet behind him is a boy no older than eight years old is seen sitting in a black leather chair, holding onto a little blonde haired baby boy.  The raven-haired boy rocks back and forth as he tries tuning out the yelling by becoming absorbed in the movie.  He taps his foot impatiently and takes a big gulp.  The young baby whimpers in his arms, prompting the young boy to give him a bottle from the nearby end table.  The baby is fine now as he suckles away at the bottle.  The little boy on the floor looks back at the older one with a quizzical look on his face.

Jamie:  Spike?  Why do some boys wears make-ups on their faces?  Do they want to feel pretty?

The oldest boy scoffs at the notion and rolls his eyes.  He tries to ignore his younger brother as he watches the riveting alien come back to life by the frivolous notion of love.  His young mind doesn’t tune this out as impossible the way an adult mind would.  Instead, he nearly sheds a tear.

Jamie:  How come uncle Steve said I looked like a fruitcake when I painted my face with mom’s make up, but Davie Bowie can do it?

Spike:  I don’t know, Jamie!  God, why are you such a doofus?

Jamie:  I AM NOT A DOOFUS!  You’re a nerd bomber, ass face!

Before Spike can even try to reply to that, the baby in his arm spits the bottle out and starts crying loudly.  He screams and causes Spike’s cheeks to turn a bright shade of red.  He props his little brother up against his chest, patting his back gently as he bounces up and down with him.  He sends a glare at Jamie, accented with an ever so poignant raspberry.  Jamie throws a crayon at Spike, hitting him dead in the center of his forehead.  Jamie watches to see that Spike isn’t going to react before going back to drawing in the magazine.  Spike settles back in his chair, looking extremely aggravated.  Jamie goes back to humming as Spike tunes it all out.  He focuses only on his baby brother, bopping his up and down as he gets up from the chair.  He walks back and forth, kicking Jamie in the side as he goes.  Jamie shakes his fists in anger as he gets up.  He is ready to unleash his fury on Spike until they both hear the back bedroom door open.  A stone-faced man looking much like Spike as an adult emerges from the bedroom, followed quickly by a vase of a dozen roses.  The dark man clinches his eyes and looks back into the room.

Robbie Staggs: NOT … in front of the children!

He tries to whisper, but his harsh tone echoes off of the walls.  The conversation continues, but the yelling has turned to harsh whispers.  Spike stares down the hallway with a look of disdain on his face for many moments until the front door opens up.  A young blonde man walks into the room with a big smile on his face.

Erik Staggs:  Geez, is this the Staggs’ residence, or a vampire’s nest?

Erik walks up to Spike and his jovial expression turns a bit solemn as he sees what Spike sees.  He takes a deep breath and then takes baby Tommy from him.  He coddles the child gently against his chest as he gives Spike a gentle pat on his back.

Erik:  You’re a great big brother, Spike.

Jamie:  No he isn’t.  He’s a mean big brother.

Spike grumbles to himself until he just boils over.  He leans down in Jamie’s face and shouts as loudly as he can while he scuffles with Jamie a little.

Spike:  Shut up dipshit!

Erik:  Hey, hey, hey… You two need to cut it out.  And Spike, you shouldn’t use that kind of language at your age.

Spike shows restraint, getting off of his little brother and hugs onto his uncle’s side.  In the mean time, He gets a better grip on the conversation between his brother and his sister-in-law.  He hands Tommy off to Spike once again and walks half way down the hallway before turning into the small bedroom.  Spike’s hopeful eyes soon disappear as he sulks back over to the couch with the crying infant still in his arms.  Jamie is lost in defacing the celebrities of the early 1980’s.  Spike closes his eyes, wishing he could be somewhere else right now.  It isn’t long before his mother, a short, petit red haired woman, comes and takes Tommy from Spike’s arms.  She coddles him, and immediately his crying ceases.  She plants a kiss on Spike’s forehead as a thank you and she walks off into the kitchen with the baby.  His father comes and takes a seat next to Spike, putting his arm around his son.  Through his disdain, Spike can’t help but melt in admiration.  His look of anger fades to a smile as his father runs his fingers through Spike’s slicked back hair.

Robbie:  Thank you for everything.  I know it is a lot to put on a child, and I am sorry that things are the way they are right now.

Spike:  Can I go with you?  I wanna see you and Uncle Erik wrestle in Texas.

Robbie smiles with pride as he presses his son’s head against his chest.  Spike gets excited at the anticipation, but the look in Robbie’s eyes says the one thing that would break Spike’s heart.

Robbie:  No, son.  I’m afraid the road isn’t the best place for a little boy.  We are going to be gone for two weeks.

Spike:  I am adult enough to watch my two brothers, but I am not allowed to go on a trip with you during the summer?  That’s not FAIR!

Spike pushes away from his dad.  As much as it may come as a surprise to his father, Spike is but a boy.  He begins throwing a fit, kicking his legs in the air violently and pounding his fists on the couch.  His father tries to calm him down, but Spike bats his hand away.  His eyes are on fire as he bares his teeth at Robbie.  He breathes frantically, puffing his chest in and out as his father looks alarmed.

Spike:  You only treat me like a kid when it is good for you!  I only wanna see you wrestle and you won’t let me.  You never let me!

Robbie:  You know that isn’t true.  You saw me wrestle in town last month at the Chase.

Loretta:  That’s right.  Your father doesn’t want you to interfere with hunting for hussies.  That really isn’t something a child should be exposed to.  You wouldn’t want to turn out like your father, now would you?

Spike doesn’t answer.  He doesn’t fully understand what his mother is saying as she leaves back toward the bedroom.  Robbie shakes his head from side to side, sighing loudly as he attempts to embrace his son.  Spike pulls away, still giving attitude.  Robbie runs his hands through his slicked back raven hair and looks down to Jamie.

Robbie:  The road is too dangerous, Spike.  I don’t want to see anything happen to my boys.  No one will be there to watch you two while Erik and I wrestle.

Spike:  Bull!  I will be there to watch Jamie.  I am obviously good enough to watch him and Tommy all the time, so how come this is different?  Is it because of the *air quotes* huskies?

Jamie turns around with a quizzical look on his face once more.  He quickly gets a grumpy expression on his face as he folds his arms across his chest.  He stares his dad down with that childish sort of injustice in mind.

Jamie:  Why does dad get a puppy?  I been asking for one for like a million-ty days!

Spike:  I don’t think they were talking about a puppy penis breath!

Jamie:  Hey!  If I can’t say ass face then why can you say penis breath?  Just i-cause it was in the movie doesn’t mean its okay for you to say!  Nothing is fair in this family!

Robbie chuckles as he leans back against the sofa, trying to find the safest way to speak to his children about the dangers of the road.  He doesn’t have long before Erik emerges from the back room carrying several bags in his hands.  He drops them down on the ground, revealing his Misfit’s T-shirt.  He dusts his hands off before looking directly at Spike.

Erik:  You think you are big enough for the road?  I packed bags for you and Jamie, now let’s see if you can handle it.

Robbie:  Uhhhh… Erik?  Don’t you think we should have talked about this before…

Erik:  Talked about what?  Do you mean, we should have talked about the welfare of your children?  I have a few opinions on that myself, ones that you don’t seem to see because you are too close to it.  But the point is that a little road trip might do some good for our future champions of the world, don’t you think?

Robbie clinches his jaw as he shoots visual daggers at his brother.  He forces a fake smile on his face as he tries to think of a nice way to object in front of the children.  When he isn’t presented with the proper opportunity, he only forces the smile on even bigger as Erik matches it with a sense of pride.  Robbie nods his head slowly.

Robbie:  Ohhhh-kay.  I… I guess we are all going on a road trip, just us men.

Spike:  Do you really mean it, dad?

Robbie:  Yeah.  Yeah, I really mean it son.

Jamie snaps out of his trance and jumps up excitedly.  He and Spike dance around the living room in excitement as Robbie shoots a disgusted look at Erik.  Erik shrugs it off and joins in on the playful dancing of the children.



The tiny pupil surrounded by an icy blue iris slowly begins to dilate a bit as Spike stares into the morning light.  It had been ages since Spike had remembered his father so vividly.  In a rough sort of way, it was like looking into a mirror of the future.  There were many things that Spike would fix within this image, but some things just couldn’t be changed.  Destiny had a hand in many things, and Spike’s track record with relationships wasn’t much better than his father’s.  The only difference is that Spike has never been married, and his father maintained relationships outside the sanctity of his marriage.  His thoughts begin racing at the speed of light through his mind as he sits up in his bed.  The only person that has seen Spike’s emotional scars and loved him even more for them is fast asleep in bed next to him.  He leans over, his expression changing from a deer in headlights to serenity.  He gently brushes back the chestnut brown hair with blond streaks, revealing the angelic sleeping face of Vixen.  He tucks the hair behind her ears and gently kisses on her cheek.  The morning star is doing its best to beckon Spike from the warm refuge of their white comforter and incredibly comfortable bed.  He isn’t having it as he just watches Vixen.

”This is unlike anything I have ever felt before.  I am more now than I have ever been.  I am loved by the fans.  I am loved by my children.  That hasn’t changed, but what has changed is the single most wonderful woman in the world has come into my life.  She doesn’t exploit me, or use me, or blame me.  She simply loves me in the deepest way possible.  And now, she has encouraged me to chase my dreams.  She showed me that I am not done doing what I love.  I am at the height of my career, eleven years into it.  I have the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Championship as well as the National Wrestling Alliance World Heavyweight Championship.  My region looks up to me.  The whole world looks up to me…”

Spike watches as Vixen takes in a deep breath, slowly exhaling it from her nose as she turns over in her sleep.  She buries her head in Spike’s chest without even realizing it as she continues to sleep.  Spike smiles and holds onto her gently.

”Of course, this doesn’t come without a cost.  I have to do what every other man who has run this course has had to do.  I have to work twice as hard to keep both belts around my waist.  I have to defend one of my belts in SCW and the other in any region they want me to go to.  I could be in Las Vegas one day, and say… Manhattan the next?  I am up for that challenge.  I live for that challenge.”

Spike smiles in satisfaction as he nods his head.  He runs his fingers through his messy black hair and basks in the morning sun.  As Vixen slowly turns over to her back, Spike takes another glance at her.  He gently moves her hair from her face, watching the hard-edged woman sleeping so peacefully.  He slowly moves his way from the bed and pulls on some flannel pajama bottoms.  He straightens out his black a-shirt and does one final stretch before moving toward the bedroom door.

”I was just informed a few days ago that, at the end of this month, I will be facing a man I know just a little about… The Spectre.  I am honored to say the least.  Who would have figured?  The champion is honored to face the challenger?  Doesn’t it usually go the other way around?  Shouldn’t he be excited to challenge me?  He is a great competitor with a lot of experience under his belt.  There are a few key similarities that I must admit will make this match one for the books.”

Spike walks down the hallway, peaking into his young daughter’s room.  He sees that she is still fast asleep, but not for much longer.  He steps into her room and looks down at her, admiring the one and only good thing that ever came from his relationship with Misty.  He gently tucks her blanket in and walks toward the doorway.

”I have come too far to let him win without one hell of a fight though.  I didn’t put my body through hell against Chris Xtreme to just let Spectre yank it all away from me.  Just because I have a sort of admiration for the guy, which is not to say that I would just lie down and let him pin my shoulders to the mat for the one, two, three.  I have a duty to the NWA and SCW to fight with everything I’ve got in me so that I remain a double champion. Part one against Rage for the SCW Heavyweight title has been taken care of.  My next challenge is going to be just as difficult, if not moreso.”

Spike walks across the hallway and peaks inside another room where his son is fast asleep.  He stares around, taking note of the mess the teenager has left about the room.  Not even this could ruin his cheerful mood.  He sees the mess of red hair and blanket stretched out and he simply shakes his head before leaving.  As he continues towards the stairs, he sees his black cat, Dero, and he reaches down to stroke the cat behind the ears.  Dero purrs before Spike slowly walks down the stairs.

”I am up for it.  I am actually excited to be taking part in one of the alliances biggest events, even if I am not in the main attraction match at Grinder 2013.  Last year, the world was shocked to see a Staggs taking part in Grinder, but this year they will be flat out astonished when they see what I am capable of doing.  We Staggs’ have a thing for drawing blood.  Jamie did quite a bit in the Grinder last year, taking out a handful of competitors.  This year will be no different if Spectre is as intense of a fighter as I think he is.  Between the two of us, we might just make the entirety of Grinder look like a skinned knee by comparison.  Anything for this championship belt, right?”

Spike walks into his study and picks up the NWA World Heavyweight belt and props it up on his knee.  He slowly begins shining it up, making it look as clean as possible.  He wipes away all of the fingerprints from Chris Xtreme and Mike Sloan, in a subconscious way to try removing any history either man has had with the belt.

”I want nothing more than to keep this belt on my shoulder.  I will do whatever it takes to make sure it stays there.  I will travel to any region and I will continue to amaze audiences across the world by putting on the best show possible.  I will fight only the best, to prove why I am the best of the best.  I let this belt go once before, but I will not let that happen again.  A near-death experience, saved only by the “One-Winged Angel” might have shaken me up then, but every time I go out to that ring and defend either title, I am taking a great risk on my life.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.  From now on, I will not let this belt go without giving it two hundred percent at all times.  That is what a champion does, and I am ready for this responsibility now more than ever…”

Spike continues to polish the belt up as he hears the soft footsteps coming down the staircase.  He runs the rag over the brand new name plate as his eyes wander up toward the doorway.  His focus stays on it as the soft footsteps become just a touch louder.  He smiles a sensual sort of smile as he watches Vixen peak around the corner. She is wearing a black and red graffiti style New X-Tremes t-shirt that is a few sizes too big for her, almost looking more like a dress as it hangs just above the bottom of her perfectly toned glutes.  She is also wearing long black and red striped socks that come up to her knees, slowly walks over to Spike.  Her hair is slightly a mess as she leans over on his lap.  She pulls the NWA belt from his lap and smirks as she straps it around her waist.  His jaw drops down, but she slowly leans in and nibbles on his bottom lip.  He groans a little as she pulls away.  She leans back so that he can see her wearing the belt and she gets up to model it off for him.

Vixen:  This belt looks great on me.  Don’t you think?

Spike:  Would it be disrespectful to the National Wrestling Alliance if I said that it would look even better on my bedroom floor?

He smirks at her and she raises her eyebrows seductively, tempting him toward the door.  He quickly gets up from the chair and goes to grab the belt from her, but she holds onto his wrist.  She turns around, looking deep into his icy eyes and licking at her lips.  Her French-Canadian accent tickles his senses as she invites him in for the “chase”.

Vixen:  No need to be selfish, Spike.  You already have one.

Spike:  How about we make a deal.  You can wear it for two more minutes, and then I make good on my word, seeing how it looks on the floor?

She pouts her lips out, but Spike doesn’t give her a chance to answer as he presses his lips against hers.  He places his hand on the back of her head as they kiss for a moment.  Vixen removes her hands from his shoulders and then nudges him back a little bit.  She turns and walks toward the stairs, making sure he gets a good view of her backside, placing one foot on the bottom step.  She turns around and bites on her finger nail.

Vixen:  It is early yet.  We still have an hour or two before the kids wake up, and…

Before she has a chance to finish her statement, Spike perks up and a devious smile spreads over his face.  He runs up behind her, scooping her up as she squeals in delight.  He carries her up the stairs as we fade out…


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”There is NO WAY!”

Spike is standing in the middle of the ring at his wrestling school, Staggs Dungeon.  The fans are blowing heavily as the music playing over the speakers comes to a dead stop.  Jamie blinks his eyes as he watches Spike give Vixen an almost deadly stare.  Jamie notices the key signs of a meltdown from Spike.  Eyes are nearly rounded? Check.  Flared out nostrils? Check.  Visible shakiness? Check.  Puffed out chest? Check.  Oh wait, he isn’t grinding his teeth.  Jamie looks a bit relieved as he leans against the turnbuckle.  One loud CRRRRRRUNCH echoing under the fans changes all of that… CHECK!

Jamie:  C’mon, Spike… It isn’t like you have never been in some seriously fucked up situations as a wrestler.

Spike’s eyes widen even more, as if it were possible, as his glare slowly works its way over to Jamie.  Jamie’s eyes widen and his lips make a closed “O” shape as he backs up completely against the turnbuckles.  He takes a few slow and steady breaths as Spike blinks only once.

Spike:  Mind your own goddamn business, Jamie!

Vixen:  The same might be said for you, Spike.  This is my choice to enter Grinder.  I hate to say this to you, Spike… but you can’t stop me.

Spike:  Like HELL I can’t!

The fire has now entered Vixen as she takes a few steps closer to Spike.  She purses her lips in a no-nonsense sort of way as she looks up at Spike.  He refuses eye contact with her because of her weird voodoo-like spell she casts on him any time he looks into those deep, creamy milk chocolate pools she calls eyes.  She puts her fists on her hips, puffing out her own chest.

Vixen:  This is not what I signed up for, Spike Staggs…  You will not control me like you did for the… other unmentionable females from your sorted past who don’t deserve to be mentioned.  We are New X-Tremes for life, but that doesn’t mean that you can play big macho man and stop me from doing what I was born to do.

Spike:  Hold your fucking horses, Vix… I am not trying to control you.  I’m trying to save your life!  So sue me for caring about you.  After what happened against Sean Jackson, I really don’t think it is safe for you to compete in this match where the whole roster is fighting in a first blood cage match!

Jamie:  Awwww… It is your first couples quarrel…

Spike and Vixen: SHUT UP JAMIE!

Jamie holds his hands up in surrender, raising his eyebrows in shock at their unity on this matter.  Perhaps they should thank him for bringing them back together in what has the potential to be a major ruiner for their relationship.  Instead, they look back toward each other, their fire being tamed just a bit.

Vixen:  I appreciate it Spike, I really do but I came this close to beating Sean Jackson and I beat a seven foot tall Phantom so this match isn't going to be any more difficult.  I risk everything when I step in the ring all the time but it is my choice.  So let's just drop it and train okay?

Spike takes in a deep breath through his nostrils, flaring them out once more temporarily.  Jamie makes a whip lashing sound as he compliments it with a flick of the wrist.  Spike rolls his eyes as the inevitable eye contact is made with Vixen.  He quickly looks away, but it is too late.  The damage to his pride has been done as he takes a few steps closer.  A bit of a devious smile creeps upon his face as he runs his hand down the inner bust line of Vixen’s camouflage wrestling top.  He looks down into her eyes and lifts her chin up for a peck.

Spike:  This conversation isn’t over, Vix.  But maybe it would be better to continue it without someone giving color commentary?

Vixen:  I’m not sure there is any more to say on the topic.  I will not change my mind.

Spike:  And I won’t change mine either.  I saw what Jamie did last year in the Grinder, and it would kill me to see someone do half of that to you…

Spike backs away, not giving Vixen a chance to counter his argument with the obvious “It doesn’t matter” sort of reply.  He claps his hands and turns the music back on, playing “Agenda Suicide” by The Faint in the background.  Jamie pushes himself off of the turnbuckle, smirking at his brother’s reference to the mayhem he had caused just one year ago.  He throws his right arm out, then his left, popping them both as he jogs from side to side.  Vixen rolls her eyes at Spike and then focuses on the two locking up in the middle of the ring.  She watches as Spike easily takes control over his younger brother, sending him flying over toward the ropes.  Jamie ducks a jumping kick from Spike, and as he comes back, he leaps up for a Hurricanrana, but Spike flings him down with a powerbomb that shakes the ring.  Jamie crashes his knees together against the sides of Spike’s head and rolls back.  He bounces off of the ropes and catches Spike with a dropkick that rolls Spike backward.  He leaps over Spike, but Spike pushes himself up, his legs like a “V” in the air.  Jamie wraps his arms around Spike’s knees and uses all of his strength to lift his brother up.  Spike wiggles out of it, holding onto Jamie’s shoulders as he thrusts his legs out with a Dropkick of his own.  Jamie writhes from the face shot, and Vixen claps her hands for Spike.

Vixen:  You are getting your edge back, Spike.  Keep it up.

Spike:  I will maul over The Spectre, huh?

Vixen:  Hmmm, maybe.  You have to do a lot more than that to convince me you will breeze by him.

Spike is about to respond, but Jamie leaps up onto his back and drops down with a Falling Backbreaker.  Spike holds onto his back as he rolls around.  Jamie scoffs at Spike’s discounting of his abilities.  He drops down with a Falling Headbutt, but Spike moves out of the way and rolls over Jamie in a somersault.  He watches as Jamie gets up, holding onto his head and he flies off of the second turnbuckle with a Shining Wizard.

Spike:  I am not saying he will be a breeze.  He has a hell of a lot of talent, but I have just as much, and a lot of drive to prove myself against a rightful legend of BACW.  All I am saying is…

Jamie levels Spike backward with a Reverse Rolling DDT.  He is quick to climb the turnbuckle, but Spike is up much quicker than Jamie would have thought.  As Jamie turns around, Spike darts up the turnbuckle and leaps up for a very fluid Frankensteiner that sends Jamie rolling, landing on his back.  Vixen nods her head in approval.  Jamie holds onto his neck.

Jamie:  Time out, brother!  I said I would help you train, not get my ass kicked…

Spike:  I am sorry, man.  I’m just really intense about this match.  It is my first one as champ again and…

Spike sighs and nods his head, realizing he was taking it to his brother.  He reaches his hand down to help Jamie up.  As Jamie grabs onto it, he sits up and racks Spike with a low blow.  Spike falls down to his knees and Jamie grins.  He stands up over his brother victoriously.  He is ready to gloat until suddenly he falls down to his knees as well.  He is not only in a world of pain, but in shock.  Standing behind him with her fist still clinched, and a big smile on her face is Vixen.  She reaches down a hand and helps Spike back up to his feet.  Spike looks a bit shamed, and he gives Jamie a stiff kick to the side.

Jamie:  Hey!  Low blows aren’t against the rules in BACW.  Anything goes, so you gotta be ready for anything.  Just ask your girlfriend about that one…

Spike pulls Jamie up to his feet, both men still in a bit of pain from the low blows.  Vixen shrugs her shoulders innocently as she rubs the small of Spike’s back.  Spike and Jamie share a wary chuckle as they shake hands.

Spike:  You should know better than anyone, Jamie… We came from a hardcore background.  That is why I am most excited about this match.  If I would have signed a contact with any other alliance federation when I signed, it would have been BACW.  You know how much I miss the flaming tables, Jamie.

Vixen:  It is important to remember that this match isn’t under extreme rules.  You have to abide by NWA regulations.  Just because you are competing in that region doesn’t mean you are going by their house rules.

Spike:  I know that, but that doesn’t mean I won’t test the limits to please the audience.  I would only expect the same from Spectre.  It never hurts to be prepared for whatever comes my way.  That is one reason I wanted both of you here with me today.  You both have experience in BACW whether it be past or present, and it is time for me to sit back and be the student.

Spike leans against the ropes for leverage as he prepares himself for a lesson.  He is shocked at the only piece of helpful advice that is tossed his way.

Jamie:  Look, scro.  The only way to be fully prepared for the Bad @$$ Championship Wrestling world is to realize that you can never be prepared for what is to come.

Vixen tries to correct Jamie, but the dumbass actually had some amazing words of wisdom.  She nods her head toward Spike and pats Jamie on the back.  He smiles as if he just told them both the true meaning of life.  Spike soaks it in for a moment, slowly nodding his head as the information becomes real.  He smiles as he is excited for the challenges ahead of him, and his chance to prove himself to be more than just SCW’s Golden Boy.  He is the National Wrestling Alliance’s WORLD Heavyweight Champion, and he intends to stay that way for a very, very long time…

39
Supercard Archives / This Is War!
« on: February 28, 2013, 10:26:46 PM »
 This is war…

What does that even mean?  The term is thrown around these days to signify a variety of things.  Merriam-Webster defines war as “a state of usually open and declared armed hostile conflict between states or nations: a period of such armed conflict”.  When we think of wars, we think of massive nuclear warheads, or bayonets.  We think of a group of people who feel their cause is worth fighting for at the risk of losing lives, whether it be of their adversaries… or of their own.  We think of blood shed for a righteous purpose, enough blood to fill the rivers, no the oceans.  We think of right versus wrong, good versus evil, justice for the unjust.  With every war, we hope to get closer to achieving world peace.  Isn’t it just… wonderful?

The sad truth is that war does not stem from the need for justice.  War is not meant to right the wrongs of the world, or to strike down the wicked.  War only proves that world peace is a cruel joke which we cling to in hopes that one day, maybe… just maybe… all will be right.  Suffering will disappear.  Children in Ethiopia will no longer have to go to bed hungry for the sixth night in a row.  We can forgive our neighbor for their trespasses, as they forgive us for our own trespasses against them.  We will all live in a utopia of sunshine and fucking rainbows.  Unfortunately, man is just too self-involved for this to ever become a reality.  War is never about good versus evil.  It only serves as a metaphoric pissing contest between two or more men who have to compensate for something by taking from someone else.  It isn’t because of virtue.  It isn’t because one person’s God tells them that someone else’s God wants them to have land, money, wealth, power, or whatever the fuck they so desperately seek.  It isn’t because one side is better than the other.

Envy... That is the root of every single war ever fought by man.  That’s right.  It is certainly not because one side is right and the other is wrong.  Propaganda surrounds every war, because who in their right mind could fathom taking someone else’s life over a peace of land?  Who is that fucked up that they can justify committing a mortal sin for the purpose of padding someone else’s pocket?  Instead, one must convince themselves and anyone who is easily manipulated to murder in the name of God, or in the name of justice, or because it is just the right fucking thing to do in order to feed their own egos.  If you don’t believe me, look back at every war in history.  Dating back to Cain and Abel, violence was used to suffocate the notion that some people are more naturally gifted.  Cain murdered his own brother because he couldn’t stand the fact that he was inferior to Abel in almost every single way, and his own jealousy fueled his desire to snuff his own flesh and blood.  Napoleon had little man complex, and felt he had to prove himself to be a man by fighting to seize power over the French nation.  Hitler was an eccentric sociopath who needed to prove his penis size by trying to annihilate many groups of people and trying to conquer the world.

Where the hell does this come from, you say…?  I have been at war for a long time.  Life is a constant war.  I have spent a lot of time hurting people for the sake of proving to myself and the world that I am not a scared little boy playing the part of a man.  I have stepped on many people to get to where I am today, and I am not proud of it.  You look at my past and you think of me as The Most Sadistic Bastard.  You think I am some after-school special about how one can turn his life around and make the world a slightly brighter place.  My dedicated fans tell me every day via Twitter or Facebook that I have changed their lives in a positive way.  I must be a godsend… The truth is that I am still the same man.  I haven’t changed at all.  I am still ruthless in the ring.  I still get a hard-on by hurting people.  I still enjoy shoving myself down everyone’s throats.  I haven’t changed… I just chose a different cause to lead.  I am truly no better than I was eleven years ago when I first broke into the business.  I am just a lot more upfront about it these days…”



The War Within

Who knew that a digital clock could make a noise as it ticks away the minutes?  I am lying in my bed by myself at five thirty in the evening for the first time, well… ever.  I simply stare up at the ceiling as my fever almost seems to radiate from my forehead.  My eyes are bloodshot and burn as I just stare.  I feel too weak to even blink at this point.  Taking a deep breath, I look over to a glass of ice water sitting on my nightstand and my left arm disperses from its warm blanket sanctuary.  I press my dry lips to the cup, and I drink it down in what feels like less than a second.  I don’t bother wiping my lips, choosing to look as if I had ravaged the water and allowed the remains to drip down my hot face like a savage.  My breaths wheeze as they escape my lungs, eventually causing me to go into a coughing fit.  I slide a tissue up just a mere six inches from my chest and cough into it.  I use the remaining clean portions to blow my nose and dispose of it in the nearby trashcan.  After just a moment, I feel like I have caught my breath for the first time in two days.  I stare up at the ceiling and become lost in my own reverie.  The ticking of the minutes seems to rapidly get faster, going by like seconds as I notice the sun quickly disappearing.  The moon shines through my window, illuminating my room just enough to see what is around me.  I go to take another deep breath, but have that heavy wheeze that forces me to cough once more.  My head is starting to pound as I lean over to grab another tissue.  It is then that I hear the front door open up and abruptly close.  I pause for a second, letting out a low tone growl before spitting into the tissue and disposing of it.  I hear the soft footsteps making their way toward the steps.

Spike:  Vixen…?  I thought I told you that I would meet you in Puerto Rico in a couple of days.  Or… did you just have to come and play nurse?

Ahhh, always the comedian I am.  But, who can resist a nice innuendo like that?  She doesn’t say a word.  I guess I was supposed to pretend to be surprised.  I look over to the clock and it reads 7:30pm.  I shrug my shoulders and lay back in bed like the good little patient I am.  You know, I have heard that sex is one of the best medicines, but I wonder how valid that is because I should never be sick if that were true… I close my eyes for a second as I hear the slow, soft footsteps coming up the stairs.  I imagine the tight white thigh high skirt over the naughty black fishnets containing a fake syringe in the ribbons.  I imagine that big red cross on the right breast of her perfectly white shirt.  Oh, and that ever so naughty white hat with the matching red cross.  But let’s not forget the white Ked’s either, or else this whole fantasy is screwed…  A real Elle Driver minus the eye patch… I open my eyes in anticipation as I look at the empty doorway, expecting her to be standing there with a thermometer, threatening to take my temperature in the most cruel of ways.  I hear the footsteps getting closer and closer, getting louder and louder until…

Spike:  Who… who the hell are you?

I look into the doorway, seeing the silhouette of a man, around six and a half feet tall, wearing a black fedora and a trench coat.  Using energy that I was surprised I even still had, I scurried up against the wall, crouched like a frog, but ready to strike like a cobra.  My nostrils flare as the intruder simply lets out a low tone chuckle.  He slowly removes the fedora and holds it against his face as he pushes himself off of the door frame.  He walks slower and slower toward the bed as I inspect the room for something to aid my battle against this man.  He gets closer and my breaths feel harder and harder to take as I move forward in a very strategic manner.  His soft footsteps contradict his stature, making me slightly nervous as he walks into the soft moonlight, revealing his face to me.  That wickedly bright Cheshire grin shines first and foremost in the light.  The silver stud under his lip gleams as he turns slightly to face me dead on, as does the small ring in his left nostril.  His devilish eyebrows are slanted above his icy blue eyes staring up at me as his pointed chin is practically against his chest.  His laughter turns a little more sadistic as I stare on in awe.

Spike:  What… What the?  Who…?  What is going on here?

The anger boils over in me as I am staring at none other than… me.  Well, the old me that is.  I inspect his unkempt, long black spiked hair with blue streaks down to his boyish, neatly shaven face.  My blood starts to boil over in anger… or could that be the fever?

Spike2:  Ahhhh haha it’s good to see you ya little starfucker you…

I slowly sink down into my bed, yanking the covers over myself once more, only this time I cover my head entirely.  I take quick and shallow breaths as I lie there, waiting for him to disappear.  Instead, I hear his footsteps creak as he gets closer to the bed.

Spike2:  Awww, I’m hurt.  Do you mean to tell me you aren’t happy to see me, Spikey boy?

I continue to ignore him as I hear that low toned chuckle once more.  I clinch my eyelids closed and hold the blanket tightly over my head.  The footsteps continue as he paces back and forth around me.  He stops and sighs, standing at the edge of my bed.  We share an awkward silence as I try to make him disappear.

Spike2:  I got you to where you are today, kiddo.  The least you could do is answer me.  I guess you didn’t learn to be grateful after you took over.  See, I’m trying to find the things we still have in common.

Why won’t he just go away?  This really doesn’t seem like the time to be having some sort of deep philosophical realization conversation with myself.  Of course I have done more insane things without a raging fever as an excuse.  That doesn’t make me want to talk any more though.  I adjust my body and let out a soft moan as I turn over onto my stomach and bring one knee up and to the side.  It only becomes uncomfortable again when he lets out a satisfied groan.  He gets on the edge of the bed and crawls over me slowly and awkwardly, pausing just as awkwardly with his stomach against my back.  He chuckles again as he leans down over me like the heavy weight he always has been since the day I decided to change my life.  I knock him off to the side where he eventually rolls off and crashes against the floor.

Spike2:  When did you get such a supple ass for a man?  Did I always have that, or have you just been working it out more these days?

With a shameful cracking noise, the sting on my backside rushes up to the small of my back as he withdraws his hand after a firm grab.  I growl, but remain quiet otherwise as he slithers under the covers next to me.  He wraps his arm around me, lying on his stomach and looking right into my eyes.  I close them quickly so that he doesn’t get the satisfaction of getting to me, no matter how hard he tries.

Spike2:  Of all the people in the world, I don’t understand why you refuse to acknowledge my existence with a single word.  I’m forever a part of you, Spike.

Spike:  LOOK!  I’m not so fucking narcissistic that I need to hear myself speak.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise and lets out a loud, obnoxious laugh as he shakes his head quickly from side to side.  He buries his face in the pillow for just a second before noticing my face has not changed one bit.  He stifles his laughter and his jaw drops when he realizes I wasn’t trying to crack a joke.

Spike2:  Yes you do, Spikey.

Spike:  No I don’t. I’ve changed, and you just can’t fucking accept that because no matter how hard you tried to make people notice you for the cruel things you did, nobody cared about you!  You never got top tier title shots until the very end of your existence, and you just can’t come to terms with that, can you?

He stares deep into my eyes, giving me the exact opposite expression I would have imagined.  He smiles with his eyebrows raised in surprise.  I roll over onto my side, ready to face my demons.  He rolls over to meet me in a very intimate shared moment that makes me want to throw up.

Spike2:  The saddest part about all of this is that you have become even more narcissistic than I ever was.  You just proved it by throwing your *air quotes* superiority… over me in my face.  Say what you will of me, but I never once made myself out to be better than anyone, because I didn’t have to.  I went out there and did it on my own.

Spike:  BULLSHIT!  You stepped on everyone who ever called you a friend.  You stepped on Roxanne, you stepped on Jamie, you stepped on Apoc, you stepped on Demona, Mark, Nick, Jordan, Misty, Logan Kaine, Kittie, Mistress Payne, Tommy, Shaq Daddy, Tom Dudely…

Spike2:  You mean to say WE stepped on them.  After I was gone, you stepped on Misty on a daily basis.  You used Jordan Williams to catapult you into the spotlight with Mark Ward.  You then used Casey Williams, Vixen, Jessie Salco, Odette Ryder, Giani Di Luca, Derek Thorne, Jamie, and Aleksei Koji for Goddess only knows why.  If you look at your record, you stepped on twice as many people as I ever did.  Who is the dickhead now, you tasty morsel of… myself?  I aged rather well…

I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.  Was I really that self absorbed?  Better yet, was I right with the first part?  I really am not a different person now, I just changed a little.  I guess I did step on the people I mentioned.  He knows I am thinking as he scoots his head in closer.  His hand massages my lower back gently as he smirks in response to my own self doubts.  He is starting to win now, and I simply cannot let him have this victory.  Who knows what such a victory will do to me, or us…

Spike:  I don’t know what the hell you are talking about.

Spike2:  Well, the rough stubble, the slight age lines around your eyes and mouth, defining your face, you will be a hot Daddy type soon…

Spike: Not that you… you… you… ugh I can’t even think of the proper word to describe your weird, self-absorbed sexual attraction to yourself.  It’s just a bit too weird for me, and if I ever truly felt that way, well then I deserved to have my head shocked on a weekly basis, because I am glad that is gone.  I was referring to your accusations of me stepping on people.  I have done nothing but help people out in Sin City Wrestling.  I only went after the Heavyweight title because I was tired of people tip toeing around Nick Jones like he were a wrestling God who was never properly dethroned and never would be.

He looks at me, removing his hand slowly from my back.  Maybe he finally gets the hint that I am not interested in myself like that.  Nope, he begins stroking my cheek gently.  The one and only thing he… I ever cared about was myself, so it is no wonder this is the one time he would show kindness to someone, even if it is extremely awkward.  He pouts his lips out and looks at me with concern.

Spike2:  And people used to call me delusional.  You definitely don’t have a perfect bill of mental health, or else I wouldn’t be here would I?  I mean, you stepped all over Casey Williams who had been working for that belt for about a year.

Spike:  Oh PLEASE!  There is a reason he was still hunting down that title after a years time.  He wasn’t good enough for it!  He tried and tried and he failed despite all of the pushing and coaching and coaxing.  Who else was going to take the title from Nick?  Believe me, I waited behind and waited for someone to step up and become a reputable champion but no fucking body could do it!  Not Casey, not even that panty waste Rage.  God, it’s like you watched Blade Alexander’s promo and decided to try drilling it into my head!

He looks at me with a wink and then pats my head gently before he turns over onto his back.  He looks up at the ceiling for a moment as I roll my eyes at him.  He slowly turns over to look back at me.

Spike2:  If you hadn’t felt some kind of validity to his claims, would we even be having this conversation?

Spike:  It doesn’t matter, because it was a bunch of desperate bullshit to get me to doubt myself, or make me feel bad for my actions so that he could come swooping in to take my title after he FAILED the first fucking time!  He is sad, and could never even beat me on my worst day, and he fucking knows it!  I beat Casey for the title after pushing him with my all toward it and Casey couldn’t stand the fact that I was better than him, so he turned on me.  Giani couldn’t take that he isn’t good enough to be a top contender so he turned on me.  Misty and Jordan thought they could do better without NXT outshining them because it would take away from their own shine.  Jamie, Odette, Vixen, Jessie, and Derek obviously don’t feel like I am stepping on them, or they wouldn’t stick around!

Spike2:  Yes they would because they are too stupid to see what you are doing to them.  Or, maybe they feel like they look better because you have the top title of Sin City, and quite possibly soon you will have the top title of the NWA as well.  Some don’t like to be outshined, while others don’t like to be fully seen.

I couldn’t take his sniveling any longer and I reach back to punch him dead in the nose.  Instead of fighting it, he simply sits there and lets me.  I hear his nose crack as he rolls over the edge of the bed, falling down to the ground.  He slowly gets up but his stare hovers over me.  As the blood trickles down his bent nose, he smiles at me.  The blood pools over his lips before dripping down on the floor.  I stare on in shock as he continues to speak.

Spike2:  That was a good one, buddy…  I hope you can do better than that when you face Rage or… Or… haha… you might not be coming back from Blaze of Glory as the Heavyweight Champion.  You will do the one thing I never did… You will walk out of that match looking like a little bitch.

Spike:  LIKE HELL I WILL!!![/b]

I use the last bit of energy I have and I charge at him full force.  I give a vicious right hook that lightly breaks the skin on his left cheek.  The blood trickles down his cheek as he lets out another laugh, this time a much louder, more patronizing laugh.  He wipes at his cheek and shakes his head in amusement.

Spike2:  Pathetic.  You are nothing without that little bit of me left inside of you.  That is the only reason you ever did anything worth talking about.  Once you defeat me, you will have nothing, and you will not walk out of WrestleClassic with the NWA title.  You will then fade to nothingness when you lay flat on your back for the three count against Rage at Blaze of Glory II.  You will fade into oblivion, Spikey boy…

I reached back with all of my might, and I shoved him hard against the wall.  I pound his face into the nearby mirror on the closet.  Once I am satisfied for the time being, I spin his around and stare into his eyes.  A crimson mask pours down from his hairline, covering his face in blood, but those eyes stay wide open as he stares at me.  He laughs before spitting blood in my face.  I can see a shard of the mirror protruding from his cheek, but he doesn’t skip a beat at all as the crimson spray hits my face.

Spike2:  How in the world do you expect to beat Rage when you have nothing left in you?  I am the only thing that keeps you going, Spike.  You know I’m right.  Without me, Rage will make short work of you, and deep down, you are afraid of him.  That is why you sent those thugs after him at the end of Climax Control.

Spike: I never did such a thing.  I proved it to the police last week when I was accused of doing that.  I am not like you, Spike.  I don’t hire people to do my dirty work.  When I want something done, I do it to their face, not their back.

Spike2:  Ooooh, all high and mighty aren’t we?  Instead of giving people the courtesy of using them behind their backs, you use them straight to their faces.  Once they get tired of it, and you don’t have me to fall back on, you will not only fade away, but you will truly be seen as the sad piece of trash that you are, and you will come begging to have me back.  Without a title, without friends or family, and without your alter ego, you will truly be an empty shell of the man you could have been.  It isn’t too late, Spike.

Spike:  I don’t WANT you!  I don’t NEED you!  I can do better all on my own.  Maybe I won’t be such a miserable bastard when you are gone, and I can truly feel happy like I try to pretend to be.

I toss him through the window, and he grabs onto my shirt, pulling me through it with him.  We free fall for what seems like forever.

Spike:  Without you, I will be a stronger person because I won’t be shackled with the guilt.  I won’t need to feel responsible for the wrong I did in your lifetime.  I will walk into the ring against Rage, and I will make him pay for patronizing me with those doll heads and wrecking my locker room.  I will make him pay for putting on the friendly act and stabbing me in the back like the coward he is.  I will go into Blaze of Glory as a Double Champion, and I will walk out of Blaze of Glory as a Double Champion!  I don’t care what you say.  I don’t care what Blade Alexander has to say.  I don’t care what Rage has to say, I just don’t frrrreaking care what anybody else has to say…

Spike2:  Freaking?  Really?

Spike:  What?  I was at my “fuck” limit for this scene…  So sue…

With that, we both collide hard with the cold concrete patio. I lie there motionless for a second as I try my hardest to catch my breath.  My chest heaves, but I feel as if I can’t breathe at all.  Finally, after much struggle, I finally get a deep breath in and I can feel the blue leaving my face.  I take a few more breaths before looking over to see my old self doing the same exact thing.  The back of my head bleeds to match his pool.  They slowly pool and mix together as I struggle to say a single word, but can’t.  He simply grabs onto my hand and looks deep into my eyes.

Spike2:  I’m… I’m just scared.  If you kill me, what happens to me?  I can’t just die.  What was my purpose then?  What do I mean to this world?

I stare into his scared eyes, helpless to answer his questions.  After all, he was and always will be a scared little boy.  That is why we are no longer the same person.  I have transcended such pitiful notions of fear.  I have done amazing things in my life, and I don’t need to be validated by someone else’s opinion.  He is still so young and naïve.  

Spike2:  Why don’t you answer me?  What legacy have I left on this planet?  I spent so much time ignoring others needs and desires so that mine could be meant, but what was it all for?  I was a rotten bastard to every person I ever encountered..

I feel a tear hit my eye and it wells up as I try to hold it back.  I can’t help but allow just the single tear to escape my eyes.  I slowly sit up as he looks into my eyes, shaking with fear.  I run my hand gently across his face as if he were one of my children.  In many ways, he is like my eldest child.  I pull him over to me and cradle him in my arms as he shivers in them.  He rests his bloodied face against my chest.  I begin to hear the song “Change (In the House of Flies)” by Deftones and my eyes close.  Another tear rolls down my opposing cheek as I begin rocking back and forth with him.  He buries his face in my chest, hiding himself from the world as I feel his pain transfer to me.  This is when the tears really come crashing out.  I don’t even notice the fever anymore, nor do I feel the possibly fatal wound on the back of my head anymore.  He looks up at me and nods his head before looking away toward the stars.  I lay him out flat on the ground as he grabs a rose from the nearby bush.  The thorns dig into his hands as he folds his arms over his chest, proudly displaying the rose.  He sniffles and looks up at me for one last time as I stand up and wobble over to him.

Spike2:  We are blood brothers now.

His eyes wander over to our joint pool of blood before he closes his eyes.  I look down at him and nod my head in understanding.  I take a deep breath before lifting my foot up.  It comes crashing down with all of my might across his forehead, and a sickening cracking nose nearly makes me want to vomit.  That is when my eyes open.  I hear my phone going off by my bedside and I moan as I reach over to end the Deftones ringtone.  I groggily answer the phone.

Spike:  Hello?

Derek:  Brother, you must come out and meet me for a drink… Wait, did I just wake you up at eight in the evening?

I yawn as I look over to my digital clock at my bedside.  It reads eight o’clock on the dot before switching to eight oh one. I stretch my muscles as I rolls my tired legs off of the edge of the bed.

Spike:  Uhhh, yeah.  It would appear so.  But to be fair, I have a cold worse than any one I have ever had in my life…

Derek:  There is a Swedish remedy for a cold that will take it right out of you my friend…

Spike:  Is it the same one I learned in Germany, and saw again in Ireland?

Derek chuckles on the other end, giving me the answer I was looking for.  I groan as I slowly stand up from my bed and walk over to the bathroom.  I lift the seat up and adjust the phone against my shoulder as a trickling sound is heard.

Spike:  Give me twenty minutes and I can be at any bar on the strip.  Does Jägermeister count as cough syrup since it kind of tastes like it?

Derek:  Grandfather’s cough syrup, ja?  Hey, listen there is a… seven at one o’clock in a sea of fours so I am going to have to talk to you when you get here… Hello Fraulein, I wondered what that exquisite scent was…

Spike hears the phone click as the call is ended.  He smirks and shakes his head from side to side as he flushes the toilet.  He washes his hands and then runs the water over his face gently as the scene fades out…


*************************************************************


The day of reckoning is upon us all.  I spent the majority of the last seven years shoving that part of me as deep down as I could for hopes that it would just go away.  The monster that lives within each and every one of us, the one that we choose to ignore or tuck away is just clawing at my stomach.  It wants to break free and wreak havoc on every one and every thing around me.  It wants to see me go back to being the miserable person I once was. The war within has suddenly turned into a war outside of my own self.  I can’t contain the malicious acts that will come of this impending war.

I don’t feel like I am strong enough to fight it after this latest incident with Rage.  The respect I once held for the man has been thrown out of the window.  In one fell swoop, he made me snap.  He is the one who we can all blame if I never come back from this.  He exposed my deepest wound, and he exploited it.  Little does he know, he has not made me want to sulk or cry.  He has not made me lose my focus.  What he has done is made me even more determined to walk out of Blaze of Glory II as the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Champion with yet another successful defense under my belt.

This goes deeper than just exposing a wound.  He also stole my championship from my locker room, hired some goons to pretend to beat him with it to tarnish the NXT name, and then blame me for the attack.  How low can one person go?  Gah!  They never said that war was pretty, but this will give a whole new meaning to ugly…



THAT SONUVABITCH!

Spike Staggs is clearly not happy when he slams the NXT locker room door.  He is nearly shaking with anger as he pulls out his phone, getting onto Twitter immediately to vent his feelings on the events of Climax Control.  His eyes are about the size of saucers… angry, violent saucers as he types away on his screen.  He doesn’t say a single word despite the fact that his brother Jamie is standing right by.  Other than his fingers typing away furiously, he doesn’t move.  Jamie approaches Spike cautiously, waving a hand in front of him to see if he is even aware enough of his surroundings.  When Spike doesn’t respond, Jamie’s shoulders sink and he stands by, waiting for Spike to come back to reality.  Spike lets out a loud huffing sound as he kicks over a trashcan containing the doll heads from the earlier “message” sent by Rage.  He picks one of the raven haired boy heads and he throws it with an extreme ferocity as it cracks into pieces against the wall.  He watches the pieces rain down in front of the crimson “7DS” dawn on the wall and a sic smile overtakes his face.  He breathes heavily as a sadistic laugh escapes from his chest.  There is a knock on the door and Jamie goes to answer it.  Spike takes a deep breath and seems to calm down completely, holding a hand out to stop Jamie.  When Spike answers the door, a hefty man carrying a bucket of paint walks into the room. As he enters, he winds up accidentally knocking Spike across the back with the dry roller.  Jamie gives a look that screams “Oh shit…” as the guy continues in.  He looks at the door, seeming to be very unhappy with having to mess with the paint job.  Spike maintains a calm demeanor as he looks at the guy with a sweet smile on his face.

Painter:  You wrestling types always make it hell on maintenance.  Is it that hard not to draw on the wall like children?

Spike:  See, this was supposed to be an attack on me and my stable.

The painter suveys the situation and takes a deep breath.  He seems almost apologetic as he sets the bucket down on the ground.  He turns to Spike and pats him gently on the shoulders, nodding his head as he does so.

Painter:  Oh?  I’m very fucking sorry to hear about that buddy.  It is a real shame that you have to paint over it after going through the disaster of seeing a doodle on the wall…  Oh, haha wait.  You don’t have to paint it.  I do.  Here’s your bill.

He pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket and shoves it into Spike’s chest before pulling the tray from under his sweaty arm pit.  He grunts as he bends down to slide it angrily across the floor.  He picks the bucket up and pours some of the contents into the tray, muttering under his breath.  Spike crumples the bill in his fist as his wicked smile returns.  He starts to head over to the painter, but Jamie heads him of.

Jamie:  Hey, you don’t hafta be such a dick to my brother.  He’s ben through a lot tonight and…

Painter: … and if I gave a shit, I would have brought a sympathy card or something, you nitwit.

Jamie grits his teeth together, rearing his fist back with one heck of a punch locked and loaded.  The painter laughs and shakes his head before dipping the roller into the paint.  Spike grabs onto Jamie’s fist and shakes his head in the negative.  Jamie looks questioningly at Spike, but Spike holds a finger to his wickedly twisted lips.  Jamie looks disappointed and ready to protest until he almost seems to read Spike’s mind.  He covers his mouth as he chokes on his own laughter.  He takes a few steps back and then begins pounding the wall when he can’t maintain his laughter any longer.  The painter breathes through his nostrils and looks over to Jamie with pure annoyance painted on his chubby cheeks.

Painter:  Look, kid.  Do you need me to call the short bus for you, because you are just beginning to weird me out a little…

Jamie pushes his lips together, trying to straighten up his act, but the laughter comes out as an obnoxious snort.  The painter leaves the roller sitting against the wall as he wipes his hands on his faded white overalls.  He shakes his head and balls his fists up as he walks closer to Jamie.

Painter:  You look like you need a real good ass ki…

Jamie jumps back about three feet, refusing to hold back his laughter any more.  Before the man can ask a single question about Jamie’s actions, a massive wave of white comes crashing down over the man.  His face is covered, hiding his expression as he soaks in what has just happened to him.  He slowly turns back to face Spike who is holding a big bucket that is dripping the remainder of the paint on the concrete flooring.  He has a big relieved smile on his face as he drops the bucket down to the ground.  The painter waits for the paint to stop flowing down his face before he clears out his eyes.

Spike:  You can bill me for the clean up.  But don’t worry about charging me for the clothes, because I have enough to cover that…

Spike tosses a five dollar bill on the ground in the paint.

Spike:  Oh, and Bubba?  Keep the change, asshole…

Jamie dashes over at Spike, giving him a big high five and a proud hug before opening the door for his big brother.  Spike is about to walk through the door when Vixen is about to enter the room.  She doesn’t expect to see Spike smiling so brightly, and so she matches it due to the surprise.  After only a mere second, she gets curious about why he would be smiling like this.  Her first instinct is correct as she peaks past him into the room.  She sees the paint covered man and her jaw drops.  What seemed like the aftermath of a Dick’d segment is what makes her look over to Jamie.  Jamie shakes his head innocently and points to Spike.

Vixen:  No, Spike wouldn’t… You didn’t, did you?

Her worried expression is echoed in her thickened French accent as she grabs onto his arm, almost begging him to say it wasn’t him.  Spike nods his head, quite pleased with himself, and Vixen smacks his arm with a grunt, but she can’t help laughing into his chest.  Spike embraces her closely as he puts his chin on top of her head.

Spike:  I know, I almost don’t believe I did it either.  Would it help if I told you the ass hat deserved it?

Vixen:  No, it wouldn’t.  I would expect that from Jamie, but not you.

Spike:  It is way better than getting an assault charge, Vix.

She can’t dispute this fact as she nods her head.  Jamie looks at her as if maybe he should be offended by her saying that, until he sees the validity of her point.  He shrugs his shoulders and the three begin walking down the hallway on their way to the parking garage.  Before they get half way there, Ms Rocky Mountains comes around the corner with a bright smile appearing on her face.  She readies her microphone as the cameramen quickly flock around her at her silent signal.

MRM:  Can I get a word with you Spike?

Spike sighs and rolls his eyes at the idea of doing an interview right now, but it seems as good a time as any with his busy schedule ahead of him.  He takes a deep breath and forces a smile onto his face and then looks over toward the cameras, propping his SCW title on his shoulder so that the camera gets the best view of it.  Rocky smiles as well, but not before adjusting her glasses a bit.  She nods at the camera, hearing the countdown from the cameraman.  3, 2, 1…

MRM:  I am here with your champion, Spike Staggs.  Spike, there are rumors going around that you have turned…

Spike:
 What?  What the hell are you talking about Ms Mountains?  I haven’t turned into anything?

MRM:  Well, Rage certainly did not attack himself backstage earlier tonight.  The assailants had NXT merchandise on them, and one man even had the SCW Heavyweight Championship belt on him when he was attacked.

Spike scratches his head with an intense look on his face.  He looks down to the championship belt on his shoulders and he realizes how guilty he looks and this only frustrates him more.  He closes his eyes, trying to think of something he could say that would help explain it, but he can’t.  Vixen rubs on his shoulders, letting him know that she believes him.

Spike:  You know what?  The whole fucking world seems hell-bent on believing that I was responsible for that attack on Rage, but even if it had been me… did they not see that I got attacked too?  Did they not see that I was attacked on a level that makes me wish it had only been physical?

MRM:  So, you are admitting to the fans that you did, in fact, attack Rage a few hours ago?

Spike:  NO!  Look, everyone is going to believe what they want to believe, but the fact of the matter is that I was off taking a private phone call.  I have no real alibi, but I did NOT attack Rage.  I am not going to try to convince you that I am a victim here, because what good would that do?  It doesn’t take back what happened earlier to myself or Rage.  Neither one of us is the good guy, Rocky.

Spike lowers his eyes to the Heavyweight Championship and he studies it carefully.  He almost seems to go off into a momentary trance, his eyes moving across the belt as everything else seems to tune out.  Rocky clears her throat, waiting for Spike to continue, and he finally seems to snap back to reality.

Spike:  I would love to sit here and convince you that I am the one who has been wronged, so you should cheer for me above Rage, but the fact is that both of us are selfish men who want nothing more than to have the glory of being your champion.  Neither one of us is a better person who deserves the cheers of the fans above the other.  We are only doing what we can to come out of this as the top dog.  Whatever happened to us today, we are both deserving champions.  Unfortunately, I have done what he couldn’t do without the assistance of his stable mates.  I defeated Nick Jones against all odds.  I did it despite the fact that his Entourage tried interfering, distracting Christian Underwood in the process.  I had every odd in the book stacked against me, and I still defeated him to carry this championship.

MRM:  I thought you said neither man was better than the other?

Spike:  I said neither one of us is more innocent than the other.  Neither one of us deserves the support of the fans more than the other.  When you compare skills, I have done more in my career than Rage could ever dream.  This is my third Heavyweight title reign, both lasting months rather than one and a half.  I have held a number of championships beyond that.  I was born into this business, and I don’t mean in the way a spoiled Prince is born into the royal family.  I mean that I have lived this business since the day I was born.  I have been eating, breathing, shitting, and living this business for thirty one years now.  I didn’t join the sport as some way to relieve my anger issues.

Spike narrows his eyes as he talks, acting as if what he is saying is a given.  He shakes his head in aggravation that he even has to explain himself to anybody.  Vixen rubs his shoulder, trying to cut down on his intensity a little, but this time it does not work.  Instead, he props the belt up on his shoulders to further prove his point.

MRM:  While that might have been the origins of Rage’s career, don’t you think it is a little naïve to think that Rage is not a worthy competitor?  I mean, you said so just moments ago.

Spike:  As worthy as competition gets here in Sin City, yes… Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean much when you are going up against the best.  Despite all of that, I am going to be the one who looks like the asshole because I have the goddamn balls to speak the truth.  Anyone that the higher ups have thrown my way, I have defeated, whether it be for the title or not.  There is only one man that I have not defeated, and that is my former mentor, “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward.  Believe me when I say that there is a big difference between him and Rage.  Of course, that makes the fans hate me for giving respect where it is due.  Instead, the fans are going to cheer for the guy who gets off on the idea of having a heart attack before he hits forty.  They want to cheer for the guy who acts all big and bad, but hardly backs his words up any better than Casey Williams.  They are both big, dumb, smelly apes who don’t even hail in comparison to me.  The fans want to cheer for a guy who has to hide behind some self-righteous, star-fucking, idealist who constantly contradicts herself much like Buddhist version of a Westboro nutcase, ignoring doctrine when it doesn’t suit their cause.  It is fucking pathetic, and if the fans want to cheer for someone like that, then I hope that they won’t hate me too much when I kick Rage’s ass and walk out as the champion.  No, I will walk out as a Double Champion…

Spike points to his empty shoulder, signaling where the NWA title will be in just under two weeks.  He nods his head as Vixen claps her hands in support.  Spike takes a deep breath, wiping a bead of sweat from his upper brow.  He leans over to Vixen, giving her a long, passionate kiss on the lips as Rocky appears to be waiting politely.  When he pulls away, he starts taking a step away from the camera.

MRM:  Spike, I want to ask if you…

Spike holds up a hand in her face, looking a bit annoyed by the interruption.

Spike:  We’re done.

MRM:  But Spike…

Spike:  I said… we… are… done!

Spike marches off as he finally lowers his hand to his side.  Vixen quickly follows after Spike, as does the oddly silent Jamie.  Rocky shakes her head, ready to say something as the other cameramen turn their cameras off.  Jamie pops up behind Rocky, gyrating and making slapping motions to her behind as the scene fades… TO BLACK!


As I sit here in my locker room, waiting for WrestleClassic 2013 to start, I can’t help but wonder what might happen in my Main Event Cage Match against Chris Xtreme.  I want to win the NWA title, but a little part of me wishes it were Rage and I.  The things I would do to him would be spectacular.  With an audience of this caliber, it would be a perfect place for me to start this war.  I am imagining the steel cage slicing at Rage’s face as I work out all of my aggressions.  Instead of grinding my boot into Chris Xtreme’s spine, I imagine doing it to Rage.  Instead of beating the life out of Chris Xtreme for the NWA World Heavyweight Championship, I wish I were destroying Rage to defend what is already mine.  The victory would be just as sweet for my career, but it would be much more satisfying to settle the score with Rage.

As I told Rocky Mountains almost two weeks ago, neither one of us is more worthy of the fans affection than the other.  Our war is not an unselfish one for either of us.  I don’t expect to use my NXT team mates to help me fight my battle.  My own selfish actions will be carried out by myself.  I will not release weak propaganda to tell people they should be on my side, because quite frankly, I don’t give a damn.  I am here to prove that I am the top champion, not only in Sin City Wrestling, but in the National Wrestling Alliance.  It all starts here tonight, but the real war will come when one of us goes down in a Blaze of Glory…

Rage?  Are you ready?  Have you made your amends with the dead?  Have you been training really hard?  Have you thought of new ways to get inside of my head, Jacob?  If I thought you were important enough, I would have planned ahead more, and I would have worked my way into your head.  You wouldn’t be left to question whether I am playing mind games, because you would know.  I would make sure you knew.

As I pump myself up here in solitude, getting ready for the sweet reverie of the steel cage, I can’t help but realize that this is no exaggeration.  I am not trying to be dramatic when I say this… This is war.  Are you ready for it, Rage?  Are you really?

40
Archived Roleplays / (Women Pt 2)
« on: February 15, 2013, 05:15:55 PM »
 ”Some of the critics have said I barely escaped my match against Blade Alexander with my championship still in my possession.  What do they know?  I did exactly what I always do.  I put a punk in his place like I did the last time I called his ass out and challenged him for the championship.  Why do the feel the need to discount the fact that I beat the prick twice?  Fucking critics…  My point is that I am still the champion and no one is going to take that away from me.  I am in my forth month as the champion and there are no signs of slowing down any time soon.  As a matter of fact, I have the fullest confidence in myself that I will walk out of WrestleClassic as a double champion.  I defeated Blade Alexander, and as hard as it is for me to say, he is a much more technically sound wrestler than our “champion” Chris Xtreme.  Plus, people don’t seem to remember that I did get my start in a hardcore environment, so adding a cage to the equation only works more in my favor.  It is almost as if they want me to walk away as the champion, because they know I will restore the integrity that the belt used to hold.  If you are waiting for a savior, that savior has arrived…


***********************************************************************


Outside of the red brick home, sporting black shutters and trim, the wind blows lightly through the rose bushes lining the front of the Staggs residence.  The dead flowers crumble with each wisp of wind that beats viciously at them.  The bright sunlight gives us false hopes of a beautiful day as the blustery air sends a wintery chill down our spines.  The crisp sound of stepping on the hibernating lawn starts us on our journey up toward the front porch where a black cat greets us.  We lean down and pet the cat gently before it hisses at us and goes on about its business.  After taking a moment to deliberate, a pale white hand reaches up and knocks on the door with authority.  The hand is slender and lady like, adorned with red nails and a couple silver rings with various designs on them.  There is a moment of silence as the wind dies down temporarily.  The hand fades from view as he stand there, admiring the “Welcome” sign hanging on the black door.  After a moment of waiting, we look down at a ladies wrist watch before finally hearing footsteps from inside.  A light murmuring voice is heard from within as the door swings open.

Spike:  Ohhh, somebody is going to get a show when…

Spike’s jaw clinches as he takes a deep breath through his nostrils. He is standing there in nothing but a pair of tight black leather novelty underwear, a chain necklace, and steel toe work boots.  His eyes flare with an intensity of a different kind as he starts to close the door.  The hand reaches out and stops him from doing so.  We turn to the side to see a red-headed Amazon of a woman standing there in a black mini skirt and tank top, covered with a long black fur coat.  Her green eyes sizzle with intensity as she clutches the door, clicking her stiletto heels against the concrete porch.  After a moment of asserting herself, Spike finally speaks again.

Spike:  It’s bad enough you taught Misty how to be a crazy fucking stalker, but now you are returning to those games too… Can’t you two just leave me alone after kicking me to the curb instead of putting this mindfuck on me?

Roxanne purses her lips, flicking her long lashes in the direction of the crack of the door.  She lets up on her grip of the door and waits for Spike to open the door back up.  When he finally does, he is covered in a black trench coat.  He stares at her for a moment as if to ask if she had a reason for being there.  Given their past, she picks up on this and offers her explanation.

Roxanne:  I wanted to come by and wish you luck on your big NWA Heavyweight title match.  You really deserve it.

Spike folds his arms across his chest and raises a curious eyebrow to Roxanne.  As easy as it was for her to get the hint that he was waiting for an answer, he could see right through her lies.

Spike:  That’s great.  Where were you when I had my first match against Jack Kraven?  Oh, or the second one where I won the title?  Or what about my SCW Heavyweight title shot?

Roxanne:  No offense, but there was never a match I was more confident that you would win than the match against Chris Xtreme.

Spike:  Among many reasons for us not working out, you suck at flattery.

Roxanne shrugs her shoulders and gently nudges her way past Spike.  He stands there for a second in shock as she comes inside without any qualms.  He slowly turns around as she sheds the thick fur coat, laying it neatly on the arm of the couch.  As intoxicating and familiar as her perfume is, Spike has to fight back with all of his might so that he doesn’t vomit.  Roxanne takes a slow lap around the living room, admiring the pictures of Spike and his two children, namely the red-headed teen boy, the fruit o her own loin.  She runs a finger over his smooth ivory cheek before Spike rips the picture out of her hand.  He places it back where it belongs as a flicker of a pained expression flashes across her face.  Spike sits down on a reclining rocker in the corner of the room, just staring at her.  He is doing everything he can to keep his hate in check as they maintain eye contact for a solid minute.  Finally, she breaks it and walks over to the couch, sitting down seductively.

Roxanne:  Despite the lonely feeling of the house, you have maintained a beautiful home.  How is Eden, it has been a long time since I’ve seen…

Spike:  You have five seconds to explain why the hell you are here before I kick you out.  4… 3… 2…

Roxanne:  I told you already.  I wanted to wish you luck on your match.  Does that make me a bitch all of the sudden?

Spike tilts his head back, offering her a laugh in response, as if to say “There is nothing sudden about it, honey.”  She bites on her bottom lip so not to say something too cross toward Spike.  He rolls his eyes as he sits there, just shaking his head.

Roxanne:  I understand that our past is sorted, Spike.  We had a lot of downs, but you seem to forget that we had a lot of upside in our relationship as well.  We fought to make it work for a long time.

Spike:  If you are trying to win me back, that ship set sail nearly a decade ago when you stuck your ass out to other men and humiliated me by hiding it from me. It seems like I was the one who did all of the fighting while you pissed it away like it was nothing, so how fucking dare you come into MY home and try to appeal to my emotions with this garbage!  How dare you, Roxie?  Especially because I am in a happy relationship with Vixen.

Roxanne:  I don’t want… *sigh* I am not asking you to forget that, or even forgive me for that matter.  All I am asking is that you hear me out.  I am genuinely sorry for everything I have done to you, Spike.  Everything…  Everything…

Roxanne’s eyes lower to the ground.  If she was capable of feeling full emotions outside of anger, she would most likely be crying at this point.  It is almost as if her brain had somehow learned to feel guilt and regret, but it could not communicate it to the rest of her body.  Her jaw clinches as she tries her best to look back into Spike’s eyes.  His diamond eyes seem to block out any of these signs, and they reject her attempt at eye contact.

Spike:  That’s nice.  Does sorry take back all of the men?  Does it take back all of the hell you put me through because I told you I had enough? Does it bring back the two years of a relationship that might have lasted if you didn’t put us through the ringer?

Roxanne:  Oh please!  You love making me out to be the asshole.  I am, I admit it, but you rubbing it in makes you one also.  And a stupid one at that.  Misty stuck with you because of me.  I had gold, she wanted it, and what better way to appeal to the bookers than to be the girlfriend of the champion’s obsession?  Every time I said I loved you, I meant it.  I can’t say the same for Misty or Vixen.  When you had gold, it was only a bonus.  To them, if you didn’t have it, you wouldn’t have them as Misty proved…

Spike:  You don’t know the first thing about Vixen, Roxie.  If you aren’t going to say something worth my time, you can leave now.

Roxanne’s cheeks are flushed with anger that overtakes her previously sullen look.  She clinches her eyes together as she takes a deep breath. She slowly exhales and nods her head.  She slowly raises herself off of the couch and picks up her coat.  After unfolding it, she slides it over her shoulders.

Roxanne:  Just so you know, I didn’t want you back, Spike.  I only wanted to ask for a favor, but now I realize you are incapable of doing the smart thing.  Instead, you are going to watch as you and everyone around you falls to the darkness.  I tried appealing to your heart, but you don’t seem to have one anymore.

Spike:  And you are surprised by that?

Roxanne:  When you ask the Wizard for a heart, you might want to ask him for a brain too.

Roxanne gives him one last look of attitude before walking toward his kitchen, which strikes Spike as odd.  He gets up from the chair and follows after her.  Her heels click against the tile flooring as she rushes over to the back door in a huff.  Spike seems curious about this as he opens his mouth to speak.  He doesn’t make it in time as Roxanne walks through the back door.  She slams the door behind her and makes her way across the long back yard.  She stops at the small tombstone at the edge of the yard, stopping to give it a nod before she climbs over the fence and starts on her journey across Misty’s yard, leaving Spike even more bewildered as we fade.


***********************************************************************


”As I said before, every woman that has been placed in my life has impacted my life in a major way, whether it be through shaping me into being the man I am today, or simply just by being there for me.  They have motivated me to straighten up my life, or they have momentarily wrecked it.  Even if I am not pleased with them, I have to give them thanks, because without them, I wouldn’t be in the position I am today.  I wouldn’t be headed down the path I am, walking onto the grandest stage of them all at WrestleClassic with the top prize in the industry on the line.  I simply would not be the man who stands in front of you right now.  I owe this to every tear I have shed.  I owe this to every time my heart was broken.  For every warm embrace, for every kiss, for every reassuring glance, for every precious moment that you have given me, I thank you…


I can tell she is hiding it from me.  I just know it.  As I walked into the hotel room, I could sense the many tears of sadness and anger that had been left on the ground, leading over to the bed, on the pillow, and it tore at me.  Anyone with eyes could see that she needed someone to act like they care, even just a little bit.  As my eyes rest on the Australian Bombshell, Odette Ryder, I could tell that pearly white smile was as fake as my uncle Erik.  I stared at her and just waited as I saw the tears being sucked back in for the sake of appeasing me.  What was only about thirty seconds seemed like hours as I watched her cheek twitch slightly.  Those emerald green eyes were shining like the dews of a warm summer morning, giving off the false impression of her normal warm demeanor.  She didn’t think that I would notice the ever so slight pout in her lips as she slowly waved her arm in the direction of her couch.

Odette:  Where are my manners?  Please, come in Spike.

I nodded my head as I walked through the doorway.  I looked around at the massive interior of this signature Luxor Suite, admiring the spacious design for the slightest of seconds.  There was even a private hot tub in front of a window overlooking the beautiful Vegas skyline.  You could see for miles and miles, lit up like a Christmas tree, all from the comfort of 110 degree waters.  I broke from that for a moment and walked over to the couch as she offered me a drink.  Why not?  I nodded my head as she poured a small glass of Gentlemen’s Jack over four filtered ice cubes that sparkled like diamonds.  She brought it over to me and then resumed her place at the other end of the couch.  She tossed a blanket over her feet as she looked back over to me.

Odette:  I am never unhappy to see you Spike, but to what do I owe the pleasure?  Do you need a sitter for Eden?

I broke my gaze off of the warm fireplace to look over to Odette.  Her eyes were starting to show off her true feelings as she blinked them.  The faintest of tears got caught in her eyelashes, but most would not notice this, so she didn’t worry about it much. As I inspected the bombshell, noticing the ruffled tissues on the end table, I reach over and wipe the tear away.

Spike:  I wanted to come by just to check up on you.  It seems like you have had a lot going on lately, and could use a friend.  Lord knows you have helped me out in that aspect more times than I can count…

A smile tries creeping onto her face, despite the fact that I had caught onto her game.  This one was genuine, struggling as much as it could to spread from the corner of her mouth, but it fails.  She slowly shakes her head from side to side.

Odette:  If you mean babysitting, it is never a problem.  I love spending time with the kids, Spike.  They are wonderful.

Spike:  Thank you, but that isn’t what I am talking about.  You and I have a deeper friendship than that.  It transcends teacher-student, even.  You are like a sister to me, O.  Family doesn’t abandon each other when times get rough.  That is when they step up and help each other

Odette:  I am just going through a few minor changes.  It isn’t anything I haven’t dealt with before.

I watched as her eyes screamed out “I AM LYING!!!”  In a sort of goofy display, I raise an eyebrow at her and move my head from side to side with a snap of the fingers.  She bursts out with a laugh as I give my signature half grin back at her.  After a light roll of the eyes, she looks away and wipes at her eye, getting the remainder of a tear.  I took one respectful scoot closer to her, placing my hands on my knees as I turn my ear to her.

Spike:  See this ear?  Do you see it? Here, look at it…

Odette: God, yes I see it, Spike!

She slaps my shoulder playfully before adjusting herself to look at me.  I turn to look into her eyes to emphasize my point.

Spike:  It is there so that I can listen.  If you need to talk, I am here for you, Odette.  Don’t be afraid to talk to me, because I am more than meets the eye.  Sometimes, I give pretty good advice even.  I don’t like this distance, but I will respect it because I understand it.

Odette:  Sometimes, I just need a minute to collect my thoughts.  It isn’t anything personal.

Spike:  I understand that.  We all need to get away sometimes.  We all need our space, but it doesn’t help when no one seems to notice we’re gone.  My point is that I notice.  I am giving you space, as a friend, so that you can collect your thoughts, but when you need to talk, come to me.

Odette reaches over and gives me a gentle hug and nods her head.  This time, the smile on her face works its way half way across her lips before she leans backwards.  She sighs, and looks into the fireplace.  I watch as the flames dance in her eyes and I can see the light in her has been tainted by Misty.  I can see her fighting it off with every ounce of her being, but that doesn’t change the fact that it is still there.  We sit there in silence for a good ten minutes.  The relaxing flames dance against the glass of the fire guard.  There is nothing that she wants to volunteer to get off of her chest, and I respect that but after the ten minutes, I turn back to face her.

Spike:  You know…?  Once upon a time, I was the most miserable bastard that ever graced God’s given Earth.  I was so miserable, and I refused to say a word about it to anyone.  I plastered a fake smile on my face.  I cracked jokes in front of the camera.  I played practical jokes with Jamie.  I went out in front of those fans, and I played to them with every fiber of my being.  I played this happy fan favorite who was so full of cheer.  On the inside, I was no better than I was when I was cracking chairs over guys like me, brooding over those who were getting ahead of me.  Especially after the date of March 25th, 2012, I wanted nothing more than to shout at everybody and break things and hurt people.  Sometimes that asshole showed, but overall I choked it down with all I had.

She nods her head, completely understanding where I am coming from.  I can tell she relates to me at this very moment, as she is hanging on with a thread.  As if I were a tailor, I begin stitching the proverbial tears, slowly and precisely.

Spike:  I had my entire world crumble down around me five times in my life.  This last one nearly destroyed me, O.  It almost killed me literally.  I was trapped inside of this dark place with no hope of escaping it.  The woman I was bat shit crazy over, the woman I planned on spending the rest of my life with, kicked me in the balls and told me she detested me, in front of thousands of people, then broadcasted over the internet, in front of friends, and our closest family members, including our daughter.  Can you imagine how dark I felt after that?  I could have crawled under a rock and disappeared.  If I didn’t have children, I probably would have.  I looked around me, and all I saw was the next failure.  I was all but destroyed when all of a sudden, I saw this light… It was a light that shined brighter than anything I had seen in a long time.  This light just made me see thing more clearly than I ever had.

Odette listened intensely to every word as she folded her arms over her legs, sitting Indian style on the couch as she is turned completely toward me.  It almost seemed like a child listening to a telling of their favorite story.  She lowered her head, and I couldn’t help but crack a smile as I paused for a second.  I picked up my drink and took a small sip of the remainder before continuing.

Spike:  This light gave me hope.  It made me realize that things could get better.  It made me see that I had a dream even grander than anything I ever expected.  I saw that light, and it illuminated truths I had been hiding from in this darkness, and I knew I needed that light in my life.

Odette:  I get it, Vixen is your light, and the story is meant to make me realize that…

I shook my head from side to side and Odette seemed surprised by that.  Instead of following my little story, she just throws her hands up in the air in a sort of frustration and turns away for a second.  When she turns back, I give her a smile in return.

Odette:  Alright, then what is this Hallmark story supposed to mean?

Spike:  This light guided me to where I am now. I am the leader of the New X-Tremes, a very successful stable within SCW.  We have had many champions within our stable, so no matter what others say, they can suck it… Anyway, I am leading the next generation of wrestlers to glory.  I am the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Champion.  I am competing for the NWA World Heavyweight Championship in just a few short weeks.  I own a wrestling school.  I am a wonderful father, I am a wonderful lover, not to toot my own horn.

*TOOT TOOT*

Odette laughs as I make the motion and whistle.  I see the first true glimmer of happiness come from her as she sits there, curious for the ending of the story.

Spike:  I have accomplished a lot ever since that light entered my life.  I thank it for everything I have gotten, and I owe a lot to that light.  That light needs to understand how… how awesome it is.  And if that light ever needs to talk to me about anything, it is the least I can do for it.  I would hate to see that light go out…  And in case you hadn’t picked up on it yet, you are the light I am referring to, Odette.


With every ounce of fight she has in her, she held back the tears until there was no doubt in her mind that I was speaking of her.  She clinched her eyes, and the tears flowed out like two rivers.  Her warm red cheeks became drenched, causing my eyes to lower for just a moment out of respect.  I had a comforting smile on my face as she leaned over and buried her head into my chest.  I reached around and gently patted at her back, nodding my head in reassurance.  She might not be sure of what is going on around her, but she can be sure that there is a true friend who is there to listen to her, to help her in her time of need.  She has someone who can offer her perspective, who knows what it is like to fight the darkness.  I will be the one man of honor who would never betray trust, or cross boundaries.  I have respect for Gabriel, he is another man of honor who is trying to be in her life, but it is not my place to tell her that.  While Gabriel is a friend of mine, Odette is family.  I have to respect and support her decisions regardless of how blind some of them may or may not seem to me, because they are hers to make.  All I can do is support the way she supported me in my time of need…”


Spike’s irises slowly expand in diameter as he shakes off the daydream.  He looks around to see his daughter running around in front of him.  One of the females in his life that has impacted his life the most had no clue what a blessing she was to him.  He watches her with a proud smile spread across his face as his son Tim runs behind, chasing her.  Once she reaches the window overlooking the airport runway, she stops and sinks to the ground chuckling.  Tim scoops her up in his arms and spins around with her, playing the way a big brother should.  She squeals excitedly as he lifts her up into the air and over his shoulders.  He sits down with her in a chair and takes a picture book from under his arm and she snuggles in close on his lap as he begins reading to her.  She looks up at Tim, hanging on every word, and Spike knows he must have done something right.  He takes a deep breath as reality slowly starts to sink back in.  He turns his attention to Ms Rocky Mountains who is sitting next to him with a microphone in her hand.  She adjusts her glasses as she reads his expression and smiles herself.

MRM:  Those are some inspiring stories, Mr. Staggs.  Tell me, does any of this have to do with Valentine’s Day?  The whole idea of love…?

Spike:  Not necessarily.  Last week, I was sitting back and thinking about how I have dealt with some seriously screwed up things in my life, and believe me when I say these cameras have only witnessed the tip of the iceberg.  I thought about the two main culprits of this, Roxanne and Misty.  I started wishing I could take it all back, and never have had them in my life at all.  I truly meant it until I realized what that would mean.

Spike’s eyes wander back over to his two children sitting across the lobby, passing time until boarding would begin for their flight.  He nods his head slowly as if to hear something that the rest of us are not.

Spike:  I realized that they couldn’t be one hundred percent evil, or else they never would have given me my angels.  I owe them thanks for that at the very least.  I thought about all of the other women in my life that I have taken for granted, and never thanked, such as my family, such as my mother, Vixen, Jessie, and Odette, and even you Ms. Mountains.  I request you by name for my interviews.  I can trust that you won’t make a mockery of me, or stray off topic.

MRM:  Why thank you, Spike.  It means a lot to know that I am not being taken for granted once in a while.  Since you mentioned that I don’t stray off topic, let’s try to stay on this one, shall we?  What does all of this have to do with your match?

Spike stops and thinks about it carefully for a moment.  He formulates his explanation in his head before taking a deep breath.

Spike:  These women have shaped me in so many ways.  They are my friends, my parent, my lovers, my joy, my misery, my motivation… They all pushed me in one way or another to get ready for this opportunity.  I was more than happy putting all of my focus on Sin City Wrestling because it is the region I feel I helped shape.  I was willing to avoid the grand stage to help build up the region that gave me the opportunity in the first place.  It was Vixen who encouraged me to do something for myself.  She let me know that if I worked hard enough, I could not only lead the New X-Tremes.  I could still lead SCW as their champion, and I could go on and lead the NWA as well.  I am a natural leader, and a born champion with wrestling deep in my bloodline.  Had it not been for Vixen, I would probably have turned this opportunity down, and focused strictly on my region.  I felt I owed a major thank you to the women that push me to keep myself in order…

MRM:  Very nice.  So, you are on your way to Puerto Rico, and I see you are proudly carrying the SCW Heavyweight belt.  How do you feel about your chances to return with the gold?

Spike:  I am fully confident in my chances.  Within reason, I am ninety percent sure I will return with that belt.  I am not a lazy champion.  I fight with every ounce, and I carry SCW pride on my shoulder when I walk down that ramp and into that cage.  The days of a lazy champion are over…

Spike nods his head confidently as he adjusts the SCW title on his shoulder.  He leans forward just a bit, puffing his chest out confidently as he listens to the vague announcement over the intercom.  He quickly pulls his attention back as Ms Rocky Mountains who brings the microphone back to her lips, brushing one of her dark, curly locks of hair behind her ear.

MRM:  I can only assume that you are talking about Chris Xtreme.  Do you have any last official words for Xtreme before you head off to San Juan?

Spike looks directly into the camera with a serious look on his face.  His eyes are full of that fire as he silently stalks his imaginary prey, presumably thinking of it as Chris Xtreme.  He makes sure to get the Sin City title belt in the shot as he rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck.

Spike:  Chris Xtreme… you had better spend these last few days with that title belt. You better cherish it for as long as you can.  Shine it up really pretty for me.  Show it off at every chance you can, because those days are numbered.  Sleep with it, eat with it, shower with it, treat it like it will be dead tomorrow, because once they lock those cage doors, I will be hell-bent on destroying you to the point where I can just walk out of that cage with not one, but two championships held up high in the air.  I will spare nothing to make sure of that, Chris.  I have nothing for you, the way you have nothing for me, so I have absolutely no qualms about destroying you in that ring and making the world praise my name for ending your short title reign.  I will resume my place at the top where I always belonged.  You will go back to nipping at my heels where you belong, son.

Spike takes a deep breath, his eyes shooting around for just a moment before returning his icy glare to the camera.  He hears an announcement over the speakers, but he doesn’t stop just yet.

Spike:  I was meant for this, Chris.  You were meant to be but a mere placeholder champion for me until I was ready to come back.  That time has come, so at WrestleClassic, be prepared to grieve for your loss, because it will be the most devastating loss you have ever encountered.  When you feel the Spikey Plummet, you will know it is D-Day.  Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Chris…

With that, Spike gets up from his seat, beginning to gather his belongings to board his flight.  The camera turns to focus in on Ms Rocky Mountains as a big smile spreads over her face.

MRM: Some powerful words from our SCW Heavyweight Champion going into his match.  You can tune in to see this and a lot more on Pay Per View on February 28th, 2013 when NWA’s WrestleClassic is delivered straight to your living room.  Who knows, Sin City Wrestling might be home to 4 NWA Championship belts with Sinful Obsession and Vixen also competing for gold.  Contact your local cable or satellite provider for ordering details!  What is in store for us at WrestleClassic?  There is only one way to find out…  Tune in LIVE!

With that, Rocky puts the microphone down in her lap, maintaining her smile as the scene fades… TO BLACK!

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