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Messages - Staggs

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21
Climax Control Archives / Pain and Pleasure
« on: September 03, 2015, 12:20:21 PM »
 Cruising For a Bruising
#NP "Hole In the Earth" by Deftones
Locale:  Sun Princess Cruise Liner; Somewhere in the South Pacific
August 9th, 2015



The deck of the ship is mostly clear as the light rain dances across the ground, sending a pitter patter against the deck, and the surrounding waters.  Standing just under the awning outside of the gym area is Tim Staggs.  He has a cigarette between his fingers as he shivers, bringing it up to his lips to take a hard drag from it.  He holds his arms together against his body as the moisture drips from his shaggy red hair.

Tim:  For Christssake, who's brilliant fucking idea was it to put us on a cruiseliner, in the middle of the ocean for a card titled Summer XXXTreme?  In the dead of winter in the southern hemisphere?  Idiots...

Tim looks around as technicians are mapping out the set up for the actual card.  He sighs as his breaths can be seen.  He turns slightly to look inside of the gym where fans have gathered to watch Spike Staggs and Vixen sparring with various members of The Nobodies.  Alexis and Connor are visible, while the others have their masks on tightly.  One of them catches Tim looking inside, and they make their way over toward the door.  Tim turns, putting the cigarette down at his side to keep it out of view as he leans against the wall nonchalantly.  The female masked Nobody walks through the door, gently closing them so not to draw any suspicion their way.  She looks at Tim, and her demeanor comes off as authorative.

Nobody:  Really, Timbo?  Smoking?

Tim's posture relaxes as he nods his head.  He brings the cigarette to his lips, the burning ember lighting up on the end as he starts to take a drag.  However, a gloved hand swipes it from his lips as he protests.  They bring it to their mask, lifting up just enough to reveal the crimson lips that wrap around the butt of the cigarette, taking a light drag.

Nobody:  Fucking right, menthols...

Tim:  They taste like shit, but that's all I was able to get.

Nobody:  Never underestimate the power of a menthol cigarette, especially in cooler weather.  It's almost like a swig of bourbon, it just warms you up on the inside.

Tim reaches back and pulls the cigarette back from the Nobody.  He takes another long drag of the half finished cigarette before putting it out on the heel of his boot.  He places it in the pocket of his hooded jacket, pulling a bottle of Axe cologne from the other pocket.  He gives himself a few heavy spritz before replacing it in the pocket.  He sprays a minty fresh breath freshener into his mouth, smacking it around a bit before blowing into the face of the masked Nobody for approval.

Nobody:  It smells like a frat boy go a hold of some GPC's...

Tim:  But, it's better than straight up smoke.  I have to get back in there before my dad comes looking for me.  Besides, I'm freezing my nuts off.

The masked Nobody pulls the mask down over her face as she simply nods in response.  She follows Tim inside the gym area as Holly Wood stands by, watching the dynamic duo in action with a camera in hand.  Spike looks up at him and smiles as he gives Vixen a nod.  Vixen and the rest of the Nobodies exit the ring as Spike waves Tim inside.  He holds his hand up as if to tell his father to continue on with The Nobodies.  Alexis walks over toward Tim, a hopeful grin on her face, but Tim snubs his nose at her.  Between the two evils, working with his dad suddenly doesn't look so bad.  He rolls in under the bottom ropes.  He hops up to his feet as Alexis sighs on the outside.  The fans around cheer, but they seem to be more excited to see Spike in action in a one on one scenario.  He plays up for them as Holly leans on the ropes, taking in a good look of the... situation.

Spike:  You ready for this, son?

Tim:  I was born ready, mothufff-

Tim stops himself in his tracks as Spike gives him that intense parental glare that tells him he'd better not finish.  In a bit of defiance, Tim rolls his eyes as he rubs his hands together.  Spike holds a hand out to add pause as he walks over toward the ropes.  He leans through them and waves someone forward.  Tim smiles, thinking it could be one of his uncles, or a cousin from Germany here to witness this.  He straightens up his posture completely as he looks out.  The sparkle in his eye fades quickly as fire takes over.  If we ever thought we'd seen Tim angry before, this is a whole new level.  He stomps on the mat as hard as he can before turning around to grip onto the turnbuckle.  He rips the padding off.

Tim:  FUCK NO!

Spike slowly leans back inside of the ring, looking stunned at Tim's colorful language, as well as his reaction to the situation.  He furls his dark brows as he walks over toward Tim.

Spike:  I told you to watch your language, young man.

Tim:  Get... her... out of here!  What kind of fucked up mind game is this?  Huh?

Tim turns back around, rage written all over his face, even in a way his closest friends and family members had never seen before.  His face is a new shade of red that almost rivals his hair.  We follow his stare to the outside of the ring where a very tall, almost Amazonian woman stands.  Her hair is the same shade as Tim's, and the green glint in her eye is identical to Tim's.  Her porcelain skin is also a close match.  Tim's mother, and former SCW Bombshell, Roxanne, stands on the outside of the ring, an expression of hurt written on her face as she purses her cherry lips together, rubbing them as she looks over at Spike who gives an awkwardly apologetic glance.

Spike:  Tim?  How can you treat your own mother that way?

Tim laughs and storms right up to Spike, getting in his father's face, causing a bit of a curious reaction from the surrounding crowd.  He points out at Roxanne as his eyes grow even wider.

Tim:  THAT?!  That is NOT my mother!  My MOTHER is at home with my SISTER!

Spike:  She brought you into this world, and she can take you out of it.

Tim is seething as he walks past Spike, bumping into his shoulder as he goes.  He leans over the ropes as he looks down at Roxanne.

Tim:  Hey mom...  thanks for the egg, but I think we're good here without you.

Spike:  I did not raise you to talk to ANYONE that way, little dude!

Tim scoffs in an almost comical manner as he turns back around to face Spike.  He studies his father for a moment, making sure he's being serious before he proceeds.

Tim:  That's right... YOU didn't raise me.  You put clothes on my back, food in my stomach, and a roof over my head, but I raised my fucking self, pops...  Just because the cameras are rolling, does not mean I'm going to sit back and let you play Father of the FUCKING Year!  It's bullshit, and you know it.

Spike:  I'm not going to say it again.  Watch your mouth, Timothy!

Tim:  Oh, I'm sorry... I thought that's what a Staggs is supposed to do.  Air their dirty laundry in front of a camera, because God knows we don't ever talk about anything.  It's unbelievable, dad... If you bothered to listen to me, like ever, you'd know that I don't want her anywhere NEAR me!

Spike is almost flabbergasted, unsure of how to respond as Tim paces quickly around the four sided ring.  He wants to shout more at his mother, but he can't even bring himself to stomach acknowledging her presence for another moment.  He tangles his fingers in his hair as he slowly begins to shake his head.

Tim:  I bet that bastard Acquin did this.  Trying to get inside my head before our match.  It makes sense, but that's even lower than I would ever have thought someone would go.  I am going to beat him into a bloody pulp on Sunday...

Spike:  Actually...

Spike grits his teeth together, sucking in air as he tries to think of a way to phrase it.  Tim laughs as he stops dead in his tracks.  Everyone else in the room seems to fade away as Tim narrows his eyes at Spike.

Tim:  You... didn't, did you?

Spike:  I was just so proud of the man you've become, and I figured it was only right for your...

Tim:  YOU HAD NO FUCKING RIGHT!!!  No fucking right at all!

On the outside of the ring, the masked female Nobody places her gloved hand near her mouth as she leans over to Alexis.

Nobody:  Good going, princess.  I see your nasty mouth has finally rubbed off on our little Timmy...

Alexis rolls her eyes at the masked Nobody as Tim shakes his head.  He turns away from Spike and looks out of the window into the serene ocean, trying to find repreve from his anger.  Spike gives it a second, but being accused of not caring seems to ring through his head.  He storms over to Tim and lovingly places a hand on Tim's shoulder.  He turns Tim around, prepared for a hug.  What he is not prepared for is the stunning right hook that takes him down to the ground.  Tim looks down at his dad, and his busted lip, before looking out to his mother.  He lifts his chin up in an almost arrogant, defiant manner.

Tim:  Are you proud of me, mommy?

Not giving her a chance to respond, he looks at all of the eyes resting on him as a hush comes over the crowd.  Tim sneers at each and every one of them, taunting them in hopes of getting some kind of a reaction.  When he sees no one is going to speak up, he laughs, rubbing his chin as he turns toward the door, toppling over the top ropes in a Handstand style exit.   As he lands on his feet, he looks out at everyone once more, first pointing to his mother.

Tim:  Fuck you...

Tim points to Spike next.

Tim:  And fuck you...

Tim pushes his way through the crowd, but Alexis gets in his way, stopping him in his tracks.  He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath through his flared nostrils.

Alexis:  Tim, wait...

Tim:  And fuck you...

Tim shakes his head as he brushes past her and to the door.  Not caring anymore about a cover up, he pulls the remainder of his cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up before walking fully outside.  Tim quickly lights it as he begins to storm off.  Tears of rage are flinging from his eyes as he briskly walks along the deck of the ship, a mist of smoke and condensation flowing from his lips as he moves along.  He's captivated by his own thoughts, some of which are brash and destructive, while others are oppressing.  He doesn't have long to react when he bumps into someone, pushing them down to the ground on accident.  It is enough to break his spell, though he's still not thrilled at who he sees.

Tim:  What kind of games are you playing, Lex?  I'm not in the FUCKING mood, alright?

He takes another harsh rip from his cigarette as he stares down at the blonde Alexis, only little does he know, that is not who he's staring at.  Alexis' sister, Riley Edwards, stares up at him in a bit of shock and confusion.  Without having to say a word, Tim sucks in a deep breath of regret, reaching down to help Riley back up to her feet.  He doesn't make eye contact, just staring down at the ground as he mutters what seems to be ingenuine, but is quite the contrary.

Tim:  Sorry...  Are you okay?

Riley:  I think... yes.  Did you call me...?

Tim nods his head as he takes another drag from his cigarette, looking out across the ocean.  Despite the cool air, Tim finds the empty waters calming, and a great distraction from the shit storm that has just occurred.  Riley smiles hopefully as Tim leans on the railing.  She joins him, though instead of staring at the ocean her eyes rest firmly on Tim.

Riley:  So you know my sister then?

Tim snorts at the idea, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head.  He presses the cigarette to his lips once more, taking a soft, slow drag, before sucking it deep into his lungs.  Just as slowly, he exhales before answering Riley.

Tim:  Apparently not as well as I thought... but yeah.  I feel like I know you too, and honestly, you're the last person I ever imagined having a civil conversation with.  So, before it turns into an episode of Twilight Zone, would you mind getting the hell away from me?

Riley chuckles, strangely enough.  Under normal circumstances, Riley would have left Tim alone, but something about his response hints that he doesn't really mean it, so she stays.

Riley:  You remind me a lot of her, you know, before she started talking like an angry sailor all the time... How do you know her, if I might ask?  Are you her boyfr...

Tim: FUCK no... not even close.  Your sister met me around the time she flew the coup.  I found her beaten and bloodied in my father's gym one night when I went in for a workout.

Riley looks horrified at this news as she stays captivated by Tim's story.  She can't even fathom the idea of what could have happened to her out on her own on the streets.

Tim:  My father is Spike Staggs, and...

Riley:  THE Spike Staggs?

Tim:  Yeah... he owns a training facility in Vegas where I found Alexis.  She just kind of... never left.  She picked up a few things, and here we are.  I hope I've satiated your curiousity enough for you to leave me alone now.  I kind of feel like being alone.

Riley nods her head, feeling as if she has now overstayed her welcome.  Despite Tim's outward appearance, she knows just how strong he can be from the accidental shove.  She holds her hand up in surrender as Tim flicks his cigarette butt out into the ocean.  His cold blue-green eyes rest on her, calculating, much like his father's.  She starts to walk off, which leads Tim to lean against the railing once more.  However, Riley has one last question for Tim.

Riley:  What did she do to make you so angry at her?

Tim scoffs as he turns around, glaring right at her.  She stands her ground, but not in a threatening manner.  She places her hands in front of her politely as she waits for an answer.  When it doesn't come, she clarifies.

Riley:  You are mad at her, right?  The way you responded to the "boyfriend" question and all.

Tim:  Yeah, I'm pissing fire right now!  Okay?  Is that what you want to hear?  Your sister is impossible.  She makes you care so much for her, and then once she's let you in, just a little, she shoves you back out into the cold.  You're forced to look at her through the window as she self destructs, and there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it!  It's saddening to a point, but then it's fucking infuriating!!!  I want to throw her over the railing right now!  And let me tell you, the two of you look pretty damn close, and I'm starting to think you'll do, princess!

Riley looks into Tim's eyes, a tear in her own as she walks closer to him.  She wraps her arms around him, sobbing into his jacket.  Tim looks as if someone had just suggested the most absurd thing in the history of man as he shakes his head, holding his hands out at his side.  Riley looks up into Tim's eyes as she brushes a strand of blonde hair from her face.

Riley:  Now you know how everyone, especially me, has felt.  The only reason I found out her secret is because I caught her.  Is she still doing it?

Tim:  Look!  I don't know you, and I definitely don't want you touching me!  I'm not... wait, what secret?

Riley bites her bottom lip as if she had said too much.  She lets go of Tim as she starts walking.  Without knowing it, she now has the power, causing Tim to try his best to appear casual as he chases after her.

Riley:  It's a long story, so I hope you have time...

Riley smiles sweetly as she looks to Tim at her side, the two walking along as the scene quickly fades out.


Pain and Pleasure
#NP "Beautiful Pain" by Eminem Ft Sia
Locale:  The Downtowner Motel; Las Vegas, Nevada
August 24th, 2015




"Here I sit in this dingy hotel room, staring at the contraban.  I look down at it, and even through the dim lighting in the room due to the curtains being closed tightly, a light seems to gleam off of it.  It's like I'm being called closer to the sweet release.  I must understand the appeal."</color>

Lying down on the golden floral print comfortor of the bed, Tim holds something up, and as he says, the lighting blinds us to it's identity.  He lies there in a pair of gym shorts pulled down in an almost teasingly comfortable manner, yet still appropriate for younger viewers.  There is a bandage patch on his pelvis, barely sticking out over the waistband.  He closes his hand around it lightly, pulling it down close to his chest.

"I could never understand what made people give in to such a demon.  Perhaps it is because I've never given in to a demon in my entire life.  I'm still a virgin.  I've never done a single drug in my life..."</color>

The irony comes in to play as Tim untangles his fingers from his red locks as he reaches over to the nightstand.  He picks up a pack of cigarettes, flipping the box open to retrieve a lighter and a fresh cigarette.  He presses the cigarette to his lips, but only stares at the lighter for a moment.

"Nothing that isn't legal at a certain age, anyway.  Some would call me naive... a loser.  They are half right.  I've had many monsters under my bed, many skeletons reside in my closet.  I've done and seen things that no one my age should ever be forced to even think about.  Naive isn't even close to synonymous with Tim Staggs.  But never once have I attempted to do drugs.  I've never once given it a thought, until now.  Now, I simply don't care.  I have nowhere to go since punching my father in the face.  I can't go back there, even if I were welcomed."</color>

Tim looks over to his burner phone next to his cigarette pack.  Part of him wants to call his father and apologize so that he can return home.  Part of him wants to tell all sorts of depths of regret he feels, but it simply wouldn't be true.  He's heard enough lies for his time, and he's certainly not about to perpetuate any.

"I don't even know why I bought this stupid phone.  There must be someone I want to talk to, right?  Not a single person comes to mind right now.  Let's face it.  I've got nothing to lose right now.  I have no name besides the one given to me by birth.  I don't own anything of worth.  If I were to give in to temptation right here, right now, and feel that high for the first time, possibly the last time, no one would even notice I were gone.  Everyone I try to talk to only seems to want one thing, and that is to leech off of my birthright.  How can they expect to do that when I can't even do it myself?"</color>

Tim gives in and lights his cigarette, still clutching the contraban close to his chest.  He takes a deep drag, holding it in as he savors the cool burning sensation.  As he slowly exhales, he notices that his shaking hand is also squeezed tightly, and a bit of redness is spilling across his chest.  As he unfolds his hand, a crimson coated razorblade falls from his hand and on to his chest along with the forming pool.

"Oh shit...  I didn't even notice the pain.  Maybe I wasn't doing it right.  Maybe I have to be more aware of it..."</color>

Tim reaches down with his bloodied hand as he stares at the sharp edge.  His cigarette hands loosely from his lips for a moment as he presses it down to his wrist.  There is a great hesitation within him as he feels the pressure.  This causes him to pucker his lips around the cigarette, taking in a deep drag before running it across his wrist.  He looks down blankly at it.  The crimson line is drawn, but no wound has been made.

"Of course, it wasn't hard enough.  How can this even be considered pleasurable?  Why would she do this?  Why would she hide this from me?  I simply do not understand."</color>

Giving it another attempt, he presses the blade down against his wrist, just about a half an inch up his arm.  This time, he sucks in a pained breath as he cuts at his skin.  His entire body shivers as he has a strange look on his face, indicating confusion at the sensations he's feeling.  The surface wound stings, but is not fulfilling.  What has his entire body excited is the adrenaline rushing through his veins.  Every hair on his body is on edge as he lets his arms fall down to his side, the blade hanging loosely between his slick fingers.  His lip quivers as a light trace of blood comes from the wound.  He reaches up and pulls his cigarette from his lips, licking at them, aching for more.  He sits up slightly as he looks down at his wrist, pressing the blade to it once more.  He sucks air in through his teeth, but he must... MUST have more.  He prepares himself to rake it across his skin once more, though he quickly shoots up from his bed.  He rushes across the room and shoves open a door.  He drops the blade into his toilet, when the crushing realization hits him.  He enjoyed that way too fucking much for his own good.  As he places his bloody fingers on the silver flusher, his head sinks down into the toilet, and he begins to wretch as the scene fades out...



No For An Answer
#NP "Never Wanted To Dance" by Mindless Self Indulgence
Locale:  Wellington, New Zealand
September 4th, 2015




Tim looks down at his burner flip phone, rustic to say the least.  He looks down at the screen to read a message as the brisk wind brushes over him.

"Meet me at the Lambton Quay Terminus

-Lex"


He looks around the busy terminal for the cable car famous throughout all of New Zealand. He spots a woman in a black hooded jacket coming his way with her hands tucked into her jacket pockets and her head pointed down.  His annoyed look quickly disappears as relief comes over his face.  He looks over just as the red trolley like car pulls into the station.  He grips Lex by the arm and drags her over to the car, bumping a couple out of the way to take their spot.  They protest with vulgarities, but Tim is far too concerned about Alexis to care right now.  He drags her into the car with him as all seats are now filled.  After a moment of buckling in, the car begins to take off.  As it begins to depart, Tim looks over at Alexis, and the annoyed look comes over his face once more.

Tim:  What the fuck, Lex?  You won't return my calls, then I get a random text to meet you at the terminus, and then you're a half hour late?

Alexis giggles under her hood, and Tim shakes his head in frustration.  He gives her a look that amplifies his inquiry.  He impatiently waits for an answer, and just as he's about to speak, he's interrupted.

Nobody:  I thought you and Lexi were at each other's throats right now.  If your literal "Fuck you" on the cruise wasn't enough, that little talk you guys had at your dad's gym sure was.

Tim:  Seriously, ((NAME CENSORED))?  How did you know Lexi asked me to meet her here?

Nobody:  Because I'm the one who stole her phone and texted you.  I was tired of hearing it go off as if she had a stalker ex on her case.  Besides, you wouldn't talk to anybody except the one person who didn't want to talk to you.  Not even your tag team partner for the week.

Tim sighs as he turns away from the masked female.  He sits back in his seat, tilting his head back as he sighs, blowing tufts of his ginger hair from his face.

Tim:  Well, I'm not in the mood for lectures, so there's that.  I don't need to hear how bad it was for me to punch my dad in the face.

Nobody:  Actually, that was pretty fucking cool if I'm being honest.  And Captain Hooker deserved it the way she's been acting since she got unmasked.  She's been all about herself.

Tim:  Yeah, says the girl who has been stalking Jessie Salco...

The masked Nobody looks over at Tim, though we can't see the expression on her face due to the mask.  However, one doesn't need to see to get the impression she is now a bit aggravated herself.

Nobody:  Uh, yeah, for you!  Listening to Slowcow drag you through the dirt on social media and on the shows was getting so freaking old, Tim.  Alexis should have had the good sense to rough her up for you, so you didn't snap and get fired for choking the bitch yourself.  But, no.  She decided to do her own thing, totally ignoring Salco.  I took the intiative.  If that's selfish, then I apologize...  Speaking of selfish, playing the whiny baby role is fun and cute for a minute, but now you're entering an entirely different zip code by screwing with Connor's win-loss record.

Tim:  Because that's all that matters to anyone, right?  Any Nobody?  Kris, Lexi, Connor, you?  Well, rest easy, because R.O.A.R. couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag collectively.  We've got this in the bag.

Nobody:  Oh?  So being former tag team champions is something to laugh at then?

Tim turns, slightly, taking in the almost breathtaking views of the city and countryside as the car passes over a long narrow track.  After a second, he looks out of the corner of his eye at the masked Nobody before sneering.

Tim:  Unless you are teamed with Despayre, then yes... it's completely laughable.  Danger Zone has a lack of real competition, so people don't see this yet, but defeating R.O.A.R. should not define your success as a team.  Defeating J2H and Casey Williams isn't much better.

Nobody:  But you and Kris couldn't do it.

Tim:  Because having Kris as a partner is a handicap!  I'd do better with a rock sitting in the corner as my partner!  I could decimate R.O.A.R. on my own, blindfolded.  Having Connor there just makes this all gravy to me.  Either one of us is qualified to defeat those idiots on our own, so why do you think I need to talk strategy with Connor?  We go in there, we continue the Kiss My Ass Tour, we win, and we leave, and we call it a day.  No more, no less.

Nobody:  You know, that's what I like about you, Tim.  You act like you have such low self esteem, and you think you're a lowlife loser, yet you pull out that big, swelled up ego of yours, and you just do it.  You don't ask permission, I mean, you just rape their ear canals, and it's sexy.

Tim laughs it off as he scoots a few inches away from the masked Nobody.  She turns to face him entirely as she playfully shoves him.

Nobody:  It's true.  You play this good kid gone bad, the derelict revolutionary who has had a hard time, and has succombed to the darkness, but you are your father's son.  You're a raging dick by nature, and you've only held it back until now.  Your modesty only grounds you.  You're not a Nobody like the rest of us.

Tim:  Then you understand the irony, right?  I have talent, yet I get overlooked constantly.  Everyone wants to debunk the Nobodies gimmick, yet we get put in matches against bottom feeders, or we're set up for failure by facing the top names.  This week, we have to face people who always seem to be out of it, like they don't really care.  R.O.A.R. half asses everything they do, yet somehow they expect them to give us a run for our money because they were former tag champions.  On paper, they look better than us, but there's no way we're going to lose this one.  Connor and I have the heart we need to make it through.  It's not a matter of ego, it's a matter of fact.  Call me arrogant, call me a fraud, I really don't care.  No matter how disorganized Connor and I are, we have this one won already.  It's not because we're Somebodies, it's because R.O.A.R. are even bigger Nobodies than we are.

The masked Nobody gives a soft nod of her head, not wanting to argue the fact any longer.  Once Tim i finished with his soap box proclamation, he faces forward and relaxes a bit, enjoying the ride.  Once we pan out to drink in the lovely views of trees and valleys with the big city off in the distance, we fade... TO BLACK!

22
Supercard Archives / TIM STAGGS vs JOSHUA ACQUIN
« on: August 14, 2015, 12:58:59 PM »
 Alone
#NP "Coming Undone" by Korn
Locale:  Reflections within Staggs Dungeon; Las Vegas, NV



I would be at home, resting up and strategizing right now, but I'm so tired of being invisible.  It's one thing to be an unknown in this business.  I actually like that aspect, because people won't see me coming when I take Sin City Wrestling by storm, but my own family?  Let's be honest here.  I am the one to blame for being upset at not being paid attention to at home.  It's always been that way.  Ever since I was a child, neither one of my parents could be bothered to be... ya know, parents.  Let's take into account the fact that my father, the great Hall of Famer, Spike Staggs, always put work first.  He was always on the road, and I understand why.  Providing for your family comes at a cost, but when the Most Sadistic Bastard wasn't putting people through flaming tables, or doing some other sort of dastardly deed, he was holed up in his room, drunk as fuck... </color>

Tim Staggs is seen seated on a weight machine, his arms spread out on the handles as he works out his upper body, sweat pooring down his face as he sits quietly, in contemplation.  The lights are dim in the dungeon, almost as if Tim doesn't want anyone to know that he's here.  He slowly pulls the handles forward, lifting the heavy weights behind him.

***

We fade inside of a dingy old apartment, barely kept up, and just as dimly lit as Staggs Dungeon.  A six year old Tim Staggs is seen standing at the window, looking outside as the moonlight shines upon his face.  He watches his father pound beers as he seems to be yelling at some invisible person.  He is on a quick path to alcohol poisoning, but it wouldn't be the first time.

Spike:  You fuckin' bitch!  All you ever wanted to do was lead me around on a leash.  Th-that's fine for the ring, but I'm not your man slave, Anna!  You hear me?!

Tim looks on as Spike cracks open another beer, swilling at it a bit before he leans over the banister of the balcony he's currently on.

Spike:  Fuck you, you sonuvabitch!  I dare you to come up here and say that to my face!  I'm haaaavin' a conversion, er, converSAtion with my ex, so mind your own goddamn business, fucker!

After another sip, Tim looks down at a toy box placed to the side of the door, the only sign that a child lives here with the scattered pizza boxes and beer cans strewn about.  He reaches inside and pulls out a red haired My Buddy doll, hugging his friend close to him.

Tim:  It's okay, Ronnie.  He just does this sometimes.  Soon he will start crying, and then he'll go to sleep.  Haha, he is like a baby.  He gots a bottle and he's peed his pants before...

Tim chuckles as he has a silent conversation with his doll.  However, he is startled as Spike throws a half full can of beer off the balcony at a passerby.

Spike:  Get outta here, Anna!  There's no way in hell I'm gonna let a sadistic whore like you take my kid away from me.  Not again!

Tim bites onto his lip as Spike taunts someone.  He grabs onto his crotch, giving it a shake before laughing.  Tim watches as Spike stumbles, trying to climb onto the banister.  He falls onto his side, but that does not deter him from trying again.  He is almost successful, but he nearly falls off and to the sidewalk below.  Tim cries out in panic as he opens the door to the balcony.  Spike looks back at him with narrowed eyes.

Spike:  Go back inside, Timmy.  This is between me and your mother.

Tim:  But mommy's not even here right now, daddy...

Spike:  Goddamn it, son!  I told you to get back inside before I whoop your ass!

There is a frantic jiggling of the door handle, followed by a knock on the front door.  The knocking is very urgent before a voice comes from the outside of the apartment.

Female:  Timmy, baby, open the door for mommy.  Come on sweetie, let mommy in.

Tim look to his dad who doesn't even seen to notice.  He holds his beer up in the air, above his head as he slowly pours it on himself.  Tim walks inside and unlocks the door.  Before he can open it, the door opens, brushing right past him.  A tall woman with red hair walks inside, brushing right past Tim.  She is wearing a black and purple plaid Tripp NYC dress with knee high stiletto heels.  She has a duffel bag on her with a championship belt sticking out of the top.  She drops the belt and bolts right out onto the balcony.

Spike:  There's the gothic whore right now.  Hey bitch, suck on thhhh...

The woman's eyes are wide with rage as she picks the six and a half foot tall man with ease.  She tosses him down to the ground as she growls right at him, pointing her black finger nail adorned index finger at him.

Roxanne:  Jesus titty fucking Christ, Spike!  You are a sorry son of a bitch, carryng on like a hillbilly frat boy in front of our son!

Spike:  Should I invite half naked men over and take a cat o nine tails to their bare asses?  Would that be more appropriate?

Roxanne:  Somebody had to pay the bills while you are in and out of mental institutions because of your fucked up family and all of the damage they've done to you.  I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you do that to our son.

Roxanne kicks Spike in the ribs, biding her some time as she turns around and looks at Tim.  She tries to force a smile on her face, but her blue green eyes are still ablaze, and Tim can pick up on that.

Roxanne:  Come on baby, let's get you somewhere safe.  Do you want a Happy Meal?

Tim purses his lips, a few tears rolling down his cheek as he slowly shakes his head from side to side.  Roxanne closes her eyes, her nostrils flaring as she struggles with the urgency of the situation.

Roxanne:  What about a Slurpee?  We need to get you outta here, honey.

Tim:  He needs me.

Roxanne clinches her fists, her knuckles are heard cracking as she bites into her lip angrily.

Roxanne:  He needs a fff-reaking lobotomy is what he needs, and a few days in a drunk tank to detox.  Bring Ronnie and we will go home.

Tim:  No!  This is my home, mommy.

Roxanne:  Over my dead body!

Spike:  Over your dead body?  You won't even take him out of this house over MY dead body!

Roxanne rolls her eyes as she grabs onto Tim's arm.  She pulls him out as he screams and cries.

Tim:  Daddy!   No!  I want daddy!  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Roxanne:  Quit your whining, boy!  This is no place for a child, and I'm done standing around and waiting for him to hit you again.

Tim breaks free from her grasp and runs over to Spike, dropping down next to him, hugging onto his father, who seems to not care as he continues slurring words meant to be derogatory against Roxanne.  Roxanne walks over and picks Tim up off of the ground, as he kicks and screams.

Tim:  No!  He needs me!

Roxanne:  It's not your job to raise your father.  I'll be damned if I'm going to let that continue...


***

Tim's screams of protest and pain echo through his mind as he struggles to finish his set.  Once he does, he lets go, letting the weights drop with a loud clanking noise.  He reaches over to his side, picking up a bottle of water, spraying it into his mouth, before soaking his face with it.  He then runs a bit into his tangled ginger locks, pushing them back out of his face.  He breathes heavily as he shakes his head.

It only now registers that maybe my mom isn't the Wicked Bitch of the Midwest I always thought she was.  She was only trying to do what she thought was best for me, and I resented her for taking me away from my dad.  I wished she would die for doing that, but part of me wonders what life would be like if I had stayed with her.  In a way, I got my wish... </color>

***

We fade in on a bright and sunny day in St. Louis, Missouri.  The summer heat and humidity is beating down on the line of people wearing all black as they walk along a gravel path inside of a cemetery.  We see Spike Staggs alongside Misty, who is showing her pregnancy quite well through her gown.  She is holding onto Tim's hand as the solemn young man walks along, not quite sure what exactly is going on right now.  He knows that his mother has died, but he doesn't understand the process of the funeral.  He looks up at Spike.

Tim:  Dad?  Can I have the DS? I wanna...

Spike shakes his head with an almost annoyed look as he shushes Tim.  Tim's face sinks as he looks down at the ground, kicking along the gravel.  Misty has a hold of his hand as they walk along.  Misty looks over at Spike for a second, seeing that he's not paying attention, and she reaches into her purse to pull out a blue Gameboy DS, handing it to Tim with a wink and a warm smile.  Tim grins widely as he powers it on in an instant.  Spike notices the movement from under his arm which is wrapped around Tim, and he looks over at Misty, giving her a bit of a dirty look.

Spike:  Misty, I just told him no.

Misty:  Well, Spike, maybe you aren't being sensitive to his need at this time.  We still have a bit of a walk after all.

Misty ruffles Tim's hair as he looks up at her with a smile.  She returns the smile as Tim continues to mash buttons.  They walk along for what seems to be almost a mile, to the back of the large cemetary.  Spike looks down at Tim and hols his hand out for the game.  Tim pulls it away from Spike's direction and shakes his head.

Tim:  This is gonna be boring, just like church.  I wanna play my game.

Spike:  Well, I didn't ask, son.  I'm demanding.

Tim:  Let me just finish this level, and...

Spike:  Now, son!

Spike growls under his breath while forcing a fake smile for the crowd around him.  Clean and sober now for about a year, he can still feel the judgmental looks from the friends and family of his ex, and the mother of his child.  Spike is trying not to lose his cool when Misty leans down to Tim's level.

Misty:  How about this... If you let me play it for a while, I'll give it back to you in the car, and you can have it for an hour.

Tim:  A whole hour?!

Misty:  Mmm hmm...

Tim hands it over to Misty, who seems a bit confused with the game, though she pretends to be into it as they approach a tent.  They file through and a man with red hair, salted with grey, glares at Spike before taking the hand of Tim and leading him to the front row.  Tim looks back at Spike and Misty.  Spike clearly objects, but it goes unheard as the strange man takes him to a woman with grey hair who kisses him all over while sobbing.  Tim wipes at his face, groaning.

Tim:  Geez, lady, I ain't a popsicle...  Who are you guys anyway?

As they answer, Tim's face drains of any color it might have previously had.  He sees the casket, opened for one last viewing.  He sees his mother resting there, but even he knows that this is the final rest.  His lip quivers, but tears don't come.  He just stares as everything else fades away.


***

I can forgive my mother for pulling me away from that sadistic prick I call my father.  I can forgive a lot of things, but how fucking awful is it to put your child through that?  To make them think that you are dead?  I wish I didn't know the answer, but it's pretty fucking terrible.  She can spin it however she wants, but she abandoned me.  She left me with that spikey haired dick.  Those two things are hands down, the most sadistic things any parent could ever do to their child.  She might still be walking around, breathing the same air as me, eating, shitting, and cunting, but she's dead to me.  She's no mother.  That's why Misty is, and always will be my mother... </color>

Tim lifts himself up from his chair, peeling his shirt off to show off his rather impressive physique.  He's come a long way since his debut in Arizona State Wrestling, that's for sure.  He tosses the shirt around his shoulders as he walks over to a punching bag.  He begins to box it slowly as he fades into another memory.

***

Wedding bells are ringing, cameras are flashing, and fans are screaming their support for the couple about to be married.  One of the few memories of his father being a decent person is the day he and Misty were to be wed.  Even though Tim was far too old to be a ring bearer, he would have it no other way.  The thirteen year old Tim holds the white velvet pillow in his hands, bearing the white gold bands, smiling proudly.  His father looks over at him and smiles, even more proudly as he gives a thumbs up.  Tim watches as Eden walks down the make shift aisle, leading to the ring where the ropes had been replaced with garlands of white and red flowers.  She gingerly tosses pedals to the ground, switching up sides as she comes to the ring steps.  She looks up at Spike, saying something that draws a chuckle from both he and Tim.

Eden:  How do ya expect me to walk up these stairs in this fluffy dress?!

Spike leaves his spot as he walks over to the ropes.  He steps outside and accompanies Misty's own personal Mini Me up the steps, proudly as the crowd lets out a resounding "awww!"  She tosses the rest of her flowers to the outside as she hugs onto her father.  She then runs up and stands next to Tim.  Spike points to the other side of the altar, but Eden shakes her head, hugging onto Tim's arm.

Tim:  You're supposed to be part of the bride's party, Eden.  Remember how we rehearsed?

Eden:  It's scary over there with auntie Desiree.

Tim:  Desiree is not scary, Eden.  She's nice.  Almost as nice as Dixie.

Eden's eyes widen as she places her hand on her hip and shakes her head with attitude, as if to ask him to come again.  Tim laughs and shrugs his shoulders.

Tim:  I said "almost", didn't I?

Eden:  That's a lie.  She says so many bad wor...

Tim shushes her gently as he points to the stage.  "The Wedding March" begins to play as the curtains are brought to the sides, leading the way for Misty, being accompanied by her father.  Tim smiles almost as proudly as Spike does.  Misty's dress us the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his entire life.  The fact that Misty was now going to be married to his father gave him hope that he'd be a part of a family, a real family.  Not the dysfunctional one he'd known his whole life.  He couldn't even focus on the actual ceremony.  He pays attention when the good part comes up, the moment it becomes official.

Judge: Misty, do you take Spike for your lawful wedded husband, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honour, comfort, and cherish him from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto him for as long as you both shall live?

Misty sniffles a little as she looks deep into Spike’s unusually warm looking eyes, watching the smile on his face for a moment before she matches his smile. She pats his hand before returning it to her side. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, wiping away another tear. She returns back to focusing on Spike’s eyes.

Misty: I’ve waited for this day to come for a long time Spike. Our family has grown, and we too, have grown together. I have woken up next to you almost every day for six years now, and every time, when I look into your eyes… It’s just like the first time all over again. Together, we will watch our family grow.

Misty takes a deep breath, feeling Spike’s hand rub against hers ever so tenderly. She looks deep into her eyes, and a warm smile overtakes every other emotion.

Misty: To answer your question, I… Don’t.

Misty gently wiggles her hand from Spike’s as his face almost goes blank. The crowd laughs at her joke, and Spike lets out an uncomfortable laugh. However, Misty shakes her head “no” and her parents tap her shoulder. She yanks her microphone off and shouts at them, pushing past them. She yells something to her sister, Dixie, and Spike follows her with his brothers Jamie and Tommy, and Casey and Jordan come to check on the situation. Spike’s face sours in a mixture of sorrow and disbelief. He goes to grab her arm, and she smacks his hand away. She shouts at him, leaving him practically dumbfounded. Eden looks confused as Misty’s sisters turn her around. Everyone is confused, except for Misty, who spits in Spike’s face. As he wipes it away, she leans down and hits him with a heavy low blow. The headphones are heard muffling again as surprised shouts are heard.  Tim goes pale as he's not exactly sure what is going on.  Misty looks back for a second, against her better judgment.  She looks directly at Tim, who balls up his fists in anger.  She says something to him that doesn't register above all of the commotion, but this time, it's pretty clear to him.

Misty:  I'm sorry, Timmy...

She storms off, not able to bare looking at her handiwork any longer.  Dixie follows after her as Tim leans down to check on his dad.  Spike is in pain, but he is more in shock over what had just taken place.  He looks over at his youngest brother, Tommy, once again ignoring Tim.


***

Tim is boxing at almost lightning speed, his teeth gritted in anger as he continues on with rights and lefts that threaten to knock the bag off of the industrial strength hook.

I can't blame Misty for leaving my father.  He was always looking out for number one.  Even in helping others, he was only helping himself.  By signing my contract with aSW, and subsequentially SCW, he was just trying to continue his legacy, living through me.  He had her on the hook for almost seven years of engagement.  Knowing him, he was probably waiting for something better to come along.  I can't blame her for realizing she's better than that.  I can even get over the fact that she abandoned me like everyone else.  But how fucking dare she show the disrespect to me of publicly stating that I'm going to lose to Joshua Acquin?!  I guess since I'm not her child by blood, she doesn't give a shit.  Why should she?  She's got her own son now.  He'll probably come into this business at the age of twelve, and be some wrestling prodigy.  I'll just be the after thought, once again.  No, scratch that.  I'll cease to exist in her eyes.  Everyone tosses me to the side, and I'm done with that.  I don't want to see anybody else.  I don't want to hear from anybody.  I don't even want to see anybody on the cruise.

The cruise is a bloated piece of shit anyway.  Tin floating on the water, carrying a bunch of disgustingly fickle fans, all here to see Drake fucking Green.  They want to see Simon Jones face off against Kain and Sean Jackson.  They want to see Mikah defend against the Mean Girls.  They want to see Danger Zone face off with a spoiled brat who bought his way into this business, and his incompetent hired muscle.  Not one thing about this cruise is appealing to me.  Who will even remember that I defeated Joshua Acquin?
</color>

Tim finally succeeds in breaking the boxing bag knocking it across the room and into a padded wall.  Without skipping a beat he drops down to the ground, on his back, hitting crunches, forward, and side to side, in slow, but precise moves.

It isn't a question of whether I will beat him or not.  It's clear I will destroy Acquin.  Even if nobody else sees it, I'm going to pick him apart.  I'm going to leave next to nothing of him.  He's going to be a footnote, and then I'm going to mow down Steve Ramone.  I might be a Nobody, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let some washed up hacks hold me down.  Steve Ramone will be fun.  Maybe I'll pull a page out of my dad's playbook and impliment the mind games.  Joshua Acquin is merely a ragdoll I will toss around, just to show that I'm capable and competent.  I already proved him to be nothing but a whiny bitch when I made him tap out in the middle of the ring last week.  Unlike his claims of retribution, I attacked him to his face.  I didn't need a taser.  I didn't need a chain.  I didn't even need Connor.  The last two were to get his attention so I could take care of him, while looking into those beady little snake eyes of his.  I wanted to watch him squirm before realizing he was trapped, and nobody was going to save him.  Not even security. </color>

Tim gets a sick, twisted smile on his face as he hits one final crunch.  He rolls over onto his stomach before hitting mountain climbers, bringing each knee to his elbow, alternating as he goes.

Who was the laughing stock there?  Who maintained their honor while getting revenge in the most delicious sense of the word?  Here's a hint, it sure as shit wasn't Joshua Acquin!  It was ME!  Timothy Oswald Staggs!  The biggest Nobody in Sin City Wrestling.  That's not a coincidence, either.  It's a fucking precursor to Summer XXXTreme Three.  You believe it, but no one else does.  It's going to be a great way to start your rise to the top of this business, Timmy boy.  They won't see it coming, because they choose not to.  Acquin chose not to see Connor running through the crowd to take him out, and he chose not to see me rush into the ring.  He chose not to see me punch him in that smug face of his.  He chose to live in ignorance, just like the fans, management, and our fellow stars and bombshells.  What he did not chose was his fate.  It's been determined already, and his fate will be to be my biggest win to date.  It will be the one that might open a few eyes.  However, I sure hope that Joshua doesn't hold his breath waiting for me to thank him, because he'll wind up brain dead... if he isn't already.  In just over a week, I'm going to rip Acquin apart, and my name might, just might, finally get noticed around here for something other than my lineage.  Wouldn't that be nice? </color>

Tim stops, sucking in a deep breath as he jumps up to his feet, feeling winded.  It's time for a breather, but only after he walks over to the weight machine to take another show from his water bottle.  He stands there for a second, a bit of a familiar sadistic grin coming over his face as the water slowly drips from his stringy red hair, as well as his chin, and his nose.  This is where we fade... TO BLACK!

23
Climax Control Archives / Dreams in Funimation
« on: July 23, 2015, 10:46:11 AM »
 Boys Don't Cry
#NP "Holiday" by The Birthday Massacre
Locale:  Hong Kong Football Club Stadium; Hong Kong, China



\'user\'user\'user



As episode 120 of Sin City's Climax Control comes to a close, the fans are wildly celebrating the events of the night.  Many of the fans are wildly conversing about and cheering on Joshua Acquin.  His name was being spoken above all else, being called the fan favorite of the evening.  Despite not understanding Mandarin, Tim gets the jist of it as he walks outside, the Nobodies all in tow, following closely beind him.  In slow motion, they look from side to side, almost feeling like rock stars as the crowd dramatically goes quiet for a moment, gasping and staring.  Alexis smirks arrogantly as she chuckles in a low tone before looking back over to Tim, who stares ahead with an angry look on his face.  Connor Murphy pulls a cigarette from his shirt pocket, lighting it quickly before placing his Zippo back into his pocket.  He inhales deeply before exhaling, looking out of the corner of his eyes at the fans who all look horrified.  His eyes catch something, but before he can inhale to speak a warning to Tim, a soft drink is thrown right in his face by a fan, who then spits on the ground, muttering something at Tim.  As the cola drips from Tim's stunned face, he is seething.  He tries to come up with words to express his anger before a loud chorus of boos comes over the crowd.  They begin throwing food and paper at all of The Nobodies, so rapidly that they have no choice but to quickly flee the scene.  Tim looks as defenseless as a child of his age should, and it is only now that he is relieved when a few spots of rain begin falling down.  The crowd slowly retreats, thinning out as the rain picks up, washing the cola from his body in the process.  It is now that he looks across the nearby street to see a man in a black hooded jacket standing on an overpass.  He doesn't twitch as he watches the cars fly by below.  Tim can't seem to take his eyes off of the figure, not even realizing that he's quickly approaching them.

Alexis:  Tim?  Tim??

Alexis follows after him, but Tim is in a different sort of trance than previously.  All sound turns into white noise, a light screaming static that barely even registers.  He doesn't notice the car that has come to a halt in front of him, even as the driver shouts out at him.  Alexis shouts at him, trying to get his attention, but it doesn't work.  As she grabs at his arm, he simply jerks it away, crossing in front of another car that barely stops on time.  Before he knows it, he is standing just a few inches behind the man who is standing on the barricade, looking downward, motionless.  Alexis continues to shout at Tim, but to no avail.  There is only one thing that he hears right now, only one voice...

Dong:  You've come for me, Tim?  I knew you would...

Tim takes a deep breath, only God knows what is going through his mind right now.  His mouth opens to speak, but he doesn't say a single word.  He simply lets out a sort of croak in place of words, clearly still trying to convey his thoughts.

Dong:  It's... A-Okay Tim Staggs...  Nobody will miss me.

Tim:  Then why does God weep for you right now?

Dong:  Your God does not weep for me.  You look for signs in nothingness.  Don't worry, I used to also.  It's normal for people who still have things to lose.  This is not me now.

Dong looks back, blood trickling from the corner of his lips.  Tim look confused, because surely the bleeding should have stopped by now?  He pulls a fresh Kleenex from his pocket as he goes to dab the corner of Dong's lip.  Dong turns, allowing the tissue to only graze a rain drop that had found its way to his cheek.

Dong:  I have been biting at the wound for an hour now.  I have been trying to remember how it felt... to be somebody.  For only a second, people knew me.  I was their Pagliacci, but they knew me.

Dong lets out a soft chuckle as he turns back to face the highway below.  It has become clear that he is waiting for a large tractor trailer to come by so that he has the best chance at ending it quickly and precisely.  Luck just isn't on his side at the moment.

Tim:  You are not a joke, Dong.

Dong:  Down to my very birth, with such a name as Dong.  Before I ever failed my parents.  Before I even made a mockery of life.  I was damned from the start.

Alexis:  Tim, we have to go.  He's clearly unstable, and nothing you say is going to stop the weakling from jummm...

Tim:  ALEXIS!!!  Really?!

Dong:  It is okay, Tim.  I accept that I am weak now.  If I were strong, I could have fought this Joshua Acquin off so that you could finish beating me to your content.  Instead, I am here, waiting to finally know... peace.

Alexis folds her arms in front of her chest, looking at Dong with contempt.  She takes a few steps forward, pulling Tim closer to her as she tries to take him away from the suicidal fan.  Tim yanks himself away as he continues to plead with Dong.

Tim:  It's not your fault, Dong.  It's my fault.  I should have kicked his ass myself, chair or no chair.  The fans cheered for him... a man who is disgustingly greedy and prideful.  They thought he was saving you, because they are idiots.

Dong:  I cannot argue this, Tim.  All I can say is that they thought he was saving me, but all he did was shined a light down a path which has led me here.  All I wanted was to belong to something.  Do you know that I had planned to hang myself from my ceiling fan four months ago?

Tim looks confused, and Dong thinks maybe he has his English wrong.  He grabs at an imaginary noose behind him as he pretends to tug on it, sticking his tongue out as he gags.  He then hangs his head for dramatic effect.

Dong:  This is not my first time of being weak.  I was watching Climax Control on my laptop, as it has brought me much joy since I discovered it online.  My mother, the only person who ever made me feel strong, passed away two weeks before.  I lost my childhood home, the only home I've ever known.  The neighboorhood teens delighted in this, vandalizing the front of my home, glad to see me leave.  The homosexual was to leave the neighborhood now, finally.

Dong lets out a fake chuckle as he sniffles.

Dong:  They used to joke that Dong likes dong.  Heh... Shuangguan yu, or double meaning, was never true.  I have never once loved myself.  But this night, I found hope.  This strange looking kid with hair like fire comes onto my computer screen.  I feel like I have known you since we were young, for many... many years.

Alexis:  Okay, this is turning stalker, really fuckin' fast, Tim.  Let's... go!

Dong's lips curl into a smile as he bows his head.  Tim shoots a glare back to Alexis, who over dramatically motions with her head toward Dong, before making fake googly eyes at him.  Tim rolls his eyes and then looks back to Dong.

Dong:  I know we have not, but it felt as if someone finally understood what it was like to be invisible.  The times when this invisible man is seen, he is seen as a punchline to a cruel joke.  You had courage.  I found mine for another week, to see you try again.  As your courage grew, I felt like my hope did as well.  Whether near or far, I felt like I belonged as a Nobody.  When I heard you were coming to Hong Kong, it was my chance... my chance to belong.  Even if Joshua did not interfere, this one makes me feel like I don't belong...

Tim:  Forgive her.  Sometimes she's a bit of a bitch.

Alexis' jaw drops at Tim as she smacks him as hard as she can in his ribs.  He winces in pain, and then holds his hand out, motioning for her to keep listening.  Once he catches his breath, he continues.

Tim:  Sometimes, I can be a monstrous dick faced bastard.  We are human.  This means we are dual-natured.  Of God and of Beast.  In her own way, she's trying to protect a friend who has done the same for her.  That's how we fit together, like a puzzle.  Who ever said that you don't belong with us, too?

Alexis:  Um, Tim?

Dong turns back, a look that hints a bit of surprise.  Tim clinches his right fist as he straightens his arm out.  As he does, the crowbar from earlier falls down his arm, his hand opening to grasp it.  He looks over to Alexis who silently objects.  However, the thought of laying a beat down on someone else did sound pretty appealing, and it would save a life.  She slowly looks over to Dong as she, too, straightens out her arm, allowing an new police baton to slide out.  She fully extends it with a flick of her wrist.  Dong smiles as he slowly steps down.  He bows to Tim, and then to Alexis.  The three of them smile, as the rain continues to fall upon them.  A tear comes to both Tim and Dong's eyes.  Tim almost seems like he regrets the pain he's about to inflict, but the sense of doing it for the greater good takes over as he smiles, stifling his tears.  He cracks Dong across the arm with the crowbar as Alexis lets loose, cracking Dong's ribs.  Together, they beat on him as Dong falls down to his knees.  They don't quite stop, letting Dong curl up into a fetal position on the wet concrete, a soft, soothing smile crossing his face as he accepts the bloody beating with pride...



I AM NOT!!!
#NP "Light Up the Sky" Thousand Foot Krutch
Locale:  Osaka-Itami International Airport; Osaka, Japan



\'user



We work our way through the cabin of a airplane, scanning all across the coach area for a certain Nobody, however, he is nowhere to be found at this time.  On the outside of the plane, the engines are roaring as we soar through the air, approaching Osaka-Itami International Airport.  Switching views back to the inside of the plane, there is a calming tone as a young Japanese stewardess pushes a cart through the curtains to a much nicer first class section.  We can see Tim Staggs sitting with an iPad perched on his lap with Beats headphones covering his ears.  He has two hooded figures sitting next to him, but they appear to be asleep, head to head.  We move around to see Tim watching Witch Hunter Robin very intently.  That is, until the stewardess approaches him, a wide smile on her face.

Stewardess:  Ummm, excuse me but I must ask, you turn off aww erectronics, prease?

Tim:  Erectronics?  What kind of pervert do you think I am, madam?

She looks a little confused as she tilts her head to the side, questioningly.  Before she can ask, a hand reaches from behind and smacks Tim against the back of his head, knocking his headphones the rest of the way off.  He looks back and sneers as he powers down his iPad.

Tim:  What the heck was that for, dad?

As the camera pans backward, we can see Spike Staggs sitting in the seat directly behind him, holding onto baby Kit while Vixen gently rocks Bijou in her seat.  Spike glares at Tim, his piercing icy blue eyes saying more than enough for Tim to get the point.

Spike:  It is rude to make fun of people's speech patterns, especially when you can't be bothered to learn the native tongue.

Stewardess:  Is... okay. S'ank you.

With a smile, the stewardess walks down the aisle, checking others for electronics still going.  Tim continues to glare back at Spike, who only glares back at him.  The two stubborn men engage for several minutes as the plane descends.  Tim shakes his head and turns around, sighing as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Tim:  It's really good to see that you finally give a damn about me, enough to travel across the Pacific Ocean to babysit me...

Spike:  I didn't raise you to become a disrespectful little sh...

Vixen:  Spike?  You can't expect to teach Tim with words, while your actions are so contradicting.

Tim:  What she said...

Tim tilts his head back as if staring through the seat as his father, whose own stare could probably burn through the seat.  They brace themselves as the plane lands, more smoothly than most, but enough to startle the sleeping Nobodies awake.  Several moments of silence goes by as a voice comes over the loud speaker, though Tim doesn't pay any attention.  He grabs his belongings, pulling his bag from the overhead compartment as he slings it over his shoulder.  Without waiting for anyone, he storms off, bumping into people as he pushes past them toward the exit.

Spike:  Tim, wait!

Vixen takes Kit from Spike as he gives an apologetic glance to her, kissing her on the cheek.  He tries to politely rush past people to catch up with Tim, apologizing as he goes.  Running through the tunnel leading to the terminal, he finally catches Tim right before they enter the airport.  He grabs onto his arm, spinning him around.

Tim:  WHAT?!

Spike seems almost taken aback by Tim's shrill voice as Tim glares up just a couple inches into his father's eyes where the size difference isn't quite as big as he'd expected as a father.  Tim's outburst almost seems to strike Spike directly in his heart as he painfully tries to speak for a moment.

Tim:  If you're going to tell me to be more respectful, I got it.  You know I can't resist erection jokes, dad!  But, instead of acting like the stern, structured father that you are NOT, and never have been, why don't you pretend for five fucking minutes that you are a loving one?

Like a slap to the face, Spike can't say a word to this.  Tim almost seems to relish in the fact that he's verbally struck down his father.  However, seconds later, Spike simply brushes past Tim, coming to the doorway.  He pauses, shooting a wicked glare back at Tim before stepping out into the terminal.  Quickly, he is overtaken by the squealing of Japanese girls, and the loud roar of male wrestling fans.  He slips his sunglasses on, living it up like a Hollywood star.  Tim furls his brows as he laughs ruefully.

Tim:  You really are the most sadistic bastard, aren't you?  Worst of all, to your own son, who only ever wanted you approval for the first sixteen years of his life.  Rubbing it in my face that you're an international superstar, and I'm just a Nobody...

Tim watches his father soak in the adoration of the fans like a true rock star, snapping pictures, signing autographs, shaking hands, and fighting off the young girls who would likely drop their panties in a second for him.  It makes him sick to his stomach as he can't even watch it any longer.  He decides to slip out into the crowd while nobody notices so that he can grab his bags and enjoy the nice hotel his father had "treated" him to for the next week and a half.  More like a bribe to straighten up his act, but who's splitting hairs here?  Tim adjusts the strap of his bag as he lowers his head, walking out into the crowd, making sure to sidesteps his father's limelight.

Fan:  Staggs!  It Staggs!

Tim rolls his eyes as if thinking that this man is a little late to the party, giving a glance to his father.  The crowd stops as they see Tim walking as if he were the invisible man.  Spike looks over at Tim, and with a soft smile, he gently jabs the air in Tim's direction in an encouraging manner.  He steps back as the fans all look over at Tim.

Female Fan:  *Squeal* It's... It's...

She faints into her friends as Tim's blood starts to boil.  He clinches his jaw as the crowd comes over toward him, cheering, squealing, and ready to maul him.

Tim:  I'm not...

The girls seem the most ferocious as they charge forward like girls at a One Direction concert.  Eventually the men get their way through the crowd as well.  Their voices are hard to make sense of, until one girl just can't contain it any longer.

Female Fan 2:  It's Tim Staggs!

Tim's face boils red with anger as he throws his bag down to the ground in a fit of rage.  He stomps his foot in a rage as he balls up his fists, and roars.

Tim:  Grrrrrrrr!  I AM NOT...

Suddenly, the realization that they know exactly who he is hits him, and the color drains back from his face as he chuckles nervously.  His father winks as he helps Vixen tend to the babies, while still keeping an eye on his son, but from a distance.

Tim:  Oh, yeah... um, I guess that's me...

Male Fan 2:  He does catchphrase for us!  You funny!  You funny!

A laugh comes over the crowd around him.  He looks like a deer in headlights as he almost seems to study each and every one of their faces.  They are eagerly awaiting something, anything, from the Third Generation star.  He clams up a bit as he tries to think of something, anything.

Tim:  Staggs... Simply Awesome!

The crowd roars in approval, which causes Tim to lighten up slightly.  He turns to look as they expect more, smiling, and doing a dance that makes it seem as if they need to go to the bathroom.  Tim chuckles before placing his fists against his hips in a Superman style pose.

Tim:  The power... of Staggs!

**Squeal, Roar, Applause**

Tim:  Staggs... I'm lovin' it!  Because you're worth it!  Have it your way!  Everything tastes better with Staggs!  Okay, I'm not sure about the last one, but I'm a Staggs, dammit!!!

The adulation is just the ego stroke he thinks he could get used to.  Despite only getting to live the life of a rock star for a week and a half, he intends to use it as fuel, and the determination is in his eyes.  However, he looks over at his dad, and suddenly, all of the bitterness seems to fall away, even if only for a short time.  He sees that look in his father's eyes, the one that he'd wanted all along.  Pride is written all over Spike's face as he watches his son ham it up for the crowd.  He sees that his father isn't here to babysit, or punish him, but to watch him get a taste of fame.  Fame is more addictive than any drug known to man, and in most cases, you don't live afterward.  It is far too easy to overdose on it without realizing, and Spike wanted to gently guide his son through this portion of the business.  However, without much more acknowledgement, Tim goes back to hamming it up, posing for pictures, getting kissed on the side of the face by many of the lovely local girls, and living the dream.  For a moment, he can feel himself smiling genuinely, something he hasn't done in a while.  In the distance, he can almost hear firewords, feeling the reverberation of their explosions...



Dreams in Funimation
#NP "Fukai Mori" by Do As Infinity
Locale:  Undisclosed



The sounds of "Fukai Mori" play in an opening sequence of an adaptation, or rather a dream of the sleeping Tim Staggs.  We focus on a cartoon depiction of Osaka's bustling city, the high rise buldings glowing against a black sky with a cresent moon hanging in the corner.  The vingette switches over to see a very predictable manga style hero with red hair, leaning against a tree in a hooded jacket with a piece of straw between his teeth, staring at the falling cherry blossoms.  He looks menacingly toward the camera, flashing his icy blue eyes before darkness phases him out.  We look at what appears to be animated shots depicting the Futile Era of Japan, with a peaceful spirit floating through the air.  Running very quickly below it is the red haired hero, leaving a white cloud of dust in his wake.  We switch once more to show the hero sitting on the edge of a cliff, looking out into the sea as the grass sways gently aground him, the light of the sun glistening off of his porcelain skin, as inexplicably, more cherry blossoms fall around him.  Japanese characters appear on the screen, apparently credits for the anime we are about to witness...

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The soft sound of a reeds whistling gently bring us in as we look over the misty horizon of a very peaceful and serene valley overlooking a babbling brook, with trees scattered amidst the hills.  They sway gently in the breeze as we look around, focusing on a few doves flying gracefully through the sky, and into the rising sun.  Just then, the startling music lets us know that something big is about to happen.  Sure enough, we pan away from the valley and toward a Futile Era village with dust streets.  Coming out of the city is our redheaded anti-hero, wearing his hooded jacket which depicts the phrase "#Nobodies" across the front.  His teeth are gritted, but he is not alone.  A brunette man is funning just as fast as Tim, with a bow and arrow on his back, a cigarette in his mouth, and a glass of liquor in his hand, yet he doesn't spill a drop.

Tim:  You couldn't leave that behind, ya lughead?!

Connor:  One must never waste good liquor, me boyo.

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Tim grits his teeth as he swings his fist out toward Connor, and the screen is taken over by stars, birds tweeting and flying around, and a lump the size of a carrot on the side of Connor's head.  Both men stop, now about a mile outside of the town.  Tim breathes heavily as his eyes turn to narrow white lines with a single tiny black dot in the middle for pupils as he is seething unreasonably.  Connor's eyes become shrouded by a dark black shadow as he, too, is seething.

Connor:  What'd ya do that for?!

Tim:  We're running for our lives, and you're worried about keeping your blood alcohol level higher than a barrel in a sake distillery!

Connor:  At least tell me you got "it", or I'll make this bump on my head look like nothing!

Tim's eyes sink as he tries not to stare at Connor.  Connor's body begins jerking as steam flies out of his ears.  He's levitating in anger as he growls and contorts his body wildly.  However, the boyish laughter of Tim causes him to pause, mid air, in an upside down hand stand position.  Tim holds a small canister out in front of Connor, who quickly flips back to a normal position, playing it off as if nothing had happened.  After he's straightened out his own hooded jacket, he snatches the canister from out of Tim's hand, opening it.  As he does, a yellow glow comes out from the canister along with a scroll.  Connor's eyes light up as he lets out a joyous laugh.  He grabs onto the sides of Tim's head and plants a huge kiss on him before smacking his cheeks.

Connor:  You did it!  You really did it, boyo! Ha HA!

Tim tries to catch a glimpse of the scroll, but Connor reaches his hand back, holding Tim back as he reads it.  Tim's body jerks as he lets a line of steam come from under his feet with the force he's using to try to get a closer glimpse.

Connor:  For he who is unknown, there is but one secret to learn.

Tim:  I... wanna... KNOW!

Connor:  Will ya hold on, I'm trying to read it so I can tell you, dammit!

Tim:  I am hurt by your random cursing which serves no true purpose!  And, I wanna see it with my own eyes!

Connor clinches the cigarette between his teeth on the butt of his cigarette as his eyes leave the scroll for one second.  He looks back at Tim, impatience clearly scrolled across his face.

Connor:  Wait your turn, squirt!  "There is no easy way, for fame is a heavy weight to bare.  One must be strong, conquer the mightiest of foes, and bare the scars of battle, for it is the one true way to earn respect."  Oh, this is shite!  I coulda told ya that!!!

Tim:  Despite being only inches behind you, I can't read anything on that scroll except the few words that follow, which you stopped reading for no apparent reason!  Next, it says "But, there is another way..."  Unfortunately, it is all I can read, or else I would continue reading, ass shit!

Connor:  It's meant for us to break up our dialogue so that the scene doesn't seem so one sided, even though this is clearly supposed to be all about you.  Now that I've wasted enough time with banter, I will continue on with this life altering revelation that I'm unsure why we've stopped to horse around when we posses.... GASP!

The urgent music returns as Tim and Connor both look shocked and scared at the same time.  They hug onto each other, shaking and whining as an unknown flying beast is clearly flying directly at them.  The urgent music now also has a tone of a sinister nature as the beast extends it's reddish orange claws out toward the outstretched scroll.

Tim:  Shit damn, Connor!  Pull it back in so the flying beast doesn't get it!

Connor:  But then we don't have a story, me boyo, and then this was all for nothing!

Tim:  DAAAAAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMMMMN!

With a burst of light, the roaring beast captures the scroll, and with a visible forcefield, knocks Tim across the clearing, while Connor inexplicably disappears.  Tim groans dramatically as he slowly gets back up to his feet.  He dusts himself off as he looks up at the beast which is eclipsing his view of the moon.  He grits his teeth as he looks up at the sky.  He is also inexplicably naked now, though his body looks about as anatomically correct as a lanky Ken doll.  He falls down to his knees as he shakes his fists at the sky.

Tim:  Why did we have to playfully banter?!?!  Now, I must go gather herbs to cure my invisible burn marks from the dragon beast known as Ramone!

***

After a short blackness overtakes the screen, we can now see Tim walking through a wooded area, now wearing a black tank top and baggy black parachute pants.  His hair is still perfectly shaped to his head, so the ridiculousness of his clothing doesn't matter any longer.  He looks around at the trees as he groans in pain.  He has an inner monologue.


"So many people are probably confused at what is going on here.  I am Tim Staggs, and I am a Nobody who has been hurled back in time to the Futile Era of Japan to discover the secret to success.  I discovered the location of the secret, and me and my friends decided to take it and enact the scrolls mystical powers to gain everything we've ever wanted.  Ungh..."

With Tim's grunting, he know he is in pain.  He sinks to one knee, leaning against a tree for support.  He grits his teeth, all while trying to remain a strong character.

"Since we've already seen Alexis in this promo, she is somewhere else which is irrelevent to this story.  Perhaps waiting for us on the other side of town to read the scroll with us.  Wow, she's going to be really disappointed.  And now, the blast from Ramone must have temporarily sent Connor to another dimension, or some other nonsensical explanation of why I must be alone now.  Damn it!"

Tim's eyes show the immense pain he is in as they sparkle and shake.  However, he suddenly spots a small flowering plant growing by the base of the tree.

"Huh?  Wood sage... just the plant I need to help me heal my wounds."

Tim picks the flowering plant from its roots.  The sound of wind chimes takes over all other sound as he gently places it against his arms.  With a small flash of light, the plant begins to work its magic, curing the unseen wounds.

"Now is the time in which I will tell you my mission.  I must find the beast, Ramone, and I must get that scroll from him.  In doing so, I will be reunited with my friends, and we will learn the secret.  But, I imagine it won't be easy to find this beast.  I'm clearly going to need help..."

The music becomes dramatic once more as Tim collapses under the tree, healed, but worn out from the blow he'd received.  He moans before eventually his eyes close, and he is left in the woods with nothing but the many creatures watching him from the trees menacingly.

***

Now, the sun has risen, and Tim is on his way toward the clearing.  He is still weak, but the pain is subsided.  He walks down the hill toward a red house with black shutters.  He walks up the wooden steps toward the rice paper door.  As he approaches it, he hears a twig snap behind him.  His eyes widen and his mouth opens in shock.  He lets out an urgent cry, ready to defend himself as he turns around, though he is clearly not prepared for any type of battle.  As he turns around, he sees a man with stylishly spiked black hair, and eyes much like his own.  On his back, he has a large black and red canister, much like a larger version of the one he'd seen earlier.

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Spike:  Excuse me, child, but is there some reason you have approached my house during my short absence?

Tim:  Yes, sir, I felt as if it were my destiny to arrive here.  Destiny is a huge thing in my life right now, as I am a teenage boy seeking to forge my life with empty ambitions.

Spike:  *Chuckles*  I was once the same.  I used to believe the world owed me for everything.  I learned over the years that it owes you nothing.  It is your responsibility to forge your own path.  Have you ever forged a path before?

Tim grins as he rubs the back of his head, letting us all know that the answer is a resounding "no"  Spike laughs and picks up two shovels.  He hands one to Tim, while keeping the other for himself.

Spike  Come.  I will show you how to forge a path.  You must dig into the Earth, peeling back pieces of the land in hard, tedious labor.  It helps to build character, and it shows others a new way to reach their destinations.  I do hope I am not using literal terms too broadly for you to understand how they apply to your own situation.

Tim:  Damn it!

Spike lifts an eyebrow at Tim for his random outburst, as he takes one last drag from his cigarette.  He places the shovel into the ground, digging into the earth as he begins to help forge this path.

Tim:  This seems like a lot of hard work, and I don't feel anything should be this hard.  I think that most people of another lifetime have it right when they expect everything to be handed to them.  It seems easier to wait and blame a higher power for not delivering.

Spike:  I imagine in such a time, the poor will eat like kings, and the rich will not have to pay high taxes, keeping the middle class men and women starving and working themselves to the bone to support a failing government.  This is not the way the world should work, and clearly civilization will collapse if we all sit and wait for things to happen.  No, you must go out and MAKE them happen.  Starting by forging a path to anywhere you want to go...

Tim growls, but lays the shovel into the ground, digging up the grass to help forge the path.  They continue on as Tim remains silent.  Spike looks over at Tim with a proud smile on his face, having taught a young person a valuable life lesson.  As they keep going, they find their way back into the woods.

Tim:  I have decided that I want to forge a path that leads me to the beast dragon demon creature who stole the scroll with the Secrets of Success from me and my friend Connor.

Spike:  In this time, there are many beast dragon demon creatuers.  And creature demon dragon beasts.  And demon creature beast dragons... It's really a crazy time.  You're going to have to be more specific, for maybe I've dealt with such a beast in my time.

Tim:  I don't know how I know this, but his name is Ramone.

We get a close up on Spike's face as if he's just seen the face of death, and it is coming right at him.  He gasps loudly, which is the only thing that draws Tim's attention.  Tim steps on his shovel and looks over at Spike.

Tim:  Something tells me that you might know him based on your reaction.  However, I am much more sure of his name, which I was never told and just inexplicably knew.  Do you know, Ramone?

Spike bows his head as a raindrop appears on his forehead.  Shame is clearly written on his face.

Spike:  I do not know him well.  I knew the man he was before he was the beast dragon demon creature that he is today... Steve...  I was the man who took him into my tribe, with the others such as Jessie Salco, Vixen, Giani Di Luca, Misty, Ben Jordan, Casey Williams, Mickey Carroll, Odette Ryder, Connor Murphy, who is apparently your missing friend...

Tim:  Ignoring the fact that you know Connor, I must find out more about this... Steve...

Spike:  Steve was a man with so much promise.  He had energy, and a sense of what was right and wrong.  He was a promising young man at one point.  He knew frustration well, as he found himself on the losing end of many battles.  It was not from a lack of spirit, but from a lack of determination.  He needed something to push him further.  Instead, he seemed to hang out with this Jessie Salco for no apparent reason, and relied on her to help push him higher, rather than his mentor.  My tribe found ways of doing this, having civil wars, members leaving... we just fell apart.  I felt maybe I was not the chief they needed, so I took my leave and found my way to isolation with my family.

Tim nods his head as he listens carefully.  Spike looks off into the sky as we see the image of this beast breathing fire upon men and women of this decaying tribe of misfits.  We see him slowly turn from a man, into a full blown beast right before our very eyes, before returning back to the immediate story.  They have dug through the woods and toward a clearing of charred buildings, skeletons of the past, and a backdrop that looks much like where Tim has started, overlooking a valley.  Only now, it is day time, casting a glimmer of hope into Tim's eyes, despite the damaged ruins of the village dwellings.

Tim:  It's so sad to imagine that these streets were once filled with hope, and now they are only filled with dead memories.  The burn marks also indicate that Ramone is here!  But, I feel ill prepared for him.

Spike:  Then perhaps you need a sword.  But not just any sword.  The sword used to slay many dragon beast demon creatures or whatever, such as Nick Jones, Sean Jackson, Casey Williams, and many other deplorable creatues.

Tim:  No, that sword is a myth.  It hasn't existed since... since my father slayed such beasts...

Spike reaches back, slowly removing the canister from his back.  Such a small canister surely couldn't hold such a large sword.  This man must be crazy.  However, once he peels back an incantation seal, the top comes off with ease.  Spike pulls out a large sword from the canister, causing Tim's eyes to sparkle in wonderment.


"What?  How?  There's no way this man could have this powerful sword.  It's impossible.  My father created the Sword of Wisdom, and it disappeared when he did, which was a long time ago...  Damn it!"

Tim:  Where did you get that?  What have you done to my father?!?!

Tim growls as he raises the shovel high in the air, charging with a white streak of dust behind him as he runs up on the man.  He goes to strike, but the man gently sidesteps, neutralizing him with neutral jin.  He repeats this after seven more attempts until Tim stops, huffing and puffing wildly.  Spike gently hands the sword over to Tim, bowing his head in shame once more.  Tim takes the sword and unsheathes is, ready to strike down the man.

Spike:  Please do it.  I deserve to meet my demise.  I have not been the best person, and now I find myself a lonely miser who lives in obscurity.  Do as you feel you must.

Tim:  Heh... you're not good enough to meet your end by my father's Sword of Wisdom.  Your blood would only sully it!  You're pathetic.  I don't need you to teach my any more pointless life lessons now that I've found Ramone's lair.

Spike lets out a visible sigh, as a slow whirl of wind appears from his lips.  Tim seems distraught as he sheathes the sword once more.  He attaches it to his back as he starts to walk away from Spike, clearly on a mission.  Spike watches, contemplating something.  Finally he sighs once more and gives in.

Spike:  To answer your inner monologue as well as what you said out loud, I have your father's sword, because... I am your father, Tim.

Tim looks surprised as he stops.  His lips purse together as his eyes widen.  He places his hand to his head as he turns around to see Spike staring hopefully at him.

Tim:  Wow... what a revelation!!!

Tim exclaims this with much zeal.  However, he has a mission to complete, and this mission was not going to wait for anyone.  Determination is written all across Tim's face as an almost possessed expression forms.  Tim pulls out the crystal jewel spikes from inside his shirt, ready to face the beast known as Ramone.

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As he walks toward the other end of the town, looking for Ramone, he begins shouting to draw the beast out of hiding.

Tim:  Ramone!  Ramone, I know you can hear me!  Come out here you coward!  Oh, right, I forgot... you're no good without surprise attacks and bullying from your friends.  You are all bark, just like a mutt bitch!  You could never stand a chance against me without your muscle backing you up.  I've heard the legends of Cyrus King and Andreas Bergfalk.  Unbeknownst to the viewers, I've faced off with Andreas in another dimension.  Though my attempts to overcome him were futile, I've learned and grown much.

Tim walks around the corner of the last building in the village, hoping to see the creature waiting for battle, but he is nowhere to be found.  Only the devastation of his fury left in his wake.  Tim can feel it deep inside as he looks around, Ramone is here...

Tim:  I have my own muscle, but I'm willing to leave them aside if you are willing to leave yours aside.  We can battle like men, instead of cowards.  I know that's a stretch for you, Ramone, but I've done plenty of that lately.  I still remember our encounter in front of Priest Christian and my uncle, Mage Erik.  I remember how you cast your spell of invisibility on me, leaving me without a chance.  I carried that with me up until a few weeks ago, when I found that the answer to my problems was within me all along.  Heh, it turned out great for me, but it's not going to turn out so swell for you, Ramone!  Don't you hear me, you bitch?!  I'm right here!  Or, perhaps you need more coaxing.

Tim sneers, hoping that this might catch the attention of his foe.  He looks around, scoffing and shaking his head.

Tim:  I'm sure you want some sort of payback.  I mean, I used your own blood to break this spell of invisibility that you cast upon me.  But, you remember that, don't you?  I carved it from your very own flesh.  I carved it from the flesh of your demon beast friend, Acquin.  I smeared it across my flesh, and from that moment on, I was seen.  No longer can the unjust stand in front of me, clocking me from seeing glory.  You certainly won't.  For, I know once we are finished with our battle, there will be many others like you.  Others who wish to stop me from becoming the brightest star in the sky.  I accept this fate of belaborment, but don't you think for one second that I'm going to sit here and wait for my time to shine.  I'm going to use your raw, bloody back as a stepping stone, Ramone!  I'm going to step across it to the raw, bloody back of Acquin.  Then, to any other filthy dragon demon beast who stands in my way!  Damn it, Ramone, I know you can hear me!  I can smell the decaying flesh from your back all the way over here!  Come out and face me!  For once in your life, grow some damn balls!

Tim turns around, unsheathing his sword as he hears a dark, sinister chuckle.  However, when he turns around, he sees nothing.  He holds the sword tightly in his hands as he glares at the empty space in front of him.  Once more, he hears the chuckle, and he turns to his left, finding nothing once more.

Tim:  Ass!  Be a man, Ramone.  I'm ready for you to give me everything you've got.  I want to break you this time.  I want to destroy you, so that the Scroll of the Secret of Success will wreak of your blood when I bring it back to share with my friends!  I won't settle for a small puddle of blood this time, Ramone.  I want to smear your blood across the sacred grounds of Osaka!  I want to stain the fields red.  I want to paint the walls crimson.  I want all of Japan, no, all of the WORLD to know that Ramone is no longer a pest!  I want them to revere me.  I want them to call me the man who slayed Ramone, and his legacy.  Your mind games won't work on me either, Ramone, because you're too stupid.  You couldn't play mind games with a retarded, one legged crane because even it could outsmart you.  I say, come out and face me on this Sunday evening!!!  Damn it!

Tim hears the chuckling once more and he tunrs around, expecting to see the dragon beast.  However, he is surprised to see something far more sinister...


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"*GASP!*  Whuh... what is this?!  That couldn't be..."

Tim:  RAAAAAAAAAMOOOOOOOOOOOONE!!!

As demon Ramone holds up a microphone, ready to enact his spell of hypnosis on Tim, Tim pulls out the Sword of Wisdom, holding it up as the waves of vertigo rapidly travel at him.  He lets out a cry for help, but it is all for naught... until the sword stays off the vicious attack!  Tim sits there cowering as demon Ramone looks stunned, growling in anger at his failed attempt.

Demon Ramone:  I don't understand.  My powers of persuasion work on everybody.  How... how are you still standing?  That must be the Sword of Wisdom!

Tim:  You're damn ass right it is!  Now prepare to taste it as I shove it down your throat!  Heeee-yahhhhhhhhhhh!

As Tim charges forward, he holds his sword up, tripling in size as he prepares to strike at Ramone...

To Be Continued...


The epic music plays as the narrator of the story speaks in a more urgent tone.

Narrator:  Our hero of The Nobodies, Tim Staggs, has found himself in the Futile Era of Japan!!!  He, like, lost some scroll or whatever, to the evil demon dragon creature beast thingie!  This scroll held some important message, and Tim must defeat Ramone in order to finish paving his path with his father, Spike!  Will he destroy Ramone, leaving the creature broken and battered, or will this creature end our hero once and for all?  Our hero must win!  Tune in next time to see the epic conclusion of this battle on... Climax Control!

\'user


We slowly focus on the image of the Narrator, as she holds a finger to her lips mysteriously, for a moment before we fade out... TO BLACK!

24
Climax Control Archives / The Art of War
« on: July 08, 2015, 07:44:02 AM »
 The Beast Within
#NP "Big Bad Wolf" by In This Moment
Locale:  Mercure Gold Hotel Al Mina Road, Dubai



"Even in these chains, you can't stop me... even in these chains, you can't stop me... even in these chains, YOU CAN'T STOP ME!"

As the sounds of In This Moment blare through Tim's headphones, he storms out of the hotel he planned to stay at until his flight in the morning.  He has his duffel bag flung over his shoulder, and his suitcase rolling quickly behind him.  His tattered jeans and studded leather boots and accessories give us a slight nod at his father's style, while the black hooded jacket gives it a spin all his own.  There is a fire building in Tim's eyes, and everything down to the light breeze, seems to be adding fuel to this fire, as his scowl becomes more and more angry.  He walks past a few guests on their way into the hotel, paying no mind to them as they do the same to him.  Once he makes it to the street, he looks for a taxi at the ready, spotting one.  As he approaches it, a man in a business suit steps in front of him, opening the door and getting inside.  Tim growls loudly.  He turns to walk away as the man on the cell phone waves him off in annoyance.  Tim stops dead in his tracks, glaring at the man, who shakes his head as he returns to his phone call.  Tim keeps his headphones in as the music gets louder.  His breathing becomes more shallow as his nostrils flare.  After the events of this past Sunday night at the Shiekh's palace, he is in the foulest of moods.  As the brake lights of the taxi cast a red glow upon Tim's face, something within him snaps.  He pulls the door open and grabs the man by his tie, yanking him out to the ground.  The taxi driver begins shouting at him, but he can't hear him over the music.  He straddles the man's stomach as he begins driving fist after fist against his face until a trickle of blood begins to drip from his lip.  He looks up at Tim in surprise.  However, the pause is only momentary as he drinks in the power he holds over the man, his punches becoming harder and harder as he relishes the feeling of his knuckles driving into the man's face.  A sort of sadistic pleasure fills him, and he becomes drunk on the feeling.

The feeling of the man's blood dripping from his knuckles causes a sadistic smile to come over his face as he drives his knuckles into his lips.  The slickness of the blood and saliva cause a bit of a wicked cackle to escape Tim's mouth.  The feeling of the cartilage of the man's nose snapping under the presure of his blows only intensifies things.  He'd never felt something so satisfying in his life as he watches the man's busted lips moving, trying to plead for mercy from Tim.  Tim stops punching him for just a second to allow him to plead, but his words don't make it past the music.  The man struggles a bit, ripping at Tim's headphones in the process, causing the music to become a light buzz in the background.

Man:  Please!  Yuh-you can have the taxi... Oh, please stop...

Tim:  I...

Tim reaches back, driving his knuckles into the man's face once more.

Tim: ... will...

Tim gets more insulting now as he backhands the man in what can only be described as a bonafide pimp slap.

Tim: ... not be...

Tim grits his teeth as the man's blood sputters into his face.  Instead of wiping it away, he lets it drip down his cheeks.  He swings his head down, catching the man between the eyes with a hard headbutt that knocks the man's head into the concrete, sending him into an unconscious state.

Tim: ... IGNORED!!!

Tim notices the man's body goes limp under him and he stands up, placing the headphones back in his ears.  He closes his eyes as he awaits the moment when this daydream of violence comes to an end with him standing on the street, watching the man ride off in the taxi in contempt.  His heart sinks as he opens his eyes, only to see what had happened was not only real, but even bloodier than he had realized at first.  His face goes white as he looks down at the man.  The taxi driver gets out of the vehicle, on his cell phone, likely notifying the authorities.  Tim trembles a bit as he slowly leans down.  He reluctantly places his finger to the man's jugular vein, waiting a second to acclimate.  There was a heartbeat that alleviates most of the dread induced adrenaline pumping through his body.

"I... I can't believe I just did that..."

Never having so much as jay walked in his life, he begins to pace back and forth, tangling his fingers in his wet ginger locks.  Should he do the right thing and wait for the police to arrive so that he could be locked up where a lunatic such as him should be to pay for his crimes?  Or, should he run.  His eyes rest on the horizon, seeing a very clear path of escape, since this is not the most upscale (protected) part of Dubai.  He looks down at the man who begins to stir slightly, though he is clearly still unaware.  He sighs as he leans against the taxi, awaiting justice.  The taxi driver shouts at Tim, though the sound doesn't seem to raise above the music at first, until the song begins to fade out.

Driver:  What is wrong with you, son?  You beat this man senseless, and then you stand around, awaiting punishment?

Tim removes his earbuds slowly, one at a time.  He taps a button on the headphones to stop the music before slowly wrapping his headphones around the iPod as his eyes slowly raise to the irate, and albeit highly confused taxi driver.

Tim:  It doesn't matter...  A few nights in a foreign jail and a fine that my dad will sweep under the rug to avoid embarrassment for the family... I deserve punishment. But, at the same time, that guy was a total dick.  He deserved to get knocked out.  They all do...

The taxi driver doesn't quite get it, but he doesn't have time to as Tim leans off of the car, quickening his pace.  A sleak black car pulls up next to him as he walks along.  He doesn't notice it at first, despite the bright halogen lights beaming from the front, and the street lights reflecting from the tinted windows.  However, the driver honks the horn, grabbing his attention.  He turns to face the car, a quickly passing shortness of breath overcoming him.  However, upon sight of the car, he smiles in relief and surprise.

Tim:  Kris... Thank god. After what I said about you two weeks ago, I thought...

The mechanical buzzing of the window lowering doesn't stop him as he is ready to go into a form of apology... until the face looking back at him is not who he was expecting.  His expression sours slowly, going from glee to utter contempt.

Delia:  What are you waiting for?  Get in!

Tim crosses his arms over his chest in utter refusal.  He is about to fling some sort of negative retort in her direction, but the sound of police sirens causes him to quickly change his tune.  He jogs around the car as Delia opens the passengers side door for him.  He flings it the rest of the way open and then steps inside, slaming it behind him quickly.  The car speeds off as the camera pans over toward the police car and ambulance.  Paramedics check on the man as police interrogate witnesses.

Witness #1
Taxi Driver


The stocky Arabic man stands in front of the camera directly.  He is wearing a stained white t-shirt and khaki pants, along with leather sandals.  His face is filled with an unusual excitement, considering the situation.  He speaks with such enthusiasm.

Driver:  The passenger stole a cab ride from the tall teenager, so he opened the door and pulled the man from my back seat.  He get many good hits in on this man. I wouldn't mess with him.

Witness #2
Pedestrian


The slender, middle aged woman with flowing blond hair is dressed in exercise clothing, which is a real stretch considering it looks as if even she struggles to move in them.  She is likely trying to show off her assets, trying to reel in a rich one, but she doesn't realize she's in the wrong part of town for that.   She looks shaken as she bites her bottom lip for a second.  She shakes her head before looking into the camera with despair.

Woman:  ... and then he just... it was so bloody.  He, um... he just kept punching the handsome man in the suit, and laughing.  It was very disturbing.

Witness #3
Bellhop


The bellhop on duty for the hotel is dressed in full uniform.  He is obviously caught on a cigarette break from work as he takes a long drag from a cigarette, flicking the ashes upon the dusty ground.  He chuckles as he recalls what he'd just witnessed.

Bellhop:  ... and then Rupert Grint spit on the guy, and pulled out a wand to cast a spell on him.  Some real Hogwarts shit, officer.  You won't find the body, because he's not human any more.  He's a frog!

Officer:  Sir, are you on drugs?

The bellhop narrows his eyes, furling his eyebrow as if to ask the officer if he's serious.  When the officer doesn't respond, the bellhop laughs, ready to plead his case before making a quick run for it, off into the night as the officer simply sighs.

Witness #4
Jason Adams


Without explanation, we see Sin City Wrestling sitting in an office chair, in the middle of the sidewalk.  He is wearing an SCW polo shirt and jeans as he begins spinning around in the chair.

Jason Adams:  Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Witness #5
Falafel Vendor


The man is wearing a white paper hat and a white apron over a black and white checkered shirt, and jeans.  He scoops up the falafel onto a plate as he hands it toward the camera.  A hand reaches forward to retrieve it.  The vendor places a lid over the pan and he leans against the counter of his cart.

Vendor:  No, I don't recall anything specific about the boy.  He was American, plain looking.  I think he had red hair and blue eyes, about 180 centimeters. He was singing terribly as he punched the man.

Cop:  Are you referring to Ed Sheeran?

Vendor:  Maybe.

Cop:  He's British, sir.

The vendor tilts his head to the side for a second, trying to rationalize it.  Not even quite sure he knows who this is, he shrugs his shoulders.

Vendor:  All white people look the same to me.  But, it was definitely Ed Sheeran.  Ed Sheeran beat the hell out of that Arabic businessman!

The vendor nods his head, sure of this as we fade back.

Inside of the car, Tim's brows are furled as he looks out of the window, remaining silent as Delia drives along.  She occasionally glances over at Tim, but trying to respect his feelings, she doesn't say anything right away.  She hopes that he might even make a slight acknowledgement of her saving him, but it doesn't come.  After driving along for about five minutes, Delia can't take the silence any longer.

Delia:  Hmmm... What was z'at back z'ere? Crazy...

Tim:  Just drive.

Delia sighs as she returns her gaze to the road full time.  However, she can't remain silent as curiosity gets the better of her.

Delia:  I mean, don't get me wrong, because I... I love it, but... I mean, I just never expected you of all people, to...

Tim:  I'm starting to rethink this whole Arabic prison thing. It's starting to seem much more appealing.

Delia:  No, I get it.  I'm like your least favorite person.  You detest me.  I'm sure z'ere is a club you can join, but if you own dad can forgive me, z'en why can't you?

Tim scoffs at the idea of his father forgiving her for anything.  He rolls his eyes until he catches sight of a Staggs Dungeon duffel bag in her back seat from the rearview mirror.  His jaw hangs open, but he still refuses to acknowledge it.  He simply rests his chin on the palm of his hand, waiting for this ride from hell to end.  Delia turns down a side street, parking the car at the earliest convenience.

Delia:  I never intended for s'ings to go as far as z'ey did, Tim.  I assure you, I did not.

Tim quickly snaps his head toward Delia, shooting daggers in her direction.

Tim:  You used me, Delia!  You got close to me so that you could eliminate any competition for your spotlight.  You made me think I stood a chance at being someone.  But then, you made sure to rub it in my face that you would never be seen with someone like me in public.  You made me realize that I am nothing but an awkward, geeky teenager who will never get the spotlight.  I will never get the push that others get, even when I work twice as hard to prove myself.  I'll never get the pretty girl.  I'm as unnoticable as someone can get.  You turned me into what I am.  What I'm becoming.  You, and Liz FUCKING SMALLS!  Anybody and everybody who has ever called themselves a Mean Girl.

Delia:  Z'at can't be completely true, I mean...

Delia reaches her hand over to Tim's knee, attempting to liven up his spirits, but she can't even  bring herself to pretend to be interested in him.  She gives an awkward pat on the knee cap before giving a light, playful jab to his shoulder, the gesture almost dripping with sarcasm as she does so.

Tim:  Yeah, that's exactly what I thought.  You know, you might be fooling the fans.  You might be fooling everyone else, the same as Liz Smalls, but you aren't fooling me.  You're just a Veronica Taylor in sheeps clothing.

Delia:  Oh, as if... I use a Clueless reference because it is much like Veronica, it went out of style in z'e late nineties...  Look, I'm not saying I'm a saint.  I'm far from it, actually.  But z'is road you are headed down, it's not heals'y.  I have traveled it, and it is not an easy one to come back from.  I might have done some wicked s'ings to you, but I want nos'ing more z'an to save you right now.  It is why I picked you up in z'e first place.  Please...

Tim:  It's too late.  I tried to come in and point out the obvious to everyone.  It felt like being Dib from Invader Zim.  I'm pointing at a little green monster, screaming "ALIEN!" and everyone is looking at me like I'm the weird one.

Delia nods her head, though the allusion to the last good Nickelodeon cartoon is completely lost on her, and her expression shows it.  She just continues to nod.

Tim:  I tried to go about things in a respectful manner, but that has only served to blow up in my face, time after time.  I saved Kris' title from going into the hands of Kain, and what do I get in return?  Nothing.  Wait, scratch that.  I get made out to be a whiny bitch on Twitter.  The only person I can even remotely think of as a friend-like figure, in or out of this business, doesn't so much as stick up for me on social media.  He only adds salt to my wounds.  Honestly, it's hurtful.  How can I expect anyone in this business to take me seriously when my own *air quotes* friend won't.

Delia:  I can imagine... It must be hard to prepare for your tag match wi's him, feeling z'is way.

Tim:  Yeah, exac... wait, what?

Delia reaches into her back seat to retrieve a piece of paper from it.  She pulls it out and hands it over to Tim, pointing down a few matches to the description of his match with Kris against the former Tag Team Champions, Steve Ramone and Joshua Acquin.  He slowly shakes his head.  He hands the card back to Delia.  As Delia prepares to comfort Tim, he simply begins to jiggle the door handle.  The door doesn't open, so Tim tries even harder to get it open, fidgeting with the automatic lock, but still seems unable to get it open.

Delia:  Tim, wait.

Tim:  Unlock the door...

Delia:  I will be your friend.  Talk to me, I will listen.  I...

Tim:  UNLOCK... THE FUCKING DOOR!!!

Before Delia even has a chance to react, Tim begins ramming his shoulder into the door, trying to bust it open.  Delia's jaw hangs down as she tries to get past the shock.  She presses a button on the middle console, and Tim is able to get the door open.  He snatches his bags up as he makes a quick and hasty exit from the vehicle.  Delia's eyes sink as she sighs.  Before she has a chance to react, Tim is booking it down the long street.  She gets out of her car, but she doesn't stand a chance with the squirrely one, especially while she is wearing heels.  She pulls her phone from her pocket, dialing as the scene fades out.




Keep Your Eye On the Grand Old Flag
#NP "1812 Overture" by Tchaikovsky/"National Anthem" by Lana Del Rey
Locale:  Mission Hills Park; Henderson, Nevada



The sounds of the Henderson Symphony Orchestra's rendition of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture is well into it's second half as the thunderous boom of flaming white rockets burst in the air above the large crowd seated in front of the orchestra.  The violinists are frantically working their bows before slowing down.  We hear the whistling of screamers as they spin in the air, exploding with a pop as yellow sparks burst in a cloud that rains down from the sky.  We move across the crowd and out into the open field next to the ampitheater as we approach the final minute of the song where the drums pound, accompanied by the red, white, and blue rockets bursting in the air.  The crowd lets out a lot of "ooh" and "ahh" of delight.  As we move across the large sea of people, and the crowd starts to break apart, we see a large hill that is surprisingly empty.  Sitting upon a yellow blanket, is Tim Staggs, all by himself.  He is wearing his usual black hooded jacket, along with black jeans.  He hugs onto his knees as he watches the fantastic display of fireworks, accompanied by the music.

"This is just... amazing.  I'm no patriot, but who doesn't love watching things blow up?  It's like watching V For Vendetta right now, only without Natalie Portman.  But seriously, there has always been something so comforting about a fireworks display."

Tim's eyes look up toward the sky as he watches a a fast series of white tails fly into the air, bursting with a simple pop that seems more like a bottle rocket, until the sparks that seem to be the size of stars, fall down over the audience below him.  He sighs as he lets go of his legs, straightening them out.

"After the last month, I really need a minute to clear my head.  It's like I've got too many boxes open up there, and it's just so cluttered.  It's like my past, present, and future are all in a three way brawl, and no side wants to give in.  As soon as I try to close one box, another one opens up, and all of the crap inside of that box spills out.  Skeletons, ghosts... shells of my former past are colliding with the reptilian scratching at the back of my brain, reminding me of all of my flaws.  All while the monster I'm surely going to become is sitting there laughing.  He laughs at me through the laughs of others.  The world needs a monster..."

Tim sighs as his eyes look further up into the sky. Another whistle from the spinning screamers, accompanied by a large blue star shoot off above him.  He leans back a little more, leaning back on his hands.  Suddenly, another hooded figure walks over to Tim, slowly sitting down on the blanket next to him.  The figure hands him a bottle of Code Red Mountain Dew, as they open one themselves.  Tim slowly twists the cap off as the bottle sprays all over him.  He doesn't look pleased as the figure chuckles.  Tim shakes his head, and turns the geyser of soda back toward the figure, spraying them.  They hold up a gloved hand to try to stop it, causing a slightly wicked grin to come over Tim's face.

"I don't know why I can't get what Belinda Simone said to me on Twitter out of my head.  She was obviously just trying to ruffle my feathers.  My dad told me this would happen, but I didn't expect it to be so heavy, coming at me from all directions.  But, just like my dad finds a calm in the eye of the storm that is Vixen, I found the one person who gives me that same relief.  It confuses me in a way...  Can one really find a such a comfort zone within a friend?"

The figure opens their soda again and begins splashing it back on Tim.  Tim grabs onto their shoulders to stop it from happening as the two lock up while sitting down, each one wrestling for power as they both laugh, though the competition is on.  Eventually they both wrestle one another down to the blanket, where they've reach a slight exhaustion.  Tim's face glows red from the large burst of red sparks in the sky as they both just lie there, breathing heavily.

"Even if I wanted something more from this, it would be impossible.  My dad, Misty, and Vix would never approve of it.  Plus, I'm young.  I've got a lot to figure out.  I'm not going to become like my dad.  I'm not going to give my heart to someone so easily, and have them abuse it like my mother did, or abandon it like my adopted mother did.  I want to find my one and only before I give them my heart.  For now, I can just focus on those blue eyes, the wisdom within them giving me solace, reassurance."

As he lies there with the hooded figure, staring into their eyes, his breaths become deeper and more stable.  However, such a long trip back home, and all of the thinking he's been doing, cause him to just want to lie there longer.  The figure concedes, staying at eye level with him, despite the shadows shrouding their identity.

"No one could actually like me in that way, anyway.  I'm always thrown into the friend zone from the start, and that's if anyone even gives me a chance.  I can only tell myself that I'm unique for so long before the word gains a negative connotation. I can only listen to those bitches Jessie Salco and Veronica Taylor tearing me down for so long, calling them morons before I start to believe that, if even morons can see I'm pathetic and ugly, then I must really be pathetic and ugly.  The sad part is that I'm becoming ugly on the inside as well.  I feel all of these verbal jabs tearing at my insides, making room for the beast to emerge.  Sticks and stones can break bones, but words can ruin lives.  A comment on Twitter can really tear a young person down.  Some people need to think about these things."

Tim feels it coming on as soon as he breaks his gaze, but he can't stop it.  The burning of his cheeks and eyes, the stinging within his tear ducts soon find a bit of relief as a few tears roll down his cheeks.  He turns away to conceal this from the other hooded figure, looking up at the sky, as the multi colored sparks illuminate on the tears of his cheeks.  He closes his eyes, trying to find the strength within, when the figure sits up, extending their arm out to him.  He tries to resist, but this only lasts a few seconds before he gently rests his head on their shoulder.  The figure holds the back of his head against their shoulder as they pull him in for a strong embrace.  He doesn't fight it as he just sits there.

"All I can do is try my best to get through this match with Kris, try to hold it together to get the first win, and hope that things start to fall into place... No... No!  I'm tired of waiting, wishing, and hoping.  Even if Belinda Simone was being a bitch to me on Twitter, she was right.  I need to step up and take charge.  I have to make people take notice, and realize that I'm the innovator of this stable.  I'm the general of the judged.  I'm the dealer of the damned.  The Dark Knight of the Nobodies.  I have to do something drastic.  It may not change the fact that we're a bunch of misfits running around in hoodies, losing matches, but it will make people realize that we're serious.  The worst enemy to face is one who feels they have nothing else to lose.  Right now, I feel like it can't get any worse.  I can't trust anybody until they've earned it.  I'm sorry (NAME CONCEALED TO PROTECT IDENTITY) but after Into The Void, everybody will have to prove their loyalty to me.  When there is trust, we can tear down empires.  We can destroy the Pharisees and Sadducees of Sin City Wrestling.  We can be the Zealots, the revolutionaries who seek to make a change, whether we are viewed as good or bad.  We must unite and fight for the greater good.  But, how can we do this when there is little or no trust?  This has to change..."

Tim wipes away the tears from his eyes, the stickiness of the soda on his skin causes the other hooded figure's jacket to cling to him as he pulls away slowly.  Both chuckle at this as the mood slowly lightens up.  Both lean back and look up at the sky, watching the grand finale, a large burst of fireworks in rapid succession, of many colors, shapes, and sizes, as the song on Tim's iPod slowly fades out, along with the scene.





The Art of War
#NP "Bat Country" by Avenged Sevenfold
Locale:  Royal College Sports Complex; Colombo, Sri Lanka



Darkness envelopes the screen as the music kicks off with a bang.  Accompanying the music is the sound of a loud motor running.  The camera turns slightly to catch the faint flame from within a furnace.  The light doesn't go very far, only casting a light glow upon the metal boiler a few feet away.  However, footsteps can be heard, getting louder as the heels of shoes hitting the cold, hard concrete echo through what is obviously the boiler room of the venue holding Sin City Wrestling's next edition of Climax Control.  There must be at least four people walking around within, their shuffling becoming louder as they approach our our location.  As they get closer, the number of people can be heard to be more along the lines of ten to twelve.  Once they are within a few feet of us, the light barely catches a glimpse of a lantern.  The glass panes surrounding the squared lantern reflect the light of the furnace before a gloved hand reaches around toward the dial, slowly turning it on at its lowest intensity.  The halogen light, even at such a low setting, still illuminates the masked face of a Nobody.  However, instead of black, this time the mask and hooded jacket are camouflage colors.  Upon the head of this particular Nobody is an iconic hat representative of a Five Star General.  It is black, with gold trim around the visor, with leaves emroidered along the lining, and a golden eagle emblem on the front.  The hand sets the lantern down at eye level, atop a nearby boiler.  They slowly reach up to lift up the camouflage mask to reveal themselves as none other than Tim Staggs.  He lets the mask rest against his forehead as he glares into the camera for a moment.  Soon, he spins around on the balls of his feet.  He reaches back and slowly turns the lantern up, giving us a view of what appears to be at least twenty hooded figures with masks.  They are of different shapes and sizes, and they all have their hands up to their foreheads, awaiting orders.  However, Tim doesn't give the "at ease" command.  Instead, he walks ever so slowly along the members of The Nobodies, in four rows of five.  He inspects everyone carefully as he makes his rounds.  Just as everyone thinks he's done, he takes another very slow round, staring at each and every one of them.  Once he returns to his spot in the front of the figures, he lifts his head, staring down at them down his nose with a stern look on his face.

Tim:  In just a few short days, another mask will be lifted, and another purpose fulfilled.

Tim narrows his eyes as he looks toward the last row of the group.  His nostrils slowly flare up as he sharply exhales through them.

Tim:  Did I say, "At ease, soldiers"?

Collective Nobodies: SIR, NO SIR!

Tim strokes his chin as he takes a few steps closer toward the group.  His eyes never lose his target, even though they quickly go back to the proper stance.  Tim walks between members until he is right upon the culprit, the tallest of the group, with a bit of a hefty build.

Tim:  I thought maybe I had, and just did not realize it.  Tell me, soldier... why would you break your salute if I hadn't.

Soldier:  I... I thought.

Tim:  SPEAK UP, SOLDIER!

Soldier:  SIR, I FIGURED WE WERE TO LISTEN NOW, SIR!

Tim strokes his own chin as he nods his head.  However, his understanding side seems to have left the building as he rams his elbow into the bigger man's stomach, causing him to double over.  Tim looks down at him with disdain.

Tim:  Are you slow, soldier?  Can you only perform one duty at a time?  Do your ears not work when you're saluting your acting superior, soldier?

Soldier:  No, sir.

Tim:  LOUDER, SOLDIER!

Soldier:  SIR, NO SIR!

Tim:  Do you not respect me as your superior, soldier?

The soldier looks down at the ground, showing a bit of humility, while also opting not to answer the question.  This only serves to infuriate Tim as he grabs onto the collar of the hooded jacket.  He lifts the soldier up a few inches, forcing him to look Tim in the face.

Tim:  I won't say it again, solider.  SPEAK THE FUCK UP!

Soldier:  I DO NOT!

There is a collective gasp amongst the Nobodies in attendance.  Even Tim seems shocked with how upfront this soldier is being.  Part of him wants to give him the benefit of the doubt and ask why, while the other part of him wishes to beat him down as he had the taxi thief in Dubai.  Both sides struggle very hard for control, but ultimately, valor prevails.

Tim:  Please do explain, soldier.  Enlighten me as to why I am not fit to be a leader.

The soldier is hesitant as Tim kindly lets go of his collar.  He stands up on his feet, straightening out his poster, almost in a defiant manner.  He puffs his chest out, towering over Tim by nearly a foot.

Soldier:  Because, you're just a kid.  You're seventeen, and you said it yourself.  You're not fit to lead anybody, let alone the Nobodies.

Tim:  Interesting... You have a point.  But, I believe that things can change.  I believe that people cha...

Soldier:  I wasn't finished... I joined the Nobodies because I believed that everyone would have an equal say.  Nobody would be a lea...

Tim:  As I said, things...

The soldier gives Tim a rough shove, causing another round of gasps to echo through the room.

Soldier:  I still wasn't finished, punk.  Nobody should lead us.  We're a democracy.

Tim's eyes are on fire, yet he shows little fault in his stance, shy of a light shake of anger.  He straightens out his own jacket.  He tilts his head slightly to the side as he nods his head.  He looks around at the other soldiers, who refuse to turn to face the situation, staring ahead with their salute still firmly in place.

Tim:  You finished now, Roger?  Can... can I speak now?  Great.  I've listened to this, and up until two weeks ago, I agreed fully with you.  Nobody needs to lead the Nobodies.  Heh, get it?  Yeah, well since that's been working out so... swimmingly, I decided that such an idea is pure idiocy.

Soldier (Roger):  That seems like something that should be decided by the majority, and not by you.

Tim:  Unlike certain people within our... organization... I'm not some fuck up with no real ambition.  I don't want to carry my social status around as a token to gain pity fucks from Liz Smalls.  I'm not content with being served to the big dogs as fodder.  I'm not satisfied with dwelling in the low to mid card for the duration of my career.  My goals are larger than those of the co-creator of our organization, and tag team partner for this week.  If that's the camp you belong to, then by all means, please do depart.

Roger:  There are no camps.  It's not about sides.  It's about shaking up the game, and bringing about anarchy.

Tim glares at the man, though a wickedly wide smile comes over his face as he chuckles, angering the man in front of him.

Tim:  Have you got your mask on too low, Roger?  Are your eyes covered?  We're an even bigger joke than we were when we entered and nobody knew who we were.  That's not freaking working, Roger!  Knock, knock, is anybody home in that thick skull of yours?

Having had enough of this, Roger grabs onto Tim's jacket and brings him in for a punch, but Tim ducks it, ramming his shoulders into Roger's midsection.  He crashes the mammoth into the boiler, causing him to collapse.  He goes full rage on the guy as the other soldiers remain obedient.  They don't so much as glare at the incident as Tim takes care of business.  After several hard hitting punches, he stands up, spitting down on Roger.  He reaches down and pulls the mask off of Roger, along with the hooded jacket, as Roger cowers on the ground.  He looks up in shock at Tim, who points off into the darkness.

Tim:  You're beyond pathetic, even by our pathetic standards of what pathetic is... You no longer have a purpose within our organization, Roger.  Now leave... LEAVE!

Tim shouts at the top of his lungs, causing Roger to scramble to his feet.  Roger makes a quick exit, as Tim inspects the rest of the group.

Tim:  Does anybody else have a problem with the new pecking order around here?

Nobodies in Unison:  SIR, NO SIR!

Tim:  Great, then we can proceed...  At ease, soldiers!

With the order, the soldiers lower their arms to their sides, but keep their heads held high, and standing proudly with discipline.  Tim nods his head in approval before he proceeds.

Tim:  Soldiers, this is a new day for the Nobodies, for yesterday we were nothing but a joke.  Yesterday, we saw Johnny Tsunami and myself get humiliated by J2H and Casey Williams.  We saw Kris Halich lose the Internet Championship to Despayre as I predicted he would.  It was a dark day for us, and it made me realize that we need a leader.  Since nobody else stepped forward, I've decided I should.  It is in my blood, and by God, it is in my will after the immense embarrassment we have suffered since day one.  I believe the twen... nineteen... of you standing before me are here because you know I am meant to lead us to glory.  You don't believe that Kris gives a shit about anything but his own personal interests.  That's fine because we all have our personal interests.  But a leader has to think beyond what is right in front of him.  A leader must have vision, something that Kris lacks.  Objectively, Kris lives in the moment.  This does not make him bad, and my momentary ill will toward him will not cause me to say otherwise.  He is a champion.  He's the only unmasked one to gain a victory since our inception.  He's the only former champion in our midst.  That has to say something, right?  But, a leader he is not...

Tim looks around for anyone who might disagree.  Once he realizes no one does, or at least they won't admit to it after seeing what happened to Roger, he looks back to the collective.

Tim:  I'm not too concerned with Steve Ramone or Joshua Acquin.  They are just a couple of Nobodies in denial.  Fluke champions who defeated two men that I could have defeated blindfolded, arms and legs bound.  I wouldn't even have to be in the arena to defeat R.O.A.R.  Okay, let's be honest... my little sister could defeat them in two minutes, so Steve and Josh don't need to keep patting themselves on the back for that.  No, you see, my main concern is Kris.  Surely, after a loss like he suffered, he can't be completely focused on this match.  Part of me wonders if he will even show up.  It seems tag team partners have been pretty unreliable for me lately.

Tim shrugs his shoulders as if to say he doesn't care, but his shaking head and his teeth biting onto his bottom lip says otherwise.

Tim:  But then, there is another question.  Should he actually show up, and let's give him credit for just a second here and assume he's heard the things I've said about him... will he take exception to them?  Can I truly trust him to be in it to win it?  He's not the one with something to prove here, as much as he tries to pretend he does.  I am.  And now that I represent the collective, it's very important that we win.  Kris?  I'm willing to let bygones be bygones under one condition.  Show up on Sunday, and give some sort of a hint that you feel bad about throwing me under the bus in order to try to impress a girl.  You don't even have to apologize, Kris.  Just prove to me that you are in this thing with me.  An honest handshake will do.  It's not unreasonable, Kris, is it?

Tim looks around at the collective Nobodies, who are all shaking their head from side to side to confirm Tim's suspicions.  Tim points to this as he looks into the camera.  He closes his eyes for a moment as he collects his thoughts, ready to move on.

Tim:  As for our opponents, Joshua Acquin?  You are just a victim of circumstance here.  I have no real beef with you as of yet.  You've done nothing to inspire any ill will from me.  You seem like a goal oriented guy, with his hands in many pots.  I guess that's why you haven't accomplished much here in SCW.  I know, I know... I have no room to speak.  Two tag title reigns isn't something to laugh at, but you've had so many great opportunities here in SCW.  If your focus were where it belongs, you might be someone I would fear.  Instead, I just see you as the guy teaming with Lucian Frost, or Steve Ramone.  You don't have a real identity in this world, Josh.  It's sad, because you've got a wealth of potential.  You could really benefit from being in a group such as The Nobodies.  You would fit in perfectly... unless you are already in this room right now?

Tim gives a sly smile as he slowly walks between the members of the group, implying that Joshua Acquin could very well be amongst them right now.  He stops and looks at a couple people who match his build as he continues speaking.

Tim:  Ripping a page out of Lucian Frost's playbook might not be a bad idea, really.  He's been a Tag Team Champion three different times, and he was the first ever SCW Roulette Champion.  He might not be the most successful man in SCW history, but he's done big things.  Isn't it about time you tasted similar success?  I think you deserve it.

Tim winks at the camera as he rounds the collective once more, coming back to the head of the group.  He stands proudly in front of the Nobodies.

Tim:  Now, Steve... that begs a very important question.  You yourself have made it clear that you already don't trust Josh.  You stated that you're ready for singles action again after you feel Josh let you down.  I can imagine saying such things about your partner could really weaken your ragtag team.  I'm fully aware that my rants could have done the same, but we're bonded by something beyond lusting for gold.  We have more leeway than you and Josh.  You two teamed together all of two times, and haven't spoken beyond that I'd assume.  Kris and I might be a little dysfuntional right now, but I haven't blamed him for our loss against the Seven Deadly Sins, despite him being the one to have been pinned.  We entered that match together, and we lot together.  Just as you and Josh lost together at Into The Void almost two weeks ago.

Tim slowly begins pacing back and forth with his hands folded behind his back.  He has his head held high as he turns back around to walk the other direction.

Tim:  You're on a campaign right now, aren't you, Steve?  I generally tune you out, because I find you to be an even bigger nag than I've been accused of, but I think I've seen your face on political posters.  You claim to be... "The Champion The People Deserve..."  Something like that, right?   If I were "The People"?  I would be freaking insulted by that sort of tagline.  By insinuating that you're the type of champion the people deserve, you're saying that the people are pure and utter shit.  If you think for one minute that the people deserve to be represented by an asshat such as yourself, then your opinion of them must be as low as the expectations people have of you, Steve.  That's beyond rock bottom.  That's staring down a huge freaking hole, and seeing the Great Wall Of China low.  Anyone who would vote for you, or root for you would be an idiot.  But, then again, this is Sin City Wrestling, and if people vote for the likes of Mitt Romney, then I'm sure there will be a couple idiots who cheer for you, even if they do it from home because it embarrasses them to do so in public.

Tim continues his slow pace, though he can't remain as stoic as he wishes to.  He cracks a smile, even going as far as to chuckle at his own insults.

Tim:  I'm sure you probably think that because you won the tag titles with Josh, that you suddenly are some wrestling God.  You probably think you're superior to me, but as I stated before, your opponents practically laid down on the mat and begged you to pin them and take their titles.  It was pathetic.  If I were you, I would honestly deny that reign, especially when it ended on your first defense.  It's embarrassing.  So, really, we're on the same level.  The difference is that I'm seventeen.  You're thirty.  You're almost twice my age, with a decade in the business, and you still can't clinch a title, and actually keep it for longer than a couple weeks?  It's sad, and if Acquin actually wants to be saddled with a sack of crap partner such as yourself, then he deserves a loss.  Hopefully he has enough sense to knock your head off, even if he doesn't join us.  Otherwise, you won't just be making a joke of your career, but a joke of his career as well.  If you two stick together, you can achieve one thing.  You both can be the greatest punchline in SCW history.

Tim stops pacing and looks back to the collective, and the camera as well.  They all pay close attention to Tim as he grabs the lantern off of the boiler.  It hides him in the shadows, but better illuminates the nineteen Nobodies standing in front of him.  They look much like statues, almost identical in their stances.

Tim:  There will be blood shed on Sunday, and it will happen in the six sided ring.  Climax Control in Colombo, Sri Lanka will belong to The Nobodies.  It's not just an empty threat, it is a bonafide promise.

With that, Tim slowly turns off the lantern, shrouding the room in darkness.  We hear the footsteps marching against the hard concrete as they exit the boiler room.  The door creaks open as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

25
Supercard Archives / J2H/CASEY WILLIAMS v STAGGS/TSUNAMI
« on: June 26, 2015, 10:55:39 AM »
 Fame
#NP "Pins and Needles" by The Birthday Massacre
Locale: People by Crystal Night Club; Dubai, United Arab Emirates



The music starts off heavy and foreboding as the screen remains black for a moment before fading in.  We focus in on a fountain trickling water just outside of the hottest club in Dubai, People by Crystal.  There are many clubgoers standing outside, taking a break from the intense atmosphere.  Some are done partying for the night, while others just need a second to breathe.  One man stumbles over toward a rail, leaning to vomit into the wispy bushes while a few of his fellow tourist friends laugh at him.  It is then that we see Tim Staggs walking along the streets, late at night.  He is wearing a pair of black skinny jeans and an Invader Zim graphic tee, as well as a backpack.  His eyes are down on the ground, until he stops, looking up at the man who had just vomitted.  He narrows his eyes as he lifts his foot up toward the man.  His words seem voiceless as he shouts something at the man.  His music is playing so loudly he can't even hear himself talk.  He shakes his head as he shakes the vomit off of his shoe.  The tourist shakes his head and points his thumb back at Tim, dismissing him until leaning over to vomit onto the sidewalk.  Tim shakes his head in disgust as he continues to walk along, mouthing something aloud, though we can't quite hear it still.  As he walks along, one of the puker's friends comes up to Tim, yanking his earbuds from his ears, pulling his iPod along with them.  They drop it onto the ground, ready to stomp on it while they laugh at him.

Tim:  Ay!

Man:  Would ya 'ave a look at this un?  Barely a hair on 'is bullocks an he thinks 'e could stop me from...

Tim's eyes narrow as he gives the guy a hard shove, sending him into the bushes with his friend's puke dangling in globs from the leaves.  He lunges forward as if he's going to do more damage, but he stops himself as people look on at him.  He reaches down, snatching his iPod off of the ground and dusting it off.  In his head, he is imagining himself as a Cockney badass with a smoking barrel in his hand... but it comes out more like Moss from IT Crowd than anything.

Tim:  That... was rude, mate!  Now bugger off ya plonkers before I lump ya in the crackers!

Still convinced he didn't sound like a total nerd or a lame American tourist in London trying to blend in, he dusts his hands off before flipping them the bird.  He's not stingy as he lends both middle fingers, moving them from side to side in equal timing before adjusting the backpack on his shoulders.  The puke covered attacker is too busy trying to fling his friend's puke off of him, while the other seems to gurgle on his empty stomach, wretching with no results.  This opens up the opportunity for a young local girl to approach him, almost seeming bashful as she tucks her hair behind her ears.

Girl:  Hello, um... excuse me?

Tim takes a deep breath as his palms sweat.  He looks around as if the girl might be talking to someone else, as has been the case many a time before.  He slowly points to his chest as if to ask "Who, me?"  She giggles and nods her head, while struggling to keep eye contact.

Girl:  Yeah, you... I wondered if maybe you like to dance with me and my friends?  If... maybe you are not so busy now?

Tim:  Well... I was having a time of it at 1am, walking the streets and shoving cheeky prats, but...

Tim forgot to shut it off and his cheeks flush with redness as he covers his mouth in embarrassment.  The girl laughs as she looks up into his eyes, wrapping an arm around his arm while silently asking if this is too forward by gently swaying from side to side.

Girl:  It's okay.  Dubai is tourist friendly.  And, um... I can never resist a British accent.

Tim:  Oh, about that... I, um... I don't really have a British Accent.  I'm actually from America, and...

Girl:  But the...

Tim:  Look, I'm not going to lie to you, even if I don't know your name.  I believe in total honesty.  The accent?  It was just an act.  Probably not even that good really... Well, decent I think.

Tim thinks to himself, either wondering if he's accurately stated it, or trying to convince himself that he's a regular limey.  While he's talking, the girl unhooks arms with him, seeming shocked by what he's saying.  Tim's eyes sink as he sighs.

Tim:  I'm from America.  But... American's are almost British!  Our country was founded by the British.  We're like Britain's two hundred year old son.

Girl:  I... I just can't believe I thought you were British for so long.  You... are...

Tim:  It was like thirty seconds, but...

Girl:  ... amazing!  You must come and meet my friends!  Please say yes? We are all big fans...

Tim is taken aback by this response as he rubs the back of his head.  He looks around at all of the hip partygoers around him, seeing that he's not quite dressed for such an occasion, but who was he to turn down the advances of an exotic beauty such as this one?

Tim:  You know what?  It's been ages since I hung out with a fan.  Let's do it.

Tim nods his head as the girl squeals in excitement.  A wide grin comes over Tim's face as the girl hooks both of her arms under his, practically dragging him toward the doors.  He sees the bouncer at the door, checking identification, and he begins to sweat like crazy.  He fumbles around in his pockets, hoping that God had miraculously placed a fake I.D. in there somewhere.  He struggles to breathe as they reach the door, and he gulps, trying to make words come out.  The bouncer looks to the girl and bows, before looking to Tim.

Bouncer:  Who is this guy?

Girl:  He is very famous American celebrity.

The bouncer looks at him, taking in the sight.  He tilts his head to the side, causing Tim to sweat even harder.

Bouncer:  Ah, yes.  I know this one too.  I heard he was to be in town this week.  Welcome!

Tim looks stunned by this, but quickly shakes it off, nodding his head as if it were no big deal.  He then walks inside as if it were owed to him.  His newly found arrogance seems to be a turn on for this rather forward girl as she snuggles up close to him.  Tim looks all around him as the house music thumps so loudly, nothing else can be heard.  He takes in the glossy blue interior.  He'd never seen such a pristine nightclub in his life, though he'd only ever been in three.  One... illegally with Liz Smalls almost a year ago, and the second on tour with SCW.  And now this one.  But, not even on television had he seen one that looked so clean and classy.  The glassy walls and blue trim and balconies make him feel as if he should have a glass of finely aged scotch in one hand, and a cigar in the other.  The girl immediately hands him a shooter from a woman walking around with a tray of them.  Tim shakes his head, trying to say he doesn't drink.  His words aren't heard, but the message is clear enough as the girl downs it in a flash, letting out a highly distorted "WOOOOOOOOO!" as they move along to the dance floor.  The girl brings him to a crowd of about six, two girls, and four guys, all of which dressed in the finest Dubai club fashions.  One of the girls studies him closely until the first girl leans in to whisper something to her friend.  Instantly, the friend jumps all over Tim, hugging him as she bounces up and down, on the verge of passing out.  Tim can't help but eat this up some.  The music fades for a moment as the DJ begins to address the crowd in Arabic.

Girl 2:  I don't believe it!  It's really you?!  I love your work!

Tim:  Yeah, it's... it's no big deal.  I just, yeah, do my thing.  I'm pretty good at it, I guess.

Girl:  You are not just good at it.  You're almost... magical...

Tim blushes as he waves the beauty off, but only symbolically as he pulls her in closely.  She looks to her jealous friend, but the jealous friend's boyfriend glares at Tim, muttering something at him in Arabic.  However, another male friend looks at him in an adoring manner.

Guy:  He is not just magical.  He is, as you say, "Awesome!"  "Cool!"  A very nice Western man.

Something in his words, or his stare, or a combination of both says that he's just as much in competition with the two ladies, vying for his affection.  This causes Tim to hold up his hand in a showing of disinterest.  This doesn't deter anything though as the music picks back up, just as loud as the last song.  The jealous boyfriend pulls his girlfriend away toward the other three men, and the other girl to dance away from the three.  Tim turns toward the girl as the guy casually gets closer, while trying to be inconspicuous with getting his freak on.  However, a firm hand on his backside lets Tim know that this man is very much in the competition, whether he is wanted in it or not.  Tim jumps back, turning to face the guy, who gives his a boy wink and smile.  However, the girl pulls him in close, wrapping her arms around him as she stares up into his deep, icy blue eyes, getting lost in them.  The guy grabs onto a willing girl who laughs and begins dancing with him.  This is a relief to Tim, but only for a second as the man backs up against him, grinding backsides with Tim.  Tim leans in to shout at the female.

Tim:  Oh my god!  This guy is way too persistant!

Girl:  Given our culture, this is nothing!  If it were in America, he would have pulled your pants down and given you oral sex by now!

Tim doesn't quite know what to say to this as he sits almost still, shy of the reverberation from the grinding of the other male counterpart.  He is like a lost puppy, a child in a grown up world.  He tries to say something, but nothing comes out, and not just because of the music either.  The girl laughs and shakes her head.

Girl:  Old beliefs do not belong in a new world!  Be open to possibilities.

Tim:  Possibilities that could get me stoned to death?!  No thanks!

Girl:  Ha!  You act as if we are in Pakistan!  In Dubai, you would spend a few hours in jail!

Tim looks back at the guy who reaches back to rub on Tim's back in an inconspicuous manner as Tim backs away, not ready to confront anything of this nature.  The guy nods his head before nudging it upward.  Tim shrugs his shoulders as if he doesn't know what it means.  He receives an air kiss in response, which only further confuses him.

Girl:  For a capitalist western pig, you are so prude!

Tim:  I respect my body!  And I'm not Western!  I'm just far, FAR eastern!

This causes the girl to laugh, shaking her head as she lowers his hands onto her hips.  Tim's hands tremble for a moment before he pulls them away.  The girl looks confused as Tim walks away from the dance floor.  Her confusion turns to anger as she chases after him.  A smile comes across the man's face as he follows suit, balling his fist as he brings his elbow back in celebration.  He grabs on to Tim's arm, dragging him up the stairs toward the VIP lounge.  He gives a nod to another bouncer who raises the velvet rope to allow them back.  The girl is close behind, pushing past the bouncer just before he is about to lower the rope.  As she passes abruptly, the bouncer shakes his head with a laugh before clicking the rope closed.

Inside of the VIP lounge, the man shoves Tim down into a plush blue couch, ready to climb on top of him when the girl shoves past him.

Girl:  Why did you lead me on?  Even after I all but said "Gay is okay!"

Tim:  I'm not gay!  I've never enjoyed another man's... peen... and bubbles...!  I've never had sex before!

Guy:  Allow me to help you skip a very disgusting and boring step in the process...

The guy nods his head back toward the girl, who bumps into him in a half angry and half playful manner.  He giggles as Tim holds his hands out as if begging for the obvious sexual assault scenario to stop.  He closes his eyes as if wishing he were somewhere else right now.

Tim:  I don't want my first time to be inside of a VIP Lounge with two exotic, friendly, and brave people!  Your first time is supposed to be awkward and mentally scarring, reverting you to a sobbing baby, lying on the floor and sucking your own thumb, wishing you could undo that and skip ahead a few more times when you know what you're doing.  At least that's what my uncle Jamie told me...

This is a sort of cease fire between the two locals and Tim, as they nod their heads at one another to call it all off.  They sit down on the couch next to Tim, leaving him worried for a second until he sees that they are ready to just hang out.  The man leans over and pours Tim a glass of mineral water from a pitcher sitting on a nearby table.  He hands it over to Tim, who holds it reluctantly.  The man closes his eyes, shaking his head, as well as a casual hand at Tim.

Man:  No, no, no. Drink.  I do not require sexual favors for giving water.  Now, a Coca Cola...

Girl:  Dawar, the boy is shaking!

Man (Dawar): Naazira, it is probably because you were running your hands all over his body...

Girl (Naazira):  That was you, too!  Never mind.  We are here, and we are "hanging" with a famous American celebrity.  Even with nothing more than conversation, this is the best night ever, yes?

Dawar thinks it over carefully before reluctantly agreeing.  He looks Tim up and down as if thinking it is such a shame, but then he turns off the rape vibe, which Tim senses almost immediately.  Tim eases up some as Naazira leans back a few inches, smiling.  Dawar lifts a glass to his lips, sipping on mineral water before speaking.

Dawar:  So why don't you tell us about what you do exactly.  I mean, we know, but like... do you travel a lot?

Tim:  Sometimes. I mean, I spent a lot of time in Arizona.

Naazira:  Arizona?  I have not heard of this country.

Tim:  Oh, it's a state.  There's nothing there but cactus... cacti... Lots of dirt, and trailer parks.  It's where I think poor people go to retire when they can't afford to go to Florida.

The two nod their heads as they release a collective "ahhh..."  They seem to hang on Tim's words, so he clears his throat and continues.

Tim:  But yeah, lately I have been traveling a lot.  We're on a world tour right now, so I get to see all kinds of places.  Except, um... I cut my hand, so I missed a few stops.

Dawar:  World tour?  Do you play music also?  I didn't realize you tour so much in your profession.

Tim:  Oh yeah, we travel a lot.  It's not as fancy as most of my coworkers make it seem.  You put in a lot of hard work, you put your life on the line every time you walk through those curtains, and you never seem to get the appreciation you deserve because other people constantly overshadow you...

Dawar shakes his head from side to side as he smacks his lips in a showing of disappointment.  He sighs before taking another sip of his water.  He pulls a phone from the couch and casually begins typing through it as he speaks.

Dawar:  Ah yes, you are with the brunette guy, and all of the ladies seem to focus on him more...

Tim:  Exactly!  He's a great guy.  We're actually teaming together here on Sunday for a private show.  I love him like a brother.  Dearly not queerly, no offense.  But he can basically have any girl he wants, despite his "problems".  I mean, even Delia wants him hardcore.  It just sucks because he's just naturally good.  Naturally good at anything he does.  Me?  I have to try so hard.

Dawar:  Take this for what it is worth, but he blends in.  You?  You are apart from the rest.  Porcelain skin, soft blue eyes, and hair of golden red... Between you guys, you stick out by appearance, and in our country, you would "pick up the chicks" a lot easier.

Tim narrows his eyes as he falls deep into contemplation of this.  He nods his head after a moment, convincing himself that this man knows what he's talking about.

Tim:  Yeah... Yeah!  I could pick up the chicks here, where men respect themselves!  You guys aren't "dripping with bitches"...

Naazira:  Actually, we do observe plural marrriage where a man can have as many wives as he can afford to take care of in separate homes, so the men here truly are "dripping of the bitches".

Tim:  Still!  Suck on those apples, Johnny!

Dawar:  Ha! I like this!  I will steal this phrase.

Tim:  Well, Johnny really isn't that bad. He's just luckier than I am.

Dawar strokes his chin as he closes one eye, thinking for a moment.  As Tim is about to go on a pointless rant, Dawar shakes a hand, slowing him down.

Dawar:  Wait, who is Johnny?

Tim thought fans of his would surely know Johnny, but maybe Johnny just wasn't on the same level of fame as Tim.  This feeds Tim's ego a little more, so much that he doesn't notice Dawar sliding the phone gently back into Tim's pocket.

Tim:  You see, Johnny is my tag team partner.  I know he's a little bit newer to the scene than me, but he's still pretty good.

Dawar:  I don't know this Johnny.  I think you were talking about Harry.

Tim:  Harry?  Who the fuck is Harry?

Tim is completely confused as Naazira cuddles up closer to him with a smile on her face.  She does her best imitation.

Naazira:  Ahh!  The, the sp-spiders, the spiders, they want me to tap dance... I don't wanna tap dance!

Dawar:  You tell those spoydahs, Ron!

Tim is still a little confused for a moment until the reality of the situation strikes him.  He immediately gets an angry, pouty look on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Tim:  I am NOT Ron Weasley!!!

He practically growls this as he pushes himself back further into the couch.  Dawar and Naazira look at him as if they want to apologize for the reference.  Naazira places her hand on his knee, ready to correct her own mistake.

Naazira:  I... I'm sorry, Rupert.  I know actors don't like to be type cast.

Tim shoots up from his seat and turns to face both of them.  He leans in toward them in an almost taunting manner.

Tim:  I'm not RUPERT GRINT EITHER!!!  Not all gingers look the same!  I mean, why would you even bring up my "brunette friend" unless this was some sort of plan to humiliate me?!?

Dawar:  Harry... Or Daniel I guess...

Tim narrows his eyes before lifting his gaze up toward the ceiling, trying to calm himself down.  It doesn't work as he lets out a deep growl, stomping his feet in anger as he goes into full meltdown mode right in front of his new friends.

Tim:  I *stomp* don't *stomp* even *stomp* look anything like him aside from the red hair!  You infuriate me!!!  Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-GOD!

Tim stares at them as if he is waiting for some sort of apology.  When he doesn't get one, he grips the side of his face, squeezing tightly for a second before, surprisingly collecting himself suddenly.  He takes a few deep breaths to make sure, before shaking his head.

Tim:  You know...? I should have expected this.  People in my own high school didn't know who I was.  Why would I expect people from a distant country to recognize me?  I'm not a champion.  I'm not a billionaire.  I'm Tim Staggs, and I'm a Nobody.  So you two have fun half raping some other poor guy.  I'm out...

Dawar holds his hand up as if to protest.

Dawar:  Wait...

Tim leans up, as if he is expecting an apology, one which he doesn't plan to fully take.

Dawar:  I put my number in your phone if you ever decide to live truthfully with yourself.

Dawar winks as Tim shakes his head.  No amount of convincing was going to get through to Dawar that what he's saying isn't true.  As unexperienced as Tim is, it angers him that he doesn't even know it's untrue.  Tim turns on the balls of his heels and walks back to the curtains.  He pauses as the bouncer lifts the velvet ropes.  He walks with authority as he makes his exit from the shot and the scene fades out.



Nobody
#NP "You Think I Ain't Worth A Dollar, But I Feel Like A Millionaire" by Queens of the Stone Age
Locale: Dubai, United Arab Emirates; Location Undisclosed



The faux radio commercial at the beginning of the song takes us by surprise as we slowly begin to fade into the scene.  We come in to see the hustle and bustle of the countries biggest city, all rushing around the streets.  The sun has freshly laid to rest for the night as blackness takes over the sky.  All of the bright lights drown out any possibility of seeing stars, drowning all hope within the night sky which threatens to envelope the city.  We see many tourists rushing along to the next bar, or looking for the next club, or perhaps home for an early night in.  We see many locals, both traditional as well as new age dress.  Many women cover their bodies and faces as they move along, likely casting judgment at any sign of female flesh, while others can't understand the tradition.  However, the traditionally dressed woman are not the only ones who are shrouded in mystery.  As a matter of fact, even they have to stop and take notice of a small group of figures walking along the streets, covered in black ski masks, black hoodies, black jeans, and black boots.  There are no distinguishable features among them aside from a couple females with mediocre manicures amongst the group.  The figures soak in the sights as the music plays in all of their ears.  From the center of the group, a figure emerges ahead the crowd of Nobodies.  The figure points across the busy street as they spot a trendy young white male with blonde hair.  One at a time, the figures shake their right arms (or left, depending on proper dexterity) causing various blunt objects painted black to slowly lower from their sleeves.  Slap jacks, crow bars, batons, small novelty baseball bats are all present.  They wait for another traffic back up as the arrogant man seems to be showing off his superiority over the others around him.  Once opportunity has arisen, the crowd crosses the street.  The form a half circle as they close in on the kid.  He turns around to show that he is not, however, the man they were looking for, but just some arrogant tourist.  The crowd sinks a bit until the one in front raises his fist in the air.  He slowly lowers it half way, pointing at the kid as he walks forward, smacking him on the arm with a baton.  The music breaks, letting us hear the loud shrieking of pain from the tourist.

Tourist:  Yo dawg, what the fuck?!

The leader hovers over the slightly shorter kid, kneeing him in the stomach so that he drops to his knees.  He raises his other hand and waves the group in.  This is when the break in the music ends, picking right back up where it left off with a heavy rift and shout.  They smack the kid around with their weapons, busting open his forehead, and bloodying his nose and lip just a bit before backing off.  They walk off down the street as bystanders come to help the kid.  However, the assailants disappear into the crowd of people, getting lost once more.  After weaving in and out of three separate crowds, they've lost all heat, and they ease up a little bit.  They look around a bit, finding another target.  This man is abnormally large.  Tall and somewhat muscular.  The leader nods his head as the crowd rushes upon the man, not taking it quite so lightly on him as they bash him repeatedly with the weapons.  They knock him out cold as the leader gets a few good stomps in.  The leader pulls his mask off, but remains unknown to us.  Hastily, he tosses the mask down upon the man as the music ends.  The group finds their way away from the scene as they immediately disperse.  However, the unmasked person comes face to face with an angry Tim Staggs.  Tim grabs the unseen man by the shoulders, shaking him a bit as he looks directly into his face.

Tim:  What the hell are you doing, *NAME CENSORED TO PROTECT IDENTITY*?!

Unknown *Voice distorted*:  What needed to be done...

Tim:  What needed to be done?  We're not thugs.  We're just the faceless, the nameless, and the voiceless.  We don't gang attack to get our point across.

Unknown *Voice distorted*:  It had to be done.  A statement had to be made, and now I think we've done just that. You're welcome...

And with that, the hooded man disappears, having kept his entire identity a secret to all but Tim.  Tim looks down at his black hooded jacket, and he immediately sheds it while muttering obscenities.  He tosses it in a dumpster, though admittedly, it was a bit too hot for a jacket.  Tim walks by the gathering crowd around the large unconscious man, and he stares down at the battered man.  Something in his finds the scene unsettling, even more than a normal person would, but perhaps it was because... he kinda liked it?

Tim:  You never saw it coming, did you, man?  You had your eyes open.  You should have seen it coming.  You aren't blind, but you might as well be.  You see only what you want to see.  You want to see a world where you are the king, because you are the tallest.  This isn't the Irken Empire.  The tallest don't rule the world.  You have to possess strength, or you have to possess intelligence.  As much as I hate what has happened to you, sir... you were a symbol of what is to come.  You were perfect.  Not just because of your size, or even your gritty, bald head, but because of your utter ignorance.

Tim shakes his head in a faux sense of shame, sighing that it had to come to this.

Tim:  It's a shame what happened to you.  Something like that would never happen to me.  You see, as I said before, you only see what you want to see.  You want to see people cower to you.  Unlike you, I want to see a world where everyone is out to get me.  Some call it delusions of grandeur.  Some call it paranoia.  I call it reality.  It's a dog eat dog world.  Had you realized that sooner, you might have heard the footsteps.  You might have seen a shadow that would have let you turn around just in time to call attention to the group.  Best case scenario, you could have taken all of them out with those meaty fists of yours.  But no.  People like you would call me crazy, but guess who hasn't been beaten down tonight?

Tim digs his finger into his own chest to make sure the unconcious man knows he is talking about himself.  He smirks as the crowd around him begin to give him funny looks.  Tim shrugs his shoulders as he leans down next to the man, acting as if he is trying to somehow help him.  He grabs onto his hand, jerking it toward him as if checking for a proper pulse in his wrist.

Tim:  I do hope that the man  you were to symbolize can pull his head out of his own ass for two seconds to pick up a local paper.  But, then... I don't know if he can even read.  He's a meathead, a moron with no idea... Let's give him enough credit to piece together letters to sound out words...  Would he even be able to catch on to the symbolism here?  ... Yeah, you're probably right.  Maybe I should give him a little help.

Tim reaches into his pocket, turning the man's hand over to scribe two characters onto the back of it... "#N".  He turns the hand over once more and he stands up, shrugging his shoulders as if telling the others that he is of no use here.  He walks along the sidewalk slowly, weaving through the crowds of people until he sees the bleeding man who wreaks of cologne found in an upscale gentlemen's club bath room.  His wifebeater is covered in his own blood as he looks around, shouting insults at the crowd.  Tim watches for a moment before an almost sick smile comes over his face.  He tilts his head back, chuckling as the man tries to pick a fight with a crowd member.

Tourist:  Ay Bruh! I know it was you.  I fuckin' know it was you!

The man holds his hands up in defense as the bloodied tourist comes after him, fists swinging.  Tim watches for a moment, entertained by the thought, practically drinking in the similarities, finding it almost uncanny.

Tim:  Freaky, isn't it?  Almost like looking at an ugly, poor people's mirror reflection of James... Sorry, J2H.  The level of douchebaggery is definitely there, even if his attitude is closer to that of his former reality television star friend.  They always were a perfect pair, so this guy just turns the satisfaction meter up a notch...

Tim covers his mouth, as if anyone were actually paying attention to him.  However, he still doesn't bother lowering his voice, because he feels practically invisible right now.  But, admitting to himself that he finds this enjoyable is a bit shameful to him.

Tim:  I mean... for his assailants. of course.  I could point out how much of a dickhead this guy is, and how it relates to that of Jam... J2H... but that would just be too obvious.  It's like going for a cheap shot.  It's like a Mean Girls match in conversation form.  Starting with a cheap shot, and ending in disappointment that makes you wonder why you even bother paying attention.  The douchey style of clothing is still too easy.  The sense of entitlement, yeah... very clear here.  No, James, this goes deeper than any of that.  You see, he could have been taken down by only the one person.  He knew the attack was coming, but he was so blinded by the fact that everyone in his life bows down before him, because they fear the power he wields.

Tim reaches into his pocket, pulling out a few dirham bills, rubbing them together before tossing them to the ground as if giving them to a dirty stripper who is expected to crawl across the filthy ground to pick them up.  The wind carries the bills away from him, causing them to disappear into the crowd.

Tim:  Sadly, the only power you wield over anyone is one that is easily lost.  It is fleeting.  It is one that disappears far easier than the power of strength... the power of intelligence... the power of conviction.  Money, no matter how much of it you have, is only momentary.  It is something most of us work hardest to attain, and to maintain.  It is something that seems to define who you are in other people's eyes.  We all want it.  We all need it, so the power it wields is great.  However, it pales in comparison to intelligence, Jamie boy.

Tim taps at his own skull, very pointedly, for a moment to drive his point across.

Tim:  Try to convince us all you want, but a few bought words and quips are nothing compared to true intelligence.  Hell, if people actually paid attention to anything, they would see how stupid you really are, James.  You hired Casey Williams for Christsake!  You would see better results with hiring an untrained ape!  But, no, you saw the biggest asshole in the locker room, and you thought you could make people fear you more by having him on your side.  Now that... Heh... that's true stupidity.  I mean, did you even research him before you hired him?  Obviously not, or you wouldn't have brought him on to your team to begin with.  All he's going to do is ride on your fancy pants coattails, draining you of all of your money.  Wasted money, no less.  I know how you rich people hate throwing your money away with nothing to show for it, but that's exactly what you've done, James.  You'd have done better buying some shitty novelty Pez Dispenser.  As least you could choke somebody on that god awful chalk candy.  Casey is SCW's biggest something, but it's not badass.  It's not powerhouse.  It's SCW's biggest disappointment...

Tim shakes his head at the utter stupidity of his future opponent.  Once he's gotten over what appears to be a personal afront, he offers a soft, breathy laugh as he watches the man making a scene once more by forcing himself to fall to one knee.  Blood drips from his mouth, and with his head bowed, no one but Tim can see the smile forming on his face due to the added attention he's getting.

Tim:  You can train a horse to jump.  You can train him to drive a carriage.  You can train a horse to do lots of things, James, but at the end of a day, it is still nothing more than an ass.  If I have to spell out that comparison, then you need to be committed for being severely retarded.  Did James Huntington-Hawkes the second not teach you common sense?  Or rather, did he not pay your nanny to do so?  No, he must have forgotten to take the silver spoon out of your mouth, and you choked on it, causing severe brain damage.  Sorry if I can afford to give you my sympathy, James, and I left the worlds smallest violin at home, awww...  I tell you what.  This guy seems to have actually enjoyed getting his ass kicked.  It's probably something he doesn't see often, someone standing up to him.  I hear that's quite common with rich people.  Like the rich kids who never felt the embrace of a female authority figure being into bondage and all sorts of crazy shit?  Maybe that's why you stuck around wrestling so long before you fucked off to get trained by Austin Parker.  You know, the moment you realized you were almost as worthless as Casey Williams ever was?  Well, as much as I hate to give in to the desires of a rich, self-serving prick like you, maybe I'll bend you over my knee, and whoop your ass the same way my father did a couple years back.  Wouldn't that be a sight to see?

Tim lifts his head back a bit as if picturing it, and enjoying the idea.  Once he realizes how disturbing this idea is, he shakes his head to clear the image from his mind.  He pulls another dirham out of his pocket, as well as the marker pen.  He scribes "#N" on the back of the bill as he walks out into the clearing of the crowd.  He bumps right into the tourist, shoving the bill into his pocket before quickly retracting, holding his arms up innocently.  The tourist looks at him with anger in his eyes as he shoves Tim away from him.

Tourist:  Fuck off me, bruh!  I oughta beat ya like a redheaded stepchild, yaknowhatimsayin?

Tim:  Too bad they didn't break your fucking jaw clean off... Prick.

Tourist:  What you just said to me, bruh?

Tim:  Oh, um... I don't know "bruh".  I might have said something like... "Too bad... they didn't break... your fucking jaw... clean... off... PRICK..."

Tim laughs as he bumps into the tourist's shoulder, passing him by,  The tourist begins shouting almost like a mad man, throwing his arms in the air, taunting Tim as he walks off.  He acts as if someone is holding him back, all while asking them to do so, yet no one does.  Tim shakes his head before ruffling his already messy red hair, organizing it into a clean sort of mess that works.

Tim:  Just like you, James... all bark, and absolutely no bite.  Judging by your silence up until this point, I'm assuming that you two still aren't taking me or my partner seriously.  Shame, because there is money to be made off of plastering your shitty faces all over posters, t-shirts, and whatever else will fit Casey's gigantic head, and James' gigantic ego.  I thought I warned you about that last week... Oh well, maybe I overestimated you both.  Maybe you are SCW's biggest laughing stock for a reason.  And I do mean that collectively from the past, as well as the present.  Imagine how embarrassing that will be to lose to the Nobodies.  A stable that literally takes pride in the fact that they suck.  A stable who celebrates being nameless, faceless, and voiceless.  How will you ever rebound from that?

Tim acts as if he is waiting for a response from the pair, but doesn't let it linger for too long before shrugging his shoulders.

Tim:  Eh, oh well, it's not my problem.  Maybe I should see about marketing a "#Nobodies" t-shirt...  Oh well, Johnny and I will see you two losers on Sunday.  You might not recognize us though, because it will be us standing over you two with our arms raised in victory.

Tim winks and smiles wickedly as he continues to walk.  He keeps his eyes on the camera for almost a full minute as he continues to walk the streets of Dubai.  However, he seems to grow impatient as he stops and scoffs.

Tim:  That's it.  I'm done.

Cameraman:  Um, what about a catchy sign off phrase?

Tim:  That's what the whole "arms raised in victory" thing was.  Cut it off.

Cameraman:  Oh... well, it was kinda.... It sucked.

Tim stomps his foot before leaning into the camera, practically screeching into it.

Tim:  YOU SUCK!!!

Tim shoves the camera aside as he walks out of the shot.  The camera soon rests in one spot as the screen begins to fade... TO BLACK!

26
Supercard Archives / J2H/CASEY WILLIAMS v STAGGS/TSUNAMI
« on: June 20, 2015, 12:08:32 PM »
 Daddy Issues Part V
#NP "Where Will We Go" by Iamdynamite
Locale: Staggs Dungeon Training Facility; Las Vegas, NV



The music starts up before the picture comes into view.  The drums and vocals lead us right into the inside of Staggs Dungeon where we see a line of students of all varieties, standing on the apron of a ring.  Inside, we see Spike Staggs speaking inaudibly with one student, a tall, but lanky man in black gym shorts and a white t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off, his dark hair in a modern day pompador, though it is slightly messy as he is down on one knee with his arm wrenched up in the air while Spike applies a small amount of pressure to his shoulder.  His uncle, Erik Staggs, is seen standing by, though he is silently watching, occasionally nodding in approval.  After a few moments of this, there is a sudden flash of sunlight that lasts only a few seconds before disappearing almost as fast as it had appeared.  Spike looks right to the camera's direction, nodding his head before he lets up the hold.  The student nods his head, mouthing a thankful sentiment to Spike before walking toward the group on the apron.  The music fades out just a bit, as the murmur of the students is heard.  Spike claps his hands together, his eyes returning briefly in the direction of the camera.

Spike:  Great job, guys.  Hit the showers, and pick up your schedules for next week.  If you have any question, please direct them to Erik.

Spike remains stoic for a moment as the students get slightly louder, making their way to the ring steps.  As their tennis shoes pound against them eagerly, Tim Staggs walks into the shot.  He is wearing a gray t-shirt with red lettering, reading "#Nobody" underneath his unzipped black hoodie.  He waits by the ring steps as a medium built blonde guy tosses a towel in Tim's face.

Guy:  Wash it with Tide only, dude. I'll break out if you use the cheap shit.

Tim narrows his eyes as the sweating kid walks backward, waiting for some kind of response from Tim.  He doesn't get what he's bargaining for as Tim rips the sweat soaked towel from his face and lashes out with it, whipping the kid in the face with it as he growls in anger.

Tim:  I'M NOT A TOWEL BOY, FUCKER! I'm an SCW superstar!

Spike:  Language!

Tim yanks the towel back as his eyes shoot over to his father, apologetically.  The blonde kid sucks air through his teeth as he realizes his mistake.  Spike shakes his head before walking over to Erik to speak inaudibly with him.  Tim's eyes slowly make it back to the student, narrowing them as he lashes out with the towel three more times in the face before throwing it with all of his might at the student.  Tim glares at him as he pulls the towel from his face, wrapping it around his neck as he heads back toward the locker room area of the facility.  Tim continues to shoot daggers his way until he disappears into the Men's portion.  As if it hadn't happened, Tim grins as he slides inside of the ring, under the bottom rope.  He runs up to his dad, jogging in place as he waits just about a foot away from him.

Spike: ... Mendez has some real potential. I'd like to see him move up to the advanced class A.S.A.P.

Erik:  Oh, I couldn't agree more. Being intermediate is only holding him back.  I was thinking the same with Ms. North.  She's not your typical celebrity child, she's got promise.

Spike reaches back, rubbing his neck as he clinches one eye, slowly shaking his head as he sort of groans softly.

Spike:  Mmmmm... she's exactly where she needs to be right now.  There's fuck all drive there.

Tim:  Laaaanguaaaage...

Tim sneers playfully as he sends a few jabs into the air in front of him.  Spike turns around, rolling his eyes, trying to pretend he's not impressed.  Tim sticks his tongue out, chuckling before Spike wraps an arm around Tim's neck, pulling him down into a full on Headlock, ripping the headphones from Tim's ear, causing the music to go to a light murmur in the background.

Tim:  Hey!  Knock it off...!  Child abuse laws were created for this very reason...

Spike:  Awww, you're no fun.

Spike digs his knuckles into Tim's scalp, rubbing them in as he messes up his son's hair.  Tim whines a little, hoping the child act might cause his father to let up some, but it is to no avail.

Spike:  This isn't child abuse, it's training.  Your lesson today?  Get out of this Headlock.

Tim hauls off and punches his father right in the groin, causing his eyes to bug out.  Erik chuckles hysterically as Spike falls to one knee.  Tim uses this to shove his father's arm off of him.  He pulls him in for an Armbar, which Spike can't break out of due to the immense pain resonating from his groin.

Tim:  Passed with flying colors, pops.  Now, the student has become the teacher...

Tim snarls, taking things a little more serious than he probably should right now.  Spike grunts as he slowly shakes the feeling off.  He gets up to his hand, and his knees, a red tint to his face as he drops in a fast corkscrew motion, dragging Tim up and over onto his back.  Spike holds onto the arm and twists.

Spike:  There's a time and place for jokes, but let me clue you in to something, son... It's never inside of the ring.

Tim:  But, Uncle Jamie always... rrrrrr... makes a joke inside of the ring, and he, ahhhh, almost became a World Champion in GXW...

Spike:  What was the key word there?  Almost?  He almost became the World Champion there, but he couldn't focus.

Tim groans as he taps at his father's hand, feeling it out for a weakness.  He's gotten too deep in his own head, as he growls once more in frustration, looking up angrily at his father.

Tim:  Besides!  You're the one who started this whole thing!  And you became a World Heavyweight Champion five times over!  Now, you're gonna...

Spike: ... Now, because of your mistake, you're going to learn another lesson.  Bitch moves like that might help you out of a jam, but it's going to piss off your opponent, and more often than not, you're going to have bitten off more than you can chew.

Erik:  He's got a point.  I can count on one hand where such moves didn't come back and bite my left ass cheek, kiddo.

Out of respect more than anything, Tim reaches back and taps Spike's arm rapidly, giving up.  Spike smiles almost proudly as he lets go of the hold.  Tim rotates his arm slowly as he winces a bit.  Spike holds a hand out toward Tim, helping him back to his feet.

Spike:  That's one of the few lessons my father was able to teach me during his time on Earth.  He was a wise man... He'd have been proud to see you standing in this ring.

Erik rolls his eyes, scoffing silently so not to rouse suspicion from Spike.  Suddenly, "Bad Medicine" by Bon Jovi begins howling from an unknown source, causing everyone to look stunned.  Spike bites at his upper lip, feeling a little embarrassed as he slowly reaches into the pocket of his red Tripp pants, retreiving his cell phone.  He runs his finger across the screen, a redness on his cheeks as he slowly raises the phone to his ear.

Spike:  Bonjour mon amour... Yeah, class let out a few minutes ago...

Spike holds his hand up as he paces across the ring, speaking in a low tone as Erik and Tim snicker at his choice of ringtones.  Erik sighs as he looks off into the distance.

Erik:  If you think that one was bad, you should have heard his for Roxanne... "Crazy Bitch" by Buckcherry, how fitting...

Erik suddenly looks as if he's seen a ghost as he shoots an apologetic look over to Tim, covering his mouth.  He groans at his own mistake as Tim looks down at the ground.  A depressed look crosses his face, however, he just shrugs his shoulders.

Tim:  I wouldn't know. I haven't seen her in over ten years, so... Besides, she might have shat me out into this world, but Misty will always be my mother.  And Vixen is the cool step mom, but... but... she... the redheaded devil who cursed me with the ginger... she's dead to me.

Erik:  Actually... if you want to get technical, red hair is an extremely recessive gene, and will only show up in purity when two like genes match up.  Lorraine... your grandmother, was mostly Irish, and she was a saint. If it makes you feel better, you most likely got it from her.

Tim nods his head, feeling a little better about it as he looks over to see Spike walking back toward them.  He has a worried look on his face as he tucks his phone back into his pocket, looking from Erik to Tim.

Spike:  I... I hate to bail, but Vixen says that Kit has a bit of a cough.  There's no fever, but...

Tim:  Just... go...

Tim shakes his head as he waves at Spike.  Tim flashes a smile that is fairly transparent to everyone, except Spike, who is too caught up in his own worry.  Erik holds a finger up, but Tim shakes his head.

Tim:  It's fine, dad.  Another time, I'm sure.

Spike wraps his arms around Tim, hugging him tightly for a second before pulling away.  He places his hands on his son's shoulders and looks down into his eyes apologetically.

Spike:  Are you sure, son?

Tim:  Go, go, go!  Uncle Erik is here, and I'm sure he'd be happy to train with me.

Erik:  Yeah, Spike.  I've got this one covered.  Go take care of the little ones.

Spike nods his head, muttering "Right..." before he walks to the ropes, quickly exiting.  Tim keeps his smile plastered on his face as Spike snatches his gym bag off of the weight bench, slinging it over his shoulder.  He looks back to Tim once more, as Tim and Erik wave with sweet smiles on their faces.  Spike then jogs over to the door, quickly exiting the building as Tim's face quickly sours.  Erik reaches his arm back, scratching nervously at his neck as Tim turns back toward him, stomping his foot angrily.

Tim:  It's bullshit.  I can't believe this is happening... again!

Erik:  Well, for what it's worth, I'm sure Kit didn't purposely fake a cough to screw up your training session. Things happen.

Tim:  Yeah, and guess who always has to let it slide off of their back to stop the constant shit slinging fest of the world?  Me.  Of course I'm not blaming a baby for it.  It's just my shitty luck.

Erik folds his arms across his chest as he stares at Tim, throwing a minor tantrum.  He purses his lips to avoid an inappropriate response, such as laughing.  Once the urge has passed, Erik lifts one arm up, shaking his finger at Tim.

Erik:  All of this cursing, though...

Tim goes to object, but Erik slightly closes one eye as he thinks it over, all while holding a hand up to stop Tim from talking.

Erik:  Don't get me wrong, because... I mean, I love it, but... you used to pride yourself on clean language, up until...

Tim:  Oh... you mean when I started The Nobodies?  Yeah, Johnny showed me the beauty of peppering statements with profanity. Gives it a nice little kick sometimes.  Do you know what else he taught me?

Erik:  Just be careful what lessons you learn from that one, Tim.  I'd like to avoid any more extended hospital visits from here on out, okay?


We move in to see the image of Tim Staggs, rushing into an emergency room with an oxygen mask strapped to his face, his eyes rolled back in a seizure as two techs and a doctor run alongside the gurney.  The doctor shouts orders, though it is muffled from the ringing in Tim's ears.  A nurse rushes up, handing a syringe to the doctor.  Down the hall, we can see Spike Staggs violently arguing with a security guard, as Vixen tries her best to calm him down.  Rage and fear is etched over Spike's face as he points, spit flying from his mouth as he shouts the only thing Tim can make out in his delirious state.

Spike:  THAT'S MY FUCKING SON, MAN! THAT'S MY FUCKING BOY!

Tim's convulsing slows down some as his eyes wander around the new surroundings in utter confusion, not even blinking as they turn the corner into a room to stablize Tim.



In a daze, Tim takes a deep breath, coming back to reality, forcing a smile onto his face, nodding his head.

Tim:  Gotcha... Thanks for reminding me, because I almost... almost... forgot about that.

Erik:  Oh, really? Because I haven't.  Your father and step mother haven't, and your little sister hasn't either.  It took a lot of convincing to get her to believe it was an *air quotes* accident.

Erik closes his eyes, clinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before shaking his head, and the thoughts that had come along with the previous conversation.  He takes a deep breath, calming himself down as he pulls the Staggs Dungeon pullover jacket from himself, revealing his somewhat chiseled frame.

Erik:  You know what?  We've got some work to do. You've got a match coming up in just two weeks, and you haven't been in action for a month now.  How is the hand doing?

Tim holds up the taped up hand, wiggling his thumb with a wink and a click of the jaw.  Erik claps his hands together, rubbing them with a smile.

Erik:  Excellent. It's about time you got a serious win under your belt, and I've got a feeling your next challenge could be the one.

Tim:  Well, they do say third time's the charm.  I mean, it's not like they threw some knock off talents at me like they would have anyone else.  I didn't get a Travis Nathaniel Andrews or an Old Skool for my debut match.  No, I got Kain.  And then the... heh... the entirety of the active Seven Deadly Sins members.

Erik:  And you're welcome, kiddo.  You're a damn Staggs. We have never, and will never, be handed a god damned thing.  You can either buckle under that pressure, or you can own it like your father did.

Tim nods his head as he begins to pull his jacket off of himself, resting it on the top rope as he rolls the wrist connected to his taped hand.  Something in his eyes calls bullshit, but he dare not speak it right now, not with the man who was responsible for his father's brutal side.

Tim:  Then who am I facing this time? Don't tell me, you're going to teach me a lesson by throwing me in the ring with Sean Jackson?  A Drake Green return match?  What about Goth?  Oh!  Maybe all three, because, even though I obviously wouldn't win if all three were blindfolded and bound, it will... heh... it will teach me a... a lesson, right?

Erik:  It is former champions. Multi-time champions even.  Here...

Erik's eyes widen in shock at such an answer as he freezes in place.  Erik walks over to his pullover, reaching into the pocket to pull out a piece of paper.  He hands it to Tim, who cautiously unfolds it, skimming it carefully, dreading the thought of seeing his name, and his opponents.  Finally, his eyes come to a stop and he drops his hand to his side, allowing the paper to dangle there for a moment.  Erik awaits a reaction, any reaction at all, from anger to fear... well, almost any, as he is quite shocked when Tim bursts out into laughter.  He holds his stomach as he balls up the paper and tosses it to the outside of the ring.  He holds his hands up, readying himself for a tie up with Erik, who is still confused, as the scene fades out.



State of Affairs
#NP "Stand Up" by Trapt
Locale: In the air



"You wanna see a reaction?  Well, here's your reaction."

The camera clicks on to see the inside of a small chartered jet.  There was to be more people on this flight, but due to unforseen circumstances, Tim sits alone on the cozy jet, shy of an attendant, and the pilot in the cockpit.  Tim looks around him, and we notice that there are hooded jackets draped over each empty seat.  Tim looks to each and every one, as if naming them in his head.  Finally, his eyes come to rest on the camera sitting in front of him.

Tim:  Finally... I thought that light would never go off.  Now, I get to broadcast to all of my adoring fans at home.

Tim leans in with a shit eating grin on his face as he waves to the camera.

Tim:  HI MOM!  HI DAD!  HI VIXEN AND EDEN!  HI random person who accidentally clicked my video instead of clicking J2H'S!  There, I think I've covered all bases.  Now, for the latter option... the ones who haven't already exed out of this promo...

Tim looks down to an invisible watch on his wrist, waiting as he holds his taped hand up, counting down.  Five. Four. Three. Two, and... pointing to the camera, his smile return, as does his attention to the actual promo video.

Tim:  ... now, you're in for a treat.  If you've got two whole brain cells in that thick skull of yours, you... you're in for some serious truths here.  Now, I'm fully prepared for this to go over everyone's heads, as all of my previous promos have. As a matter of fact, I think the only person that's actually watched one of mine was Kain.

Tim tries to rack his brain for any other possibility, but he can't seem to come up with another example.  He shrugs his shoulders before returning his eyes to the camera.

Tim:  So, it's no secret that I'm no good at this promo thing.  Everyone expects me to be the second coming of my father, but I'm sorry to disappoint. I'm not.  I don't know my biological mother very well either, but I'm pretty sure I'm nothing like her either.  I'm Tim Staggs.  I'm a Nobody.  But, I have learned a thing or two about promos in the last nine months or so.  I know there is supposed to be some obligitory trash talking on the opponent, or in this case, opponents.  Trust me, there is plenty of that to come.  These guys make it way too easy.  But, there are a few things I'd like to address first.

Tim adjusts himself in his seat as he holds up his hand.  The flight attendant walks over to him, and he holds his hand in front of his face, whispering something to the young, thin steward.  He nods his head and walks to the back of the plane as Tim slowly looks back to the camera.

Tim:  Thanks to the lovely *air quotes* Twitterverse... you know, that thing that so many wrestlers live on these days, tweeting pointless things all day, as if we needed a narration of every meaningless action performed in their day.  Such as *ahem* "Today, I had a latte with Joe Blow and Suzy Snow before erupting into a violent orgy with Johnny Come Lately and..." Well, you get my point.  It's like a bunch of horny teenagers getting laid for the first time.  Anyway, thanks to the Twitterverse, I've been reminded of two very important topics, ones that have been neglected since I sliced my hand open a few weeks back.

The steward walks over toward Tim with his caddy, scooping ice into a plastic cup before pouring a caramel colored liquid into the glass.  He hands it over to Tim, muttering a passing pleastantry before backing up the aisle of the dimly lit cabin.  Tim takes a sip of the drink before placing it in the drink holder on the arm rest.

Tim:  The first topic... it seems there has been a misunderstanding in the nature of The Nobodies.  See, I thought there was only one obvious, clear cut founding principle amongst the three faces, and those in the shadows, awaiting their time to discover their purpose.  I guess such things should be discussed, instead of one assuming its... heh... common sense...  Johnny and I aren't best friends, but we are friends nonetheless.  I know that I can count on Johnny to have my back under any circumstance.  I'm pretty sure he feels the same way with me.  We occasionally hang out behind the scenes. I sort of broke him into the business even.  There is a sort of brotherhood there.  Do you see where I'm going with this?

Tim reaches over to his left, pulling one of the hoods back to reveal a picture of Johnny Tsunami tucked inside of it.  He presses the hood against the seat, so to let it rest there while keeping the picture in plain view.  After pausing for a second, he turns to his right and does the same with the jacket, revealing a picture of Kris Halich.  Tim stares at it for a second a momentary look of contempt in his eyes, until he forces it out, and looks back to the camera with kind eyes.

Tim:  Then, we have Kris Halich.  Or, Halc as so many are referring to him these days... well, always apparently.  Your SCW Internet Champion!  That lovable guy who thinks it's a token to be a Nobody.  It's just an edgy tune by Marilyn Manson to him, it would seem.  It's not an excuse to sulk around like a baby when you fail, and keep yourself humble when you succeed.  It's a lifestyle, man.

Tim tangles his fingers in his red hair as he groans in displeasure.  He slowly shakes his head from side to side, as the real emotion comes to his face; betrayal.

Tim:  This last week was almost unreal.  An unofficial invite into the group extended to Amy Marshall.  It's cool, despite her success, so many people look down on her.  It's kind of like a female version of you, only... you know... edgy and interesting.  But, then...

Tim tries to play off the next words as if he believes them to be a joke, despite the obvious fact that he doesn't.  He chuckles in exasperation before continuing, shaking his finger at the camera.

Tim:  Hang on, I need a second here... Okay, so then, you extend the invite to Jessie Salco?  Really?  I mean, in all fairness, she is perfect for the Nobodies.  No one ever takes her seriously.  She's never had a title reign last longer than a couple weeks.  In simpleton terms, she suuuucks...  But, being a Nobody doesn't mean that you suck.  It means that you own the fact that you suck.  I mean, I couldn't fight my way out of a soggy paper bag, but Ms. Salco thinks her shit doesn't stink.  She thinks she's the best thing since the iPod was created.  Plus, she's like my mortal enemy.  Why don't I invite a fat balloon of smack into the Nobodies, Kris?  Granted, it would still get more wins than Jessie Salco, but still.  How would that make you feel?

Tim takes his remaining hand from his hair and rests it on the arm rest while reaching over to his cup, taking another sip from it to satiate his drying lips.

Tim:  No, but seriously Kris.  You're... you're a funny guy

Tim tries to make himself laugh, but it almost comes out as creepy and unstable rather than even remotely convincing.

Tim:  "If you don't want to choke him, then you probably haven't met him yet."  Haha!  Yep!  That's me!  An annoying ginger kid who inspires murderous thoughts from the most saintly of people!  But, it's okay.  It just means that we're simply business associates with creative differences.  I get it, and it's cool.  Suck up to Jessie to get in Amy's pants.  It's pathetic, but it's fine brother.  I mean "friend".  No, that's not right either... You... guy?  Yeah...

Tim clinches one eye closed as he balls up his fist, giving the air a friendly punch before taking a deep breath.  He looks around to see the next hooded jacket across the aisle.  He stands up and walks over to it and he lifts his jacket hood up to reveal a picture of Kris' Bombshell counterpart, Bombshell Internet Champion Roxi Johnson.

Tim:  You see, I said some things the other day that have drawn a lot of heat.  The main one was when I stated to scwrestling.net that Roxi Johnson needs to be taken down a few notches at Into the Void 4.  Perhaps I said that in haste?  People were so shocked to hear this.  I mean, genuinely shocked.  Between the three of us, I was shocked too.  I mean, I didn't mean for something like that to come out.  I didn't even realize I held any amount of disdain for someone I've never spoken a word to until confronted with the comment.  I mean, I guess I should, I don't know... apologize?  Is that what people do when they don't mean something in this business?

Tim looks around to all of the hoodies, those revealed, and those not.  When no answer comes, he looks back to the steward, who shrugs his shoulders, speaking in an almost mousy tone, obviously a bit camera shy.

Steward:  I, um... I mean, I think you probably would.  That's how it works in the real world any way.  Yeah...

Tim takes this into careful consideration, nodding his head as he walks around behind the seat.  He rests his arms on it as he leans down, hovering just over Roxi's picture.

Tim:  You're probably right.  The time I accidentally bumped into a customer at the bistro I worked at, I apologized, because I really didn't mean to make them spill a few drops of their soup on the table, or to cause them a momentary discomfort.  Or, that time I told Misty I hated her when she walked out on my dad.  I could never hate the woman who raised me.  Yeah, it sucked, but time heals, and I apologized a million times for saying that.  And, when I said that Roxi Johnson needed to be taken down a few notches, I apologized, because I didn't mean it.

Tim nods his head as he leans down to the picture, raising an eyebrow in confusion.  He cups his hand to his ear as if he wants to make sure he's heard the picture correctly.

Tim:  What's that?  I... I didn't apologize?  Really?  Well, if I didn't apologize, then what?  Are you saying I actually feel that way?  You're damn right I do!  Roxi Johnson needs to be taken down about a thousand notches, nay, a million!

Tim holds his hand in the air as if making a very important, serious announcement.  After pausing for a moment, Tim stares down at the photo in contempt before slowly looking back to the camera.

Tim:  On a serious note, this woman is as fake as her wife's breasts... and probably hers for that matter.  She claims to be a super hero.  Her and her wife walk around with this Holier Than Thou attitude, because they... haha... they save people.  Of course, that is when they aren't on Twitter picking up women to sleep with, and rubbing it in everyone's faces who gives enough of a shit to read it.  They are worse than Amanda Cortez, and that speaks volumes!  I mean, between saving the world, and the copious amounts of crotch they are diving in to, when do they ever sleep?!  I mean, one of those has to slow down sometimes, doesn't it?

Tim looks down to the picture as if expecting a response from it, jesting of course.  After a moment he shakes his head in disgust as he looks back to the camera.

Tim:  Story time.  I'll be quick, I promise.  One night, there was a Twitter crusade against Liz Smalls. Wait, that could be every night for the last two years... It was one August day last year.  Anyway, the Superhero Brigade was suspiciously quiet. They must have been after a piece that was playing coy, hard to get... Superheroes deserve their fun time, right?  Maybe not so much of the throwing it in our faces, but still... Anyhow, there was this kid who happened on Twitter, a wrestling fan who was just ecstatic to be able to talk to so many of the stars he admired and looked up to.  

Steward:  You're... you're talking about yourself, right?

Tim shoots an evil glare back to the steward before balling his fist up and swinging it in his general direction, though clear across the plane at the time, posing no real threat.

Tim:  Thanks for that Brandon!  Because it's not like I was having a moment there!  It's not like I was trying to build suspense in a poetic twist or anything!  Jesus! ... Yeah, I got on to Twitter, and I tried making friends with people, trying to be objective, and I stumbled upon Liz Smalls.  Her and the rest of the then Mean Girls started harrassing me, calling me all sorts of names, making me feel small.  Yeah, most people would probably brush something like that off, but I had never encountered something like that before.  They drove me to something I wasn't proud of.  They put me in a dark place.  They approached me later on and smoothed it over.  No hard feelings there... well, none stemming from that incident.  However, the one person who makes a daily promise to the world, to always be there for them...  the ray of hope in this bleak world...

Brandon (Steward):  You mean Roxi Johnson, right?

Tim:  Don't you have a job to do, Brandon?!  Get me a packet of peanuts or something instead of ruining my moments!!!

Tim almost shrieks this at the end before slapping his forehead.  He closes his eyes, taking a few breaths as Brandon turns around to walk out of the cabin.    Tim shoots his wicked glare back to the camera.

Tim:  Roxi Johnson couldn't be bothered to stop them from driving me to do something I wouldn't normally have done.  She couldn't have said one word, or showed that she cared enough to shut out the darkness they were bringing to my world that night.  She's a fraud.  She can Twitter sex all day, every day, but she...

Tim closes his eyes once more as the hurtful emotion radiates from him.  He wipes away what is likely tears forming in the corners of his eyes.  Taking another deep breath, he looks up to the cabin ceiling until he has recomposed himself.

Tim:  You idiots might be dumb enough to buy into it because a pretty girl puts on a spandex suit, cape, and mask and appears at Comic Con's across the country, but it's clear that it's just for show.  She's no more real than Batman, Spiderman, Superman, The Avengers, or any other comic book superhero.  And her wife is even worse.  I should go on about that, but we expect the deceit from Kiera, but we expect Roxi to be the kind soul she claims to be, even after her hiccup with Cyrus.  I'm not buying it, and that is exactly why I want to see her perish.  There is no light in this world.  There are just different levels of darkness.  That's the only positive thing I can say about Roxi Johnson.  That's exactly why I hope with every fiber of my being that Amy Marshall kicks her ass, embarrasses her, and takes that title away from her in two weeks time.

Tim looks down at the page and dusts his hands as if wiping them clean of Roxi.  He lowers the hood so not to have to look at her any longer.  He moves along to the next two jackets, placing a hand on each shoulder before lifting up the hood of the jacket to his right, revealing the picture of Casey Williams.

Tim:  I'm not sure which of my opponents is the bigger joke here, honestly.  Casey is an embarrassment in everything he does.  He joined my father's stable, New X-Tremes, as one of the founding members more or less.  He had made a mockery of his size by falling to almost every opponent.  My father trained him, and he still sucked.  He won a match here and there, so it wasn't all for naught, but he never could maintain any real source of talent, even being trained by a multi-time champion like my father.

Tim pats the shoulder of the jacket representing Casey playfully, as if implying that he's kidding around, when he's being more than just a little serious.

Tim:  Casey Williams is an idiot of the highest order.  He was a tag champion with Jordan Williams, a legend in this sport, and yet he couldn't manage to hang on to those belts for too long.  He was then able to win the Roulette Championship from Primetime Matthew Kennedy, but he couldn't hold onto that for long either.  He then topped his own stupidity when he turned his back on my dad, and the stable to go out on his own.  He fades in and out of obscurity a few times before Simon Jones sent him packing in a Loser Leaves Town kind of match.  Somehow, he found his way back, managing Dying Breed... haha, what a joke.  They sucked worse than he did.  Yeah, somehow that's possible!  Crazy, but true.  Well, anyway, he's suddenly back with a surprising win over Old Skool or whoever it was.  No one really cares, but yeah...

Tim snickers, feeling a bit of relief at Casey's expense.

Tim:  I'm surprised Casey didn't try to latch onto Mark Ward's nuts again.  Or, tug on Sean Jackson's coattails.  I mean, there's plenty of people here who are worth latching on to in order to rise back to the top, where he will flounder when he breaks free from them.  The truth is that he belongs with us, but I don't think a second Staggs family member feels like having Casey leeching off of any success they might one day get.  My family has done enough for Casey, and I don't feel like I owe him anything.  But, as I was saying, there are plenty of options for nut sucking, but Casey picks the biggest douche bag in Sin City Wrestling since Giani Di Luca left the active roster?  Seriously?  Like, this isn't some kind of joke where he cozies up to him, and then dig a knife in his back like he does with everyone he holds close to him in this business?  I mean, come on.  Casey is going to probably just call me a whiny bitch in fifty different ways, wasting our time and intelligence trying to make sense of his babbling.  He's predictable.  If he's not going to knife his partner, then his partner will knife him eventually.  Isn't that right, James?

Tim leans over to his left, pulling back the hood of the jacket to reveal a picture of J2H.  He snickers and then juts his thumbs at the picture.

Tim:  The artist formally known as James Huntington-Hawkes... the third.  Whenever I get down in regards to my less than stellar record in SCW, I think to myself "At least I'm not as pathetic as this guy."  I mean, I won a couple matches in the minor leagues, but this guy was the laughing stock of SCW way back when. I mean, my father once bent him over his knee and whooped his ass in the middle of the ring. This guy was the comic relief. Though, I'm conflicted, because he at least had a role, while I am nothing.  I mean, this guy could have won the World Heavyweight title, and still, no one would take him seriously.  Instead, he rode Giani Di Luca's nutsack through a successful Tag Team Championship reign.  He cheated his way to a long Roulette Championship reign, many successful defenses due in part to Giani as well.  So, while James remains the laughing stock of the locker room, I get to lurk in the shadows.  I'm not even a thought to most people, but that just means, when I do have my moment, people will be floored in shock and awe.  If James has one, it just makes his opponent look bad, and gets him laughed at even more.

Once again, Tim chuckles at this thought, shaking his head as he leans down next to the picture.  Despite this, he maintains eye contact with the camera, but acts as if he's whispering something to James.

Tim:  I mean, this guy is trained by Austin Parker, one of the guys who trained my father.  That guy is no joke.  My father told me that Austin helped him round out his skill set, and credits Austin for being the one person to make him legit along with our lovely boss, Mark Ward Junior.  "Hot Stuff" to most.  So, I should probably be cleaning the crap from my underwear right about now, but the truth of the matter is that, not even Austin Parker could save this walking punchline.  The most interesting thing about him is that he was once married to Melody Grace, and didn't realize his marriage certificate was drawn by Despayre... in crayon... until months later when she'd made off with a huge chunk of his money.  His identifier in wrestling is "the Brat Prince" or "the rich kid".  I tried to research this guy, but watching his matches was like watching Happy Gilmore for the first time... freaking hysterical!

Tim holds onto his stomach for emphasis as he belts out laughter.  Taking a moment to catch his breath, Tim recomposes himself as he leans up a bit.

Tim:  It's sad when you get laughed at by a Nobody, but if there were ever a team that deserved it, it would be these two.  I give it about two months before it implodes upon itself.  Now, some might be wondering why I would feel this way, yet claim to scwrestling.net that they will defeat Johnny and I.  It isn't because I lack faith in my tag partners skills. It isn't because I doubt myself, as many people probably think.  What ever could it be, then?

Tim walks from behind the seat, making his way to his original seat to pick up his cup once more.  He takes a sip from his glass as Brandon peeks out from behind the steward's station, opening his mouth to speak.  However, Tim holds his hand out, silencing him and causing him to withdrawl back behind the curtain slowly like a turtle.  Tim sets his drink down before making himself comfortable.

Tim:  You see, much like my last match against the Seven Deadly Sins... this team is somehow marketable. I know, it speaks volumes about wrestling fans, but you've got a rich kid with attitude, and some dumb muscle to back him up.  That's compelling!  It's edgy!  It's... been done before, but what hasn't right?  Originality left the building decades ago.  But, Mark Ward knows how to sniff out dollars, euros, Chuck E. Cheese tokens... whatever type of currency he can get his hands on.  He smells money in this team, and he's setting them up for big things.  He needs to throw a could boneheads underneath the bus, but the Surf Boys were just in action last week, and they lost to a couple talentless assholes, so no one would bat an eyelash if they lost to "C-Dubz" and J2H.  No, they are pulling out the premier jobbers for this one!  Fwew!  Boy, do we know how to sell a loss.  I mean, we act like we don't care, but we fight to win each and every time we're booked.  So, when we lose to people because of a slow count, or a blind eye from the referee *shrugs* it's all part of the business, and hey, they beat some guy with great hair, and a third generation wrestler, so hey!  They must be good, right?  Mark Ward could sell sand to an Arab, so why not sell shit to his audiences?  That's exactly what he's going to do, and that is why I'm going on record as saying that this conspiracy theory will give us another mark in the L column.  I will maintain my defeated streak for another show.  I guarantee you this.

Brandon:  Your first in flight meal is ready, and it's getting cold, so...

Tim looks back to see Brandon poking his head through the curtains once again.  He groans, rolling his eyes as he pulls down his tray table.  Brandon takes this as his cue to come out with his cart once more as Tim looks back to the camera for just a moment.

Tim:  I hope you two are ready to earn this victory, because Johnny and I won't be taking it lightly on you guys.  It's time to put up or shut up.  If you guys are ready to be taken seriously, then you'll have to bring all you've got, or else you will reamin the laughing stock of Sin City Wrestling.  See you in 9 days, boys...

Tim salutes the camera sarcastically as Brandon sets the hot tray down in front of time, lifting the placing steam cover off of the mediocre food. Tim raises an eyebrow as he lifts a fork to poke at the food, and the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

27
Climax Control Archives / Eat This!
« on: May 22, 2015, 11:53:22 AM »
 Daddy Issues Part IV
#NP "45" by The Gaslight Anthem
Locale: Staggs Family Home, Las Vegas, Nevada



A look of disappointment crosses Tim's face as he steps out of the taxi cab in front of the lovely brick corner house.  He had been gone most of the spring, so he is almost surprised at the lovely florals and blossoms of the trees that were once bare the last time he had taken the time to pay them any mind.  There was so much change around here, he almost didn't recognize the house he'd spent the last four years of his life.  He turns back to the driver, placing a wad of bills into his hand.  He tips his fedora at the driver to signify for him to keep the change.  The driver moves his mouth, but Tim can't hear him over the music.  As the cab drives off, Tim takes in the strange sight of the house.  He'd expected home to feel more like, well... home?  However, right now it felt like anything but.  He takes one step from the curb, and onto the grass.  As he reaches the sidewalk, the doors fly open, and the eager Eden Staggs comes charging at Tim with full force.  Tim doesn't even have time to remove his headphones to hear her excited squeals that he's sure are there.  She collides with him in a manner that nearly knocks him down, but he suffices for a few steps backward as he lifts her up.  He holds her close to him as he spins with her, watching her face light up in excitement.  For the faintest of moments, he seems at peace.  As he stops, he pulls his headphones out and looks at his sister, who is mid sentence.

Eden: ... with the new babies! Tell me I didn't cry that much.

Tim smirks almost deviously, concealing the truth from his sister, but she is bright enough to figure it out.  She sucks at her teeth in sarcasm as she narrows her eyes at Tim.

Tim:  Hey, I said nothing!  I definitely didn't say that you haven't quieted down at all since.

Eden:  Hey!

Tim sets Eden down on the ground as he lets his duffel bag hang at his side.  He stares at the house, as if expecting someone else to come out to welcome him home, but after a few moments, he realizes that no one else is coming.  He sighs and looks down to Eden, putting on his brave face for her.

Tim:  So, you aren't liking having the new babies?  I figured you would be super excited to have future slaves...

Eden:  I love having them, but they cry soooooooo much!  All night when I'm trying to sleep.  And they make dad grumpy.

Tim nods his head as if to tell her that he knows the feeling.  He grabs onto Eden's hand as they walk through the yard and up to the front porch.  Tim pauses once more, hearing the sound of a baby crying mildly.  For some reason, this sound makes him shiver a little.  He shakes it off and then walks through the door.  Looking around, he sees some familiar precautions in making the house baby proof.

Tim:  Already?  They can't even sit up on their own yet.

Eden:  They can throw up plenty though. I don't know how they have anything left to p...

Spike:  Right in the eye, again Kit?

The raised voice of mild irritation cuts through the air as Eden giggles.  Tim can't help but smirk some as he sets his bag down on the floor next to the door.  He walks down a short hallway leading to the kitchen, where he goes to the refrigerator, only to find the safety locks.

Tim:  Are you kidding me?  Is he protecting the babies, or punishing us?

Eden:  You're not doing it right.

Eden pops the lock within a millisecond, leaving Tim feeling slightly stupid.

Tim:  Dad never taught me the trick to those...

Eden:  Me neither, but I figured it out on my own.

Tim:  Impressive...

Tim reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of grape juice, setting it on the counter before he reaches into the cabinet to pull out a blue plastic cup.  He pours himself a glass, sucking it down in seconds before pouring another one, wiping at his lips.  He goes to take another drink when he sort of freezes up, hit with distant memories resurfacing.

A much younger Tim stands over a crib, looking down into it with a blank expression on his face.  The almost eerie mobile music plays in the background as he stares down at the sleeping baby, traces of raven hair covering the top of her head.  He just looks down at baby Eden, studying her as she looks up at him, cooing.  She reaches up toward him, and he quickly swats her hand away.

Tim:  Don't touch me you dirty beast...

He mutters under his breath so not to be heard.  He narrows his eyes in contempt as he sinks back a step, still maintaining eyes with baby Eden.  He purses his lips lightly as he looks around at the surroundings for a second.

Tim:  You took everything away from me, and I'll never forgive you for that.  You have so much, when I had nothing as a kid.  You have a wipe warmer.  You have this thing...

Tim reaches over to the table to pull a glow worm off of the nearby dresser.  He squeezes it a couple times to make it light up before putting it out once more.  He tosses it back onto the dresser.

Tim:  Do you know what I had?  I had that mobile you stole from me.  I had a blue blanket, and some clothes from Goodwill.

Tim looks down at the ground, glaring silently for a minute as Eden's coos stop.  There is a light flop in the crib as Eden rolls over onto her stomach, looking out of the bars at Tim, as if she were listening to him, and understanding.  Tim chuckles a little to hide the sniffling.

Tim:  You even have a mom and dad who love you.  My mom left me to dad, and dad doesn't like me.  He was starting to... until you came around.  I hate you.

Tim's eyes shake as tears begin to roll down his cheeks.  He doesn't sob, but rather he lets the tears flow naturally, trying to hide all other signs of emotion at this point.  He clinches his fists together lightly to gain control over his emotions, but it only works to a degree.

Tim:  I hate you, and I'm never going to forgive you for ruining my life again...

Eden reaches through the bars, but Tim turns around and walks out of the room.  He turns around the corner to look at Spike cooking in the kitchen, oblivious to everything.  He walks down the hall, passing the living room where Misty is asleep on the couch, looking totally exhausted.  He tip toes toward a room on the far end of the house, and he lightly closes the door behind him.  He walks over to his closet and pulls out a duffel bag.  He rips a few articles of clothing from hangers and shoves them into the duffel bag.  He walks over to his bed and pulls a ginger My Buddy doll from it, tucking him under his arm.  He ruffles through a drawer, pulling a wad of small bills out, stuffing them into the bag, and then a wrestling magazine to top it off.  He zips the bag shut and then he walks to the bedroom door, opening it up.  He walks through the hall and toward the front door.  He turns around to see Misty sleeping once more, and then he closes the door behind him.  As he walks through the small yard, he mutters under his breath.

Tim:  Now, nobody has to pretend to care about me.  Now, I'm just a nobody...


Tim feels a tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, snapping him back to reality.  His eyes widen for a second as he looks around to see Eden looking at him strangely.

Eden:  Timmy?  Are you okay?

Tim:  Oh, yeah, yeah... Why?

Eden:  Well, I said you must've been pretty thirsty, and you didn't say anything. Then I said that's gotta be a world record, and you just stared outside.

Tim forces a smile onto his face before reaching up to rub at his eyes, forcing a long yawn.

Tim:  I'm fine, just a little tired from flying is all.  I think I might go take a nap.

Eden:  Don't you wanna meet the babies?  Last time you were in town, you stayed with mom the whole time, and...

Tim:  Yeah, maybe later.  Dad seems to be busy with them.

Tim sets his glass inside of the sink, turning the water on to give it a quick rinse.  He wipes his hands off on the dish towel hanging next to the sink before he starts to walk over toward the hallway once more.  Eden follows after him, not letting up.

Eden:  Something's wrong.  You can tell me.  I'm a big sister now, so I think I can handle it.

Tim chuckles at the matter-of-fact tone in her voice as she follows him up the stairs.  He walks to his room, opening the door as he picks up his Xbox One controller on his way in.  Eden follows him, as he turns the TV on, loading the Halo Master Chief collection as he sits back in his bed.

Eden:  You know I'm not gonna leave you alone until you tell me why you're upset. I can tell. I can always tell.

Tim:  For a seven year old, you are way too intuitive...  It's freaky.  Look, it's nothing I can't overcome in time.

Eden nods her head, and without any warning, she picks up a controller and turns it on, ready to play with her brother.  Tim sighs as he sees she's not going to leave this alone.  He shakes his head and moves up to the edge of the bed next to Eden, and the two get ready to play as the scene fades out.



Eat This!
#NP "Go With the Flow" Queens of the Stone Age
Locale: Ranch Nomade, Tunis, Tunisia


The wind blows across the sand, moving small clouds across the edge of the dusty Sahara Desert.  A few traces of tall grass cut into the dust clouds as a man in a tunic rides through a trail on a blazing gray and black Barb horse, galloping fiercely as the man tugs on the reigns.  This stirs up a greater amount of sand behind him as he goes along.  We move furthing down the path to spot a large pen with an even larger stable containing many horses within.  Standing just outside of the stable is Tim Staggs.  He is wearing a black cap and a black tunic of his own.  His medium red hair flows in the wind as he looks around at the many different horses.  He scratches at his chin as he comes to a unique horse for this region, a mustang.  The breed doesn't stick out to him as much as the unique chocolate brown coloring and flowing black mane.  He looks around as a native approaches him in a huff, shouting Arabic.  He points at Tim, fire in his eyes as he comes up on Tim.

Tim:  Yes, sir.. I would like to...

The man continues to become irate, cutting Tim off.  This becomes confusing to Tim, who tilts his head to the side.  He runs his hand over his cap as he tries to understand even a word of what is being said.

Tim:  I, um... don't speak... Tunisian?  I'm a tourist.

The man rolls his eyes as he walks over to a small closet nearby.  He pulls out a shovel and shoves it into Tim's chest as he continues to shout.

Tim:  I don't understand you, sir!  What's this for?

The man stops yelling for a second before he yanks on Tim's arm, pulling him toward the pen.  Tim resists some, but the man is surprisingly strong for his small stature, pulling the strong wrestler alone, pulling him through the gate of the pen.  As Tim stands there, ready to object, the man slams the gate shut behind him, walking away as he shakes his head, muttering under his breath.

Tim:  What the hell?  This is just ridiculous.  I don't look like a stable boy!

Tim stomps his foot angrily as he looks around at the piles of dung on the ground.  Better sense tells him what he's supposed to do as he walks up to one of the piles.  He digs the shovel under the horse apples and flings them over his shoulders.

Tim:  Well, I thought it would be pretty bad ass to cut a promo while horseback riding through the Sahara, but it looks like I'm stuck shoveling shit instead...

Contempt fills Tim's face as he walks over to the next pile.  He spots a wheelbarrow nearby, and he decides to start collecting the manure.  He grunts under his breath as he comes to a stubborn pile that seems to be stuck to the surprisingly hard sand.  He stomps on the top of the shovel for an extra kick before shoveling it into the wheelbarrow.  He moves along, as he looks up at the camera through narrowed eyes.

Tim:  This is so typical.  No, really, it's just my luck.  I hate name dropping, but shouldn't people at least know my last name by now?  My father was a, grrr!

Tim stomps into the shovel, taking a large portion of sand along with the horse dung before dropping it into the wheelbarrow.  He slings the shovel over his shoulder as he pushes the wheelbarrow forward to the next pile.

Tim:  My father was a World Champion.  He toured across the globe. I guess that's what I get for looking nothing like him...  I try to think outside of the box, something most of the Sin City Wrestling locker room never does, and I get stuck playing human slave for God only knows how long...

Tim shakes his head as he comes to the next pile.  He places his shovel to the pile, picking it up with ease.  He huffs and puffs angrily as he moves along to the next.  He picks it up with ease before digging the shovel into the sand, leaning on it to wipe at his brow.  The near summer heat is getting to the kid who spent most of his life in the mild Midwest.  After sighing in relief, he gets a strange smile on his face as he starts laughing.

Tim:  No, no... this is actually perfect.  Considering the brainless pieces of crap I'll get to face during my tenure in SCW, this is great practice.  Who knows? It just might help prepare me to win a match someday.  I mean, clearly it won't be this week, because three Nobodies are taking on SCW's own juggernauts, The Seven Deadly Sins.  Or, as I like to call them, the less interesting version of the Manson Family.  No, seriously, they are the product of a crappy daytime Soap Opera, brainwashed by their sycophant father figure.

Tim shakes his head as he walks along to the next couple piles, digging into them quickly before disposing of them.  He looks down at them snickers before continuing on with his point.

Tim:  The member of the stable that I respect the most is certifiable at best.  He talks to a teddy bear the way Uncle Tony used to talk to a stuffed cat.  Most people would look at him and roll their eyes, but you know what?  He's interesting.  He doesn't make me think of a bad Days of Our Lives episode.  I can't say the same for any of the other Sins.  At least Despayre is fun.  At least Despayre is unpredictable.  At least when Despayre opens his mouth, one can't easily predict what he's going to say.  Unfortunately, the same can't be said for his cohorts.

Tim shovels through a couple more piles nearby, shoveling them into the wheelbarrow before he moves across to one of the last few piles.

Tim:  You could slap a cliche on any of the other Sins, past and present.  Its not that hard.  For example, chronically PMS'ing Kittie.  The one who can't decide who she is.  Compelling, right?  Yawn...  Oh, or what about Rage?  Grrr, angry monster who hates everything and everyone... but deep down, he's got a heart of gold.  Like a C-rated Riddick rip off.  Muscly dumbass Shane Boswell, or his sultry slut girlfriend, Fantasia.  And what about the bad imitation of Sean Jackson?  You know, the one who has to be the most sadistic person on the roster?  Chris Shipman?  Yeah, as much hype as he gets on the cards, he might as well be a Nobody like me.  He couldn't even beat the ring rust off of Goth, something Halich was able to do, and still he has trouble getting access to the backstage area.  It's sad.

Tim clears the last pile of dung from the ground and he sighs in relief.  After grabbing onto the wheelbarrow, he moves it over to the gate, waving his arm around to get the attention of the man who had locked him in there.  The man walks over much more slowly and calmly.  He nods his head as he squints, looking around to make sure Tim has done an appropriate job.  Once he approves, he opens the gate and points Tim down a long path, muttering something else to him.  Tim shrugs his shoulders as he moves down the path to another large stall filled with pigs on one side, cows on the other, and running around wildly are chickens.  Tim snickers move more as he drops the wheelbarrow as a rooster tries to intimidate him with a flogging.  However, Tim punts it across the stable and stands his ground, proving to rule the roost.  He puffs his chest out in a primeval manner before continuing.

Tim:  Now, let's not forget Gabriel.  I mean, how can we?  He's like the lead character of this shitty soap opera.  He's not the attractive one like Shane.  He's not the crazy one like Kittie, Rage, and Shipman.  He's not the leader, but he still pulls all of the attention his way.  Is it his eight year old birthday party parlor tricks?  Is it his long speeches that seem to all have the same point to them?  Is it his girlfriend who is almost every teenager's wet dream... until she got fat from being knocked up, that is?  The answer to all three is... no.  What makes him matter is quite simple...   It is his greed.  It's a title belt that he carries, something that could easily be removed from him, making all of the hype he carries just... disappear into thin air.  Disappear like his wife's career after she stepped up to my step mother.  Disappear like Rage after a tough challenge comes his way and he "injures" something.  Disappear faster than a months prescription of valium around Kittie.  The one thing keeping him, and his cronies relevant, is that title belt.  Once that's gone, nobody will give a... shit... about Gabriel, or the Seven Deadly Sins.

Tim opens up the stall to the few cows, studying the ground carefully as he steps inside.  He nearly steps into a cow pie, but retracts his foot before digging the shovel into the much mushier dung, cringing a bit at the feel of it.

Tim:  You see, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I don't have your number, Gabriel, Chris, Despy... I mean, I couldn't even defeat Kain with my best efforts.  Do you know, I trained for that match at least ninety percent of my waking day from the time it was booked until it happened?  I gave it everything I had, and I still came up short.  If I can't take out a man who has never been able to pull through a prove he is the best this business has to offer, how can you expect me, a newcomer, and the Internet Champion to defeat the World Heavyweight Champion and his dysfunctional pseudo family?

Tim flings another large pile into his wheelbarrow, on top of the horse dung, cringing as he hears it plop down behind him, followed up by a sick sort of smile.

Tim:  This just gets more and more ironic, doesn't it?  I mean, I couldn't have planned this better.  I'm knee deep in bullshit, literally.  It's the perfect metaphor to describe my feelings about my match on Sunday.  On paper, clearly the Sins will win.  Let's face facts here.  Clearly, this is all about making The Seven Deadly Sins look good because Synn is so far up Christian Underwood's ass, he's practically raping his pearly whites.  How can we make this fading novelty look good?  Let's place them on the card, near the top, against SCW's own JOB Squad.  The idiotic fans that cheer on a washed up Drake Green would eat this up gladly!  It all but says that in the card adertisements.  Aside from a teddy bear clutching retard and a third rate magician with the World Heavyweight title, there's nothing special about this stable.  There's nothing that puts them in the limelight, and that's sad considering what's hot right now in the SCW universe.  And to be honest, even those two can't be considered one of SCW's top sellers right now.

Tim pokes at a large pile of bull dung with the shovel, swearing that it had moved on its own.  He waits, chalking it up to his vivid imagination before scooping it up and dropping it into the barrel.

Tim:  But, it is an easy fix, right management?  You can sell three times the merchandise if you can just throw a group of Nobodies under the bus, hm?  I mean, I can't be mad at you for making a smart business decision.  We don't even have an officially licensed t-shirt, while the Sins have iPhone cases, t-shirts, posters, whiskey... everything but actions figures... oh wait...

Tim sticks his tongue out at the camera as he rolls his eyes.  After laughing lightly at his obviously intentional mistake, he goes back to scooping up crap and flipping it into the wheelbarrow.

Tim:  Look, I don't need to sit here and use irony to spell out the inevitable outcome of this match.  God's practical jokes on me have done that for me.  I'm just going to level with you.  There is no way in hell that Johnny Tsunami, Kris Halich, and myself will be walking out of this match with a win under our belts.  It's just not happening.  Mind you, it isn't going to be from a lack of effort on our part, but... who pays the referees?  The same management who favors this soggy pile of cow shit known as the Seven Deadly Sins.  The odds are just not in our favor.  Let's not forget the lack of experience we have individually, as well as working in a unit.  I mean, this is our first match as a team.

Tim pauses as he looks around at the ample piles of dung surrounding him, seeing exactly how much is still left.  He reaches up and wipes away at his forehead, leading a muddy streak that he doesn't even notice.

Tim:  We're stuck between a rock and a hard place here.  If we lose, we put The Sins over, and management wins.  But, if we lose, we get ridiculed for being a poor team, and we'll never get to pursue tag gold.  We've got a lot to lose here, because if the Sins lose, they get to shrugs it off and point to their collective win-loss records and call it luck.  So the amount of bullshit piling up around the Nobodies is becoming more and more evident.  But, that's what happens when you refuse to kiss the ass of management.  Just ask my father, because that's the reason he retired from active competition in the first place.

Tim gives the stall one last glance before grunting and throwing the shovel down to the ground.  He kicks it in frustration as he walks over to the stall door, opening it up and making his exit.  He looks down at the wheelbarrow, as if studying it for a moment.

Tim:  Unlike most of the competition around here, we're not going to just take this injustice lying down.  Sure, we might look like idiots for getting our hopes up.  We might look the fool for giving it our all, but who knows?  Miracles have happened before, right?  We're not going to waste this opportunity, and then complain about how unfair it is afterward.  No, we're going to do everything we can to pull off the biggest upset in SCW history.

Tim smirks as his eyes raise up from the wheelbarrow.

Tim:  Sorry for jumping around so much, but this promo business is still new to me.  I couldn't help but draw a few parallels here.  You see, this horse shit reminds me of Gabriel.  Tough texture, but so easily destroyed with the right trajectory.  One precise blow, and he turns into shitty mess smeared across that canvas.  And the bull shit reminds me of Despayre.  Sloppy, smelly, and so commonly referred to in a negative context, yet widely talked about nonetheless.  And that...

Tim chuckles as he looks down at the chicken who has popped a squat on his boot, leaving a milky white and dark brown splatter on his boot.  Tim points down to it as the camera does a quick in and out focus of the splatter before returning to Tim's face.

Tim:  That reminds me of Chris Shipman... slimy chicken shit... Silent. Need I say more?

After chuckling once more, Tim kicks his foot out, trying to fling the feces from his foot.  He flips the wheelbarrow over as he starts to walk off.  However, he stops and pulls down his sunglasses, looking deep into the camera.

Tim:  See you shitheads on Sunday...

He clicks his jaw as he points at the camera with both index fingers firmly extended.  As he walks off toward the door to the barn, he sees the man standing out there.  The man looks inside to see the mess and he begins yelling, but Tim doesn't stop to argue back with him.  He simply continues walking on his way as the wind blows his tunic around and the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

28
Climax Control Archives / Story Of My Life
« on: May 15, 2015, 11:15:08 AM »
 Story Of My Life
#NP "Story Of My Life" by Social Distortion
LOCALE: Casablanca, Morocco (April 29th, 2015)



The shades are drawn shut, allowing only a small line of a fiery gold to seap through, leaving but a small glare on the hotel room.  It's high noon as Tim Staggs sits up on his bed, his eyes glazed over as he stares off into space.  His red hair is a perfect mess atop his head, and his white muscle tee is still crisp and white, despite the fact he has been wearing it for over three days straight.  This is a testament to the lethargic state he's remained in.  Despite the warm temperature in the room, he doesn't break a sweat.  He simply begins to shake his head from side to side slowly.

"Boy likes girl.  Girl is in an unhappy relationship.  Girl is... perfect.  So perfect that she couldn't possibly fall for the geek.  Story of my life..."

Tim looks down at his raw hands as he continues to rub them together.  His OCD has kicked into high gear due to whatever stress the Nobody has been under lately.  The redness stings, but it serves as a reminder that he is alive.

"Everyone is taking to Twitter, telling the most tedious details of their lives like the rest of us give a shit.  'Oh, I'm going to get a low fat latte, complain about how stupid my flavor of the week nemesis is for a spell, go to the gym because I'm so into my fitness t counteract the drinking and drugs I'll be doing, and I'll end the night by screwing so and so.'  And yet still, the menial existance is somehow more meaningful than my own.  I make a statement about making my presence felt, and all fifteen of my followers just ignore it, but a tweet about tying up your wife gets 30 favorites?  Story of my life..."

Tim's jaw clinches as he stops rubbing his hands together.  Instead, he squeezes them together tightly, turning his knuckles white in the process.  His nostrils flare up as he clinches his eyes tightly as he sucks in a deep breath.  He practically hisses it out as he reaches for a glass of water sitting on the nightstand.  He takes a drink from it as he leans over the edge of the bed.  Planting his feet on the floor, he begins pacing back and forth.

"The point is that no one... literally no one, even realizes I've been missing for three days now.  No one has called to ask where I'm at.  The only Time my phone goes off is when Twitter tells me that multiple people have followed some dimwit that they think I should follow.  If people claim I'm a somebody, rather than a nobody, then they are about as dumb as a box of rocks.  I'm left with the only thing I've ever been able to count on... the shadows.  Story of my life...

"Who is going to save me now?  Who is going to stop the inevitable plunder, promised to me by my genetics?  Who can I rely on now?  Everyone thinks I can rely on Spike Staggs, my father.  Some think I can rely on my great uncle Erik Staggs to get me noticed.  Others see my pedigree and assume I should make something of myself instantly.  My mother, Roxanne, was a dominant World Women's champion in a few federations.  My adopted mother, Misty, well... need I say more?  Same goes for my step mother, Vixen.  I'm bred to win.  I've been nurtured into this business, but that doesn't mean a thing when it all comes down to it.  I can't count on them to see me for who I truly am, for what I've been truly bred and nurtured to be... They can't see me as the Nobody that I truly am."


Tim tangles his fingers in his purposely messy ginger locks, tugging at them slightly as the anxiety begins to fill his head with lies and awful truths.  The nastiest of things cross his mind, filling him with a momentary dread that leaves a metallic tingle upon his tongue as his heart sinks.  His breaths become more and more shallow.

"They feed me with lies of security and stability.  They only want what is best for me, and that is exactly why I can't trust them.  Their love blinds them to the fact that I can't conduct an interview to save my life.  I've got no charisma.  I'm SCW's less talented Steve Blackman.  It doesn't matter that I've got a hammerlock that would make the toughest of opponents cry.  It doesn't matter that I could sneak up on any opponent face first, and drop him in at least sixteen different submission holds that they couldn't escape from with the jaws of life itself.  None of that matters.  The only thing that matters is face value, and let's face it... You could buy a cup of coffee with my autograph... and eighty-two cents.  Collectively, my name is worth exactly jack squat.  I'm okay with that.  I'll just have to bide my Time, wait for my opportunity, and when that Time comes, you better believe I will strike like a viper..."

A wicked smile creeps across Tim's face despite his shortness of breath.  Sweat beads line his eyebrows as he slowly starts to calm himself down.  His breaths return to normal as he slowly gets a grip on himself.  He looks across the dusty, drab room and into a vanity mirror.  Seeing a side of himself he doesn't quite like, he looks down.  However, the reflection in the mirror laughs almost maniacally.

"Until then, I will stay at the bottom of the barrel.  Until then, I will stay in the friend zone with the pretty girls.  Until then, I will stay the butt end of some joke.  Until then I will be the forgotten one, the man who stays under contract for peanuts, only to never get booked.  Until then, I will stay in the shadows, and learn to become comfortably numb.  Until then, I will remain a Nobody."

Tim closes his eyes as he sits down in a wooden chair sitting across from the bed.  He leans one leg up onto the arm of the chair as he plants the other sideways on the floor.  He leans back slightly in an awkward position, but one that seems to be calming to him.  His wicked smirk stays plastered upon his face as he looks down at the ground, staring as the camera begins to go dark...
***Fade***[/i]



Integrity/u]
#NP "The Nobodies" by Marilyn Manson
LOCALE: Las Vegas, Nevada/Algiers, Algeria (May 15th, 2015)


Typing...

That's definitely what we're hearing.  Neatly manicured fingernails clicking rapidly against a keyboard to be exact.  The screen begins to fade in to see Pussy Willow at her laptop inside of her decently nice looking hotel room.  It is nothing fancy, but by contrast to the room we saw Tim Staggs staying in previously, it's five star.  The accomodations for staff in Algeria is nicer than what they are even used to.  Pussy picks up a bottle of water and places it to her lips, taking a drink before returning her attention back to her computer screen.  After unlocking it, she immediately loads Skype.  After logging in, she begins going through her extensive list of contacts, which takes several moments to get even half way through them.  She is surprised when a call icon appears on her screen.  A bright eyed, ginger kid's picture appears next to it, and he smiles as she moves her mouse over to accept the call.  As she does, she is met with darkness.

Pussy:  Hello?  Tim?  Are you there?

A murmur of many voices ring through the darkness, but she still can't see anything.  She scrolls over to her settings to check on them, finding them perfectly fine.  This stumps her as she clears her throat for one more attempt.

Pussy:  Tim Staggs?  I can't see you.  Hello?

There is a sharp screeching feedback noise that echoes through both of their speakers, causing her to lean back to place her fingers against her ears to cut back some of the noise, wincing in a bit of initial pain.

Pussy:  Tim, if you can hear me check your...

Just then, the screen fades in some to rest upon a silhouette of a hooded figure against a red light.  She still seems a bit apprehenive, but her pleas for an answer quickly fade.  She tilts her head to the side in confusion before she is left with the sight of another hooded figure just to the right.

Pussy:  Thanks for your time, Tim.  I know you are still visiting family in Las Vegas with the arrival of your new siblings, but...

Tim  Today I am dirty, I want to be pretty.  Tomorrow I'll know, I'm just dirt...

Pussy:  Excuse me?

The camera pans to the side to see another hooded figure, and then another, and another.  The camera backs out slightly and we see that there are about nine hooded figures against a glowing red backdrop, making it impossible to make out any of their features.

Tim:  We are the nobodies.  We wanna be somebodies. When we're dead, they'll know just who we are...

Pussy:  I'm afraid I don't follow, Tim

Tim  Yesterday I was dirty, I wanted to be pretty.  I know now that I'm forever dirt...

There is a moment of silence as the camera moves to circle around the group.  It slows down on each one as it moves, yet we are not any closer to seeing who they are.  We see a variety of heights, weights, and genders, but that is about all we can see.

Tim:  Some children died the other day.  We fed machines, and then we prayed.  Puked up and down in morbid faith. You should have seen the ratings that day...

Pussy:  So... I've got many questions to ask you when you're ready to proceed.

Tim:  Questions?  Just for me?  Why, I'm flattered.

We stop on one figure who tilts their head to the side, placing their right hand on their chest to convey a mixture of surprise and flattery at the same Time.  Pussy smiles sweetly as she nods her head in response.

Pussy:  After your showing at Mayhem In Morocco, there are a lot of unanswered questions, such as when will you be making your on camera debut?

We move on to another one of the figures, clearly a female by their silhouette, however, they place a hand on their hip as their head waves in an "Oh no she didn't" sort of manner.

Tim: Are you serious right now?  I've already appeared on camera for SCW.

Pussy:  Yes, we all saw you grab onto Kain's leg, but I mean like an interview or something?

The female figure shakes her head from side to side giving a middle finger salute to Pussy, which makes her scoff in shock and offense.  However, we move along to another figure who is shaking their head from side to side slowly.

Tim:  I've been on camera many Times already.  For one, I was an active wrestler from Arizona State Wrestling from beginning to end.  And two, I've already cut an in-ring promo, twice actually, and two interviews, as well as a spot at Mayhem In Morocco with Christian Underwood and Erik Staggs.

Pussy:  No... I don't think so?

The figure raises clinched fists to his sides, shaking them as they slowly rise above his head.  He stomps up and down in a fit of rage as Tim growls.

Tim:  Yes?  I mean, yes!  I did, but Mean Girls hijacked two of our moments, Steve Ramone hijacked the other, and the first one, the fans got up to go to the bathroom, so I'm assuming you did too.

Pussy:  No, I'm pretty sure I would remember at least one of those.

Tim:  Me and Kris Halich...

Pussy:  Wait, who?

The angered silhouette stops as we pass another silhouette who grabs at their stomach, mimicking laughter as they hunch over.  Pussy's face scrunches up in frustration as she scoffs.

Pussy:  The only Kris I know is a Kris Halc, and he's the... which champion is he again...?  The Internet champion!

Tim:  Seriously?  His last name is Halich.  We are a stable called the Nobodies.  That's why I grabbed Kain's foot to help...

Pussy:  The cards always call him Kris Halc, bosses, Belinda and Jason all call him that, and...

Tim:  Yeah, well people call me a janitor, but that doesn't mean I'm a janitor.  It just means they are ignorant.  Just because your coworkers are ignorant doesn't mean you have to be.  It is Halich  Say it with me Hay...

Pussy:  Hay...

Tim: ...lick.

Pussy: ...lick?

We move to another silhouette that claps their hands together firmly, nodding their head in approval.

Tim:  Very good.  And what stable are we?

Pussy:  New X-Tremes?  Are you resurrecting your father's stable?

Tim:  No... just... no...

Pussy:  Oh, The Rejects?

The next silhouette rubs their temple as they shake their head from side to side in frustration.  Meanwhile, Tim can be heard chuckling at the notion.

Tim:  Noooo... We are not a couple of people who wish we were unpopular and different because it's trendy.  We're legiTimately the pariah's of Sin City Wrestling.  The ones who get hassled at the door when we try to come and do our jobs.  The ones who...

Pussy:  Oh!  Dying Breed?

Tim:  Oh forget it... We're The Nobodies, and it is our mission to change that.  One day, we'll be Somebodies.

Pussy:  But, isn't Halc...

Tim:  HALICH!

Pussy:  Hay-lick... a champion?  It seems sort of...

The next silhouette holds their hand up at the camera to stop Pussy from speaking right then and there.

Tim:  Contradicting?  No, if anything, I would say it's ironic.  A man fights tooth and nail to defeat Kain to become the SCW Internet Champion, yet he can't even make it past security to defend his title until he suckerpunches the dick.  His situation is different from mine.  People know my name, because it is what they claim got me into this business.  For all I know, they could be right.  People don't remember his name.  Our common thread is that no one remembers us for who we are.  We're not even an after thought, even though we've shown more committment than half of the roster.  I'm just now being booked after six weeks of being under contract.  I had to interfere in a match just to get this match.  Any valet could have done the same thing, but I'm an actual wrestler...

Pussy:  Oh, Kain!  There's a name I've been meaning to get to!  You recently signed a contract after demanding a match against anyone, and...

Tim:  Wait... I literally just said I signed a contract six weeks ago.

Pussy:  No... that doesn't seem right...

Tim:  You're right, it doesn't, but thems the facts Pussy.

Pussy shrugs her shoulders, not wanting to argue the point with Tim.  She looks down at her notepad in front of her before continuing.

Pussy:  Kain is upset that you cost him the match at Mayhem In Morocco, and...

Tim:  He's mad?  Why would he be mad about that?  It's ridiculous.

Pussy:  Well, you interfered in his match.  He would have won had you not done what you did.

The camera turns around to face an unmasked Tim Staggs, catching a faint glance at his face, masked only by the bright red light reflecting off of his face.

Tim:  Okay?  So, he's mad that I cost him a technical win that wouldn't have resulted in a title change?  What would he have gained from winning then?  Some pointless "W" in the record books that would prove absolutely nothing?  Titles don't change hands by count out or disqualification.  If anything, I saved him from making a fool of himself, and he should thank me for that.  SCW's resident badass can still hold onto that street cred because of me.  Would you still look at him like a badass if he made it back inside of that ring and celebrated a farce of a victory as if it meant something?  Pride beaming off of his face?

Pussy:  Yes?

Tim:  Then you're as dumb as the majority of the Sin City Wrestling roster.

It is Pussy's turn to show emotion through body language as she crosses her arms across her ample bosom, sinking back in her chair slightly.

Tim:  I wish I could apologize and mean it, but honestly, I can't.  That is what is wrong with this business.  If we can't beat the game, then we're going to change the game.  We're going to start off by changing the way people view their idols such as Drake Green, Mean Girls, Roxi Johnson and Kiera Fisher... and everyone who is too dumb to see them all for who they really are.

Pussy:  Do you think of Kain in this light?

Tim:  Unfortunately, no.  Sunday is not about making an example of somebody.  It isn't about adding integrity to someone's career, because Kain is one of the few people who has some integrity.  Though, after his attempt at a meaningless victory at Mayhem In Morocco, I'm starting to question that slightly.  What happens on Sunday isn't personal, at least on my end.  No, what happens will be strictly business.  It will be a showcase match for me, and nothing more.  Win or lose, I may shake Kain's hand.  But, I promise you that such an offer is rare coming from me.  If Kain can see what I did to him two weeks ago for what it was, rather than some sort of slight against him, then he is worthy of my respect.  If not, then he proves to be just another egomaniac looking for a paycheck, cashing in on the adoration of the fans.

Tim shrugs his shoulders, showing no apologies for his words or thoughts.  Pussy nods her head, though she is clearly not fully buying into this.

Pussy:  It's not often than someone tries to cower back from their actions by trying to make sense of what they've done, but you're trying to pass it off as a favor to stop him from tearing you limb from limb?

Tim:  I don't need to justify anything.  He's going to feel however he wants about what I did, and I accept that.  What I'm saying is that I saved him from an undignified ending to his match, and hopefully he doesn't let emotion blind him to the fact that I'm bringing everything I've got to the table, and with the training I've undergone over the last two years... no two months, that's nothing to laugh at.  If Kain wants to look at me as the enemy, then that's his perogative.  However, he'd be smart not to do that.  He should look at the bigger picture.  But, trust me... I'm not holding all my eggs in one basket.  He doesn't come across as being that smart.  But, one can hope, right?

Pussy:  Well, I've got other interviews to get to, but I wonder if you have anything you want to say directly to Kain for your match?

Tim taps his chin, thinking it over for a second.  Truly, he is not a professional in this aspect of the business, so this takes him a moment, but when his face lights up, Pussy gives him a few minutes.

Tim:  Kain, come Sunday, we're going to...

***BUZZ/STATIC***

Pussy:  Tim?  Hello?

Pussy inspects her task bar, noticing her wifi connection has gone out.  Her face sinks some as she places a hand against her cheek in a bit of despair.

Pussy:  Oh boy, I hope he doesn't think I did that on purpose... but thank God...

***Fade***

29
Climax Control Archives / The Last Song I Will Ever Sing
« on: February 20, 2015, 12:14:53 PM »
 The Last Song I Will Ever Sing
February 27th, 2015; Stockholm, Sweden



The music fades in, but is indistinct at first.  The image of the feed takes a moment to catch up with the audio, but eventually it does.  We find ourselves looking at Erik Staggs who is seated on a blue suede sectional sofa with a red and white painting behind him.  He is sipping on a glass of champagne, with a half eaten platter of sushi before him on a black ottoman style table.  For those who are well traveled, they might recognize this room, but for those who are not familiar with the world famous chain of Karaoke bars, he is occupying one of the many private rooms at K Karaoke.  The song playing in the background is "Gold Coins", originally by Charli XCX, but done by a much more amateur singer.  Their voice comes on through the speakers in all four corners of the room, as well as an LCD display of their performance.  Erik admires the lovely Swedish woman who is clearly having a good time with her performance.  Her short blonde tresses bouncing as she moves across the stage Erik's eyes are drawn a bit further south to what hides beneath her black and white cardigan as he lets out a curious sigh.  He brushes it off with a chuckle before standing up from his seat, acknowledging the camera in front of him.

Erik:  Yes, yes... how cliche, I know... A karaoke bar isn't exactly an original concept, is it?

Erik chuckles once more as he licks his thumb, brushing it across his bangs, styling them quickly before he shrugs his shoulders.  He almost dances around the table as he comes up to a display on the wall, a small booklet with a large silver button next to it.  He pushes the book open as he slowly begins scanning the pages from the corner of his eye as he turns slightly toward the camera.

Erik:  I pride myself on original thought, but there is also something to be said about improving upon a tried and true method, right?

Pausing for a moment, we can hear the Emcee in the background as the song ends.  He introduces the next socially lubricated woman, though his Swedish tongue isn't understood, except that we pick out "I'm With You" by Avril Lavigne.  Erik simply shakes his head before lifting his icy blue eyes back to the camera.

Erik:  Come on, lady... you're not helping my cause here... And, to be honest, if I may?  The Karaoke bar method hasn't been exactly successful in driving a point across, has it?  Well, that is because a Staggs has not done it yet.  You see, we could cut a promo watching paint drying on a wall, and leave you hanging on every second of it.  You see, I'm not going to torture you with Five Finger Death Punch, or some flash in a pan death metal diddy that you've never heard of.  Nor will I torture you with some cliche rendition of "Rocketman".  No... I want you to feel it.  I want you to savor it.  I want to rock your world.  But, above all of that, I want to bleed my heart dry for you.

Erik gives an assuring nod as he flips the page, scanning it up and down quickly, before repeating this on the next page.  He sighs and shakes his head as he almost feels like this could be a lost cause.  He rolls his eyes before looking back to us once more.

Erik:  I hope this extensive list gets better, because I might have to scrap this and find another way to say exactly what I need to say...  Now, you might be asking yourselves, why is this so important to me?  Why do am I so obsessed with finding the perfect diddy for tonight?  Why, it's simple.  This match, like every one I've participated in over the last few weeks, could very well be my last match ever.  Each victory I've gotten has put the pressure on me, and has made each match that much sweeter.  I've taken out two promising stars here in SCW, in Joey Harris and Sebastian Hardin.  I've assisted Necra Octavian Kane in getting a few steps closer to her ultimate goal of becoming Bombshell Champion by taking out Darknyss and Candy Overton.  To call these victories sweet... pun intended... would be an understatement.

Erik smirks proudly as his eyes wander off of the book and across the room as if he is searching for something specific.  Or, perhaps his eyes have landed upon another Swedish hottie, though the seriousness of his face suggests otherwise.

Erik:  Just like every other match I've participated in over the last month, there is no guarantee of victory.  As a matter of fact, the odds seem to be stacked against me more and more each week.  Unfortunately, it wasn't until I saw the card for this week that such a sinking realization struck me.  Call it weakness, or call it realism.  Call it what you will, but the arrogance faded when I saw the names we were booked against for this show.  For all intensive purposes, I am facing family.  Not by law, or by blood, but by fate.

Erik stares seriously into the camera, letting his cold eyes linger in the lens for a moment as he gently licks at the corners of his mouth.

Erik:  I have not always had the strongest bond with my family, but that is not from a lack of trying.  My nephew, Spike, and I... we've had a rocky past.  He is more like a son to me than a nephew.  I raised him practically from the womb.  I helped raise his son.  I am very involved with the care of his daughter... the mutual daughter of the woman standing across the ring from me in a few short days, Misty.  Ohhhhhhhhhh Misty... what a path we've been down, hm?

Erik almost smiles, reminiscing of the memories, closing his eyes for just a moment to recall the many instances their paths had crossed over the years, with and without Spike.  However, before he can get but  few steps down memory lane, his eyes shoot open and he gently covers his mouth, muffling an "Oops" before removing it to show pursed lips.  His tongue comes out slightly, running across his bottom lip as he sighs.

Erik:  Of course, you likely do not remember any of it.  It's sad to say, because you were very good at what you did.  You were quite the wicked bitch, if I do say so myself.  I say this as a compliment, of course.  People can say what they want about you, but you knew how to elicit any reaction you wanted.  That is one of many qualities I admire about you.  You were ruthless.  You were vindictive.  You were one of my most loyal associates during the rebellion.    Without you, who knows where our rebellion would have been?  Your five title runs here in SCW do you no justice, Misty.  I respect the hell out of you.  As much as my partner might not want to hear that, it's true.

Erik's eyes wander back over to the book pinned against the wall.  He fumbles through the pages quickly, glancing at the available tracks as he continues.

Erik:  I know, this is where I'm supposed to talk all big and bad about how I'm going to defeat you and Andrew Watts, and tell you what pieces of shit you guys are... but, I can't.

Erik takes a deep breath as he probably shocks the majority of the viewers.  They wait for him to crack some sort of cocky smirk, or give any implication that he's joking, but that does not come.  He simply nods his head as he flips another page.

Erik:  I am a straight shooter.  I spent hours trying to figure out a way to hate you both, even if it were just temporary.  I wanted to find something to fuel my anger, because that has lead me toward two victories thus far.  Sure, I could bring up the fact that you embarrassed Spike in the middle of the ring on what was supposed to be your wedding day.  I could talk about the fact that you racked him in the nuts and spit on him in front of his children and everyone watching from home... but, that would be somewhat hypocritical.  I can't count how many times I've knocked my nephew out in the ring for various reasons over the years.  What else is there, Misty?  We've been friends for a very long time.  I'm sure Necra has plenty of malice-filled words for you, so I will leave that to her.

Erik turns the pages again, shaking his head in a bit of annoyance as he pinches the bridge of his nose.  When all hope seems lost, Erik's eyes shoot wide open as a smirk comes over his face.  He scans the number next to the song he's chosen, and he enters it on the keypad by the door.  He returns his attention back to the camera as "Save the Last Dance For Me" as made famous by Michael Buble begins to play, eliciting a groan from Erik.

Erik:  Could I rip into Andrew Watts here then?  Sure.  I could laugh at the pathetic attempt to garner support from a bunch of fickle little girls who run off at the first sign of trouble, save for his little girlfriend, Alex Kaelin.  I could talk about how arrogant he is, and how this is his greatest weakness... but again, both of those would be hypocritical of me.  Maybe I'm being humble for the first time in my life here, and it's clouding my judgment, but I've fallen victim to overconfidence a time or fifty... and we all saw how quickly the rebellion fell apart when Mark and Christian offered title opportunities as readily as candy in the dish on their desks.  I saw so many metaphorical middle fingers, I assumed that was the new way of saying hello.  Facts are facts here... Andrew Watts and I have drawn many parallels here in Sin City Wrestling.  We have both made it to the semi-finals of the Blast From the Past tournament.  We are both undefeated in SCW.  We carry factions to notoriety in SCW.  We are both considered to be attractive men by the ladies around here.

The camera zooms in slightly on Erik's cocky grin as he slowly nods his head.

Erik:  Yep, I've still got it...

Erik chuckles as if to drive his point across.  He quickly shakes this as he returns to his main point.

Erik:  The list goes on and on.  Andrew Watts has a longer list of victims in SCW, and many names are names that I would have figured would be Main Eventers.  Maybe this is where the idea that I might not make it to the finals has settled in.  Far be it from me to doubt myself, but this time around... there is a fifty-fifty chance that this ride could end for me on Sunday.  It is a case of the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object.  There will be an explosion inside of that ring on Sunday... this I can guarantee beyond the shadow of a doubt.  But, don't take this as me lying down for you, Watts.  I don't intend to make it easy for you.  I've got my sights set firmly on that trophy, and the title shot that comes along with it.  I'm not ready to call it quits just yet.  To make it to the finals, the winner of our match has to work for it.  We have to earn our spot in the finals.  It is an honor to headline the next Super Card, Andrew.  I will not cheapen your possible spot in the finals by giving up so easily.  You will be bringing everything you have, as will I.

Erik nods his head as there is a beep over an intercom by the door.  Erik presses the button on the wall, muttering something in Swedish before removing hsi finger.  He smirks as he walks over to the door, opening it with a twitch of his head, signaling for the camera to follow him.

Erik:  It's time...

Erik walks through the doorway and into a long, narrow hallway.  He passes many rooms, the inhabitants loudly partying within as they enjoy the privacy of their lounges.  He looks straight ahead with a serious look on his face as he makes it toward a set of curtains.  He walks through them and stands be the edge of a stage, looking out into the large crowd. The gentleman singing Michael Buble takes his bows as Erik runs his finger across his neck, signaling that he's done for.  He points to Erik and nods his head in a friendly sort of rivalry.  Erik walks past the man on the platform as he makes his way to the stage.  He takes his place in front of the microphone, raising it up to meet his tall stature before resting both hands on top of it, waiting as the Emcee introduces him in Swedish.  Again, all we are able to make out is the song, "Carry On" by Fun.

<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iu_NqD--xEw" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>


A curious selection for the man who is normally most fond of heavier, older music.  The piano gently starts up as the crowd claps and cheers for the selection.  The prelude seems to almost haunt as Erik sits there, eyes closed, and completely in tune with the music.

Erik:  Well I woke up to the sound of silence and cries... were cutting like knives in a fist fight.  And I found you with a bottle of wine, your head in the curtains and heart like the Fourth of July...

Erik's eyes open slightly as he stares out into the crowd, his intensity radiating off of him as he slowly looks up toward the ceiling.

Erik:  You swore and said "We are not... we are not shining stars."  This I know... I never said we are.  Though I've never been through hell like that, I've closed enough windows to know you can never look back.

His eyes open the rest of the way as he looks out into the audience, taking the microphone into his hands as he tilts his head back.

Erik:  If you're lost and alone, or you're sinking like a stone.  Carry oh-oh-oh-oh-on...  May your past be the sound of your feet upon the ground.  Carry oh-oh-oh-oh-on.  Carry on carry on!

Erik begins to sway gently to the music as the tempo picks up for a brief interlude.  He removes the microphone from the stand and walks away from the stand as he walks closer to the edge of the stage.  He reaches out into the crowd, shaking hands with a couple people in the front row.

Erik:  So I met up, with some friends at the edge of the night, at a bar off 75. And we talked and we talked about how our parents will die, all our neighhhhhhbors and wives.  But I like to thiiiiink, I can cheat it aaaalll, to make up for the times I've been cheated ooooooooon.  And it's nice to knowwwww, when I was left for deaaaad, I was found and now I don't roam these streets.  I am not the ghost you are to me...

Erik stands back up as his voice picks up volume.  His normal monotonous voice has disappeared as emotion takes over.  He walks across the stage pointing out to the audience as he continues singing the song.

Erik:  If you're lost and alone, or you're sinking like a stone. Carry oh-oh-oh-oh-on.  May your past be the sound, of your feet across the ground.  And carry oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-on.  Whoooooooooooooa...

Erik tilts his head back as he practically screams into the microphone, pure emotion driving right now.

Erik:  My head is on fire, but my legs are fine!  After all, they are mi-i-i-ine.  LAAYYYY your clothes down on the floor.  Close the door, hold the phone.  Show us how no one's ever gonna stop us now...

The guitar interlude comes on and Erik plays to it, doing a little Angus Young strut with an air guitar as he goes across the stage, spinning in a complete circle until the lyrics return.  He stops where he is and he grips his hands around the tip of the microphone and brings it to his mouth as he looks down into the crowd again.

Erik:  Because here we arrrrre, we are shining stars.  We are invincibllllllle.  We are who we are, on our darkest day. When we're miles awaaaaaaaay, the sun will come. We will find our way ho-oh-oh-oh-ome...

Erik has a surge of energy that gets the crowd pumped up and into the song as well as they sway and sing along with him.  He holds the microphone out to them as he shouts out the lyrics for all to hear throughout the entire club.

Erik:  If you're lost and alone, or you're sinking like a stone, then cary oh-oh-oh-oh-on.  May your past be the sound, of your feet upon the ground and, carry oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh ohhhhh, oh oh oh oh, oh oh-oh ohh whoa whoa-oh oh oh oh.

Erik has the microphone back to his lips, a bit of sweat coming over his forehead from the lights, his navy blue suit and tie, and the energy he is exuding here tonight.  He tilts his head back, holding the microphone about a foot above it as he shouts into it.

Erik:  Oh oh-whoa-whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh... No one's ever gonna stop us now-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow.  No one's ever, no one's ever, no one's ever gonna stop us, stop us, stop us, stop us now, now, now now. No one's ever, ever, ever, gonna stop us, stop us now, now, now....

The music slows down a bit as the crowd goes wild, cheering for Erik.  He smiles as he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.  The lyrics of the song swim through his entire body, bleeding through his pours in the form of sweat as he breathes in and out deeply.  The crowd, and the viewers watching at home, can't believe the amount of energy that came from Erik Staggs just now.  He walks over to the microphone stand and takes a bow as he continues to catch his breath.  The Emcee announces the next person as Erik walks past them, giving them a daring look that says "Beat that..."  He wipes at his forehead as he reaches the curtains of the empty hallway.  The camera follows through and comes to a stop as Erik leans against the wall.

Erik:  I've faced many challenges in my life.  I've felt the crushing weight of defeat.  I've tasted the sweetness of victory.  I've gained more than I can handle.  I've lost enough to make someone break ten times over.  Yet, here I stand before you.  That song is my story.  It is my farewell, whether it be this week, or three weeks from now.  If I lose to Andrew Watts and Misty, I will be alright with this.  I will carry on.  I just hope that if Necra and I do win, that Andrew Watts can carry on, knowing he got his ass kicked by someone old enough to be his grandfather...

Erik winks at the camera with a chuckles.  He shakes his head for a second before his eyes rest back on the camera.

Erik:  With all due respect, Mister Watts... good luck.  May we steal the show on Sunday... and may the best man win?

Erik extends his hand as if offering Watts a sign of respect with a handshake.  He pauses there for a moment, letting it linger before he slowly retracts it, looking down at the hand before raising his eyes for one last stare down.  After a few seconds, Erik slowly turns around to walk back toward his private lounge.  The camera follows him for a second before it fades out... TO BLACK!

30
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!

31
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!

32
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!

33
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\'

34
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

35
Supercard Archives / Into The Void III Deadline
« on: July 19, 2014, 12:06:35 AM »
 The second deadline has now passed.  Thanks to everyone who put in hard work for this show.  Now let's get those segments in, and let the results reflect this hard work!

36
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!

37
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.

38
Supercard Archives / TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP - DBL LADDER MATCH
« on: December 07, 2013, 12:41:48 AM »
 The second deadline has now passed

39
Supercard Archives / BOMBSHELL TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP - 4 CORNER MATCH
« on: December 07, 2013, 12:40:42 AM »
 The second deadline has now passed

40
Supercard Archives / AMY MARSHALL (c) vs MERCEDES VARGAS
« on: December 07, 2013, 12:39:30 AM »
 The second deadline has now passed

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