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Messages - Staggs

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1
Supercard Archives / Brother David vs Mz Holly Wood
« on: July 26, 2020, 04:52:19 PM »
 
“Pressure. Anxiety. Fear. Senseless! What for? I am on top of the world here. Well, I am the SCU Television Champion, and to me, that is being on top of the world. I love being able to go out there in front of my fellow SCU and SCW stars to defend the title. It’s a great thing. So why am I feeling like I’m on edge so much lately?  Is it GRIME?  Is it the pandemic?  The general state of the world?  I don’t know. I’ve spent the last week with ginger beer and tums in my hands at all times. I’m a wreck.”

\'user

We come in to see Alex Jeffreys, the alter ego of Mz Holly Wood, lying in bed as the sun comes through the porthole in the wall, shining on his doe-like eyes.  As he stated, there are empty bottles of ginger beer on her nightstand, and an opened bottle in his hands.  He takes a sip from the bottle as his phone rings.

Alex:  That’s the good thing about no sail orders… reception…

He takes a deep breath and looks down at his phone.  It reads “Dr. Dayton”.  He fans his face and nods before answering it.

Alex:  Hello?

Doctor:  Alex, how are you?

There is a nervous laugh that escapes Alex’s throat.  He sits up in the bed and continues to nod as if the doctor can see him.

Alex:  Good, good. You know, just feeling like I’m on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Couldn’t be better.

Doctor:  Alex?  What did we say about using sarcasm?

Alex:  It’s an unhealthy way of compartmentalizing and covering up the issues…

There is a brief pause and an “mmm-hmm” sound that comes through the speaker.

Doctor:  Coping mechanisms can be great as long as they help you deal with what is going on.

Alex:  But, what if you don’t know what’s going on? What if everything in the world says “You should be fine? You’ve got a job, a roof over your head, a car, friends who care about you, fans…” What could be wrong?

Doctor:  People want what they don’t have. It’s natural to discount that which causes anxiety in someone. Our anxiety is just that; our own. While it is a reaction from our reptilian brains that has no real place in today’s society, it is natural.  It is meant to save us from danger, but we don’t have to worry about larger creatures snatching us up and eating us. We don’t need to worry about rocks falling downhill and crushing us, under normal circumstances. With your past, and the way your brain is wired, it is only natural to have these feelings.  You just have to combat nature.

Alex closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.  Nodding again, he laughs nervously again.

Alex:  You sound like the conversion therapist my mama sent me to when I was twelve. Fight nature and pray the gay away. Hallelujah and all that jazz.

Doctor:  You know that’s a stretch, and an attempt at changing the subject, Miss Thang.  You have an opportunity here, and you’re afraid of herstory repeating herself.  Not only did you lose the very title belt you hold, not that long ago, followed by getting injured… you expressed many times in the past that you choked in your initial attempt at becoming the SCW Roulette Champion back in 2014. You have so much pressure on your shoulders, and that is why you’re feeling this way right now. You just need to level out.  Have you been taking your meds as prescribed?

Alex:  Yes I have. I think they’re not working though.

The doctor pauses and Alex walks over to the vanity and flips on the lights.  He looks down at the Television Championship belt.  He opens up his makeup case and begins setting things where they go.

Doctor:  You’re just stressed out.  That’s natural.  I can adjust your PRN script, but within the next week, you really should go back to your normal dose.  Hopefully it can help you to live in the moment.  Have you tried painting up and putting her on?  You seem to draw a lot of confidence when you’re wearing her.

Alex:  The idea just crossed my mind. I’m going to try it.

Doctor:  I’ll send the script through to the pharmacy, and you let me know if it helps.  And contact your therapist.

Alex:  Thanks Dr. Dayton. I appreciate it. I didn’t want to have to take it at all, but… issa thing.

As they say their goodbyes, Alex begins gluing back his boy brows.  He then applies the foundation as he looks in the mirror at the work in progress.

Alex:  You don’t have to be nervous.  It’s not like you never fought Brother David before. Plus, it’s Brother David.  Drool.  Yum. I would eat. Him. UP! Those closet cases who repress themselves can be spotted from a mile away, and that one?  Yeah. He’s going to be a blast in the ring.

Alex continues to paint up his face, adding on the lashes.  He blinks as he continues working with them.

Alex:  You wouldn’t believe what I have overcome in my life, in my career, in Sin City as a whole. I’ve fought some of the best.  And they went down like a sack of sexy potatoes. I can guarantee that I won’t go down… in the match anyway.  Heyyyyy!

Alex cracks a smirk against her own will.  He pulls a cap over his head as he continues tidying up the corners.  He purses his lips together for a second before popping them.

Alex:  Brother David.  This is your chance to prove your worth to your unforgiving father. To prove that you wasn’t the weakest link all along.  Your useless sister, who wised up and left your church, she even won a title. It’s just too bad she went over to GRIME. But that’s great for you.  You got the chance to not be the disappointment in the family.  Only because Virginia isn’t related to you, and your mother gets a win now and then.  Your father is a tough customer, except when a rhinoceros is in the room.

Alex winks.

Alex:  You have so much to prove, and that makes you dangerous.  See, Alex doesn’t like uncertainty.  He finds it nerve wracking and he ain’t got time for that.  Luckily, Alex ain’t the SCU Television Champion… @@

Alex puts on the lipstick.  He puckers his lips together, popping them with the gloss.  He turns away from the mirror and pulls a wig off of a mannequin.  He pulls it on and turns around.

\'user

Holly:  Because ya girl Mz. Holly Wood is the champ, baby.  Holly has seen adversity.  She has looked the haters and the bigots in the face.  She will snatch ya wig with a smile on her face because, henny… she fierce.  She is snatched for the gawwwwwds!  And she refuses to be intimidated.  Not by GRIME.  Not by The Good Shepherds.  Not by anybody.  You don’t get to be the TV Champion by backing down, cowering, and failing.  And when I fall, you know she get right back up and take back what’s hers.  You’re welcome, Shooter.  Heh heh, fuck you.  And Brother David?  Fuck me…

Holly stands up and bends slightly.  She shakes her backside in her boy clothes and then flips her hair blowing a glittery kiss at the camera.

Holly:  Sunday, August 2nd is Summer XXXTreme XIII.  It is the night after the Mayhem Survival. Do yourself a favor and eliminate yourself, B.B. Just run inside of the ring when your number is up, and then jump over the top rope.  Why?  Because Mz Wood is gonna serve it on Sunday.  She’s gonna bring her A game.  And even her B game is too much for you, Davey.  Step that mussy up when you get ready to come down to the ring for this.  You have been served…

Holly winks and there is a confidence in her steps that was not there when she was Alex.  She walks over to the wardrobe and throws it open to reveal a hundred beautiful outfits.  She begins looking through them to find that one lewwwk she is feeling as we fade out.

2
Alumni / Mickey Carroll
« on: August 21, 2019, 01:24:22 AM »
 <span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>>[~]-CONTACT INFORMATION-[~]</span>

Handlers Name: Staggs
Any Messengers: Discord, Twitter
Years Active: 18


<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-CONTRACT INFORMATION-[~]</span>


You will be booked at least 2-3 times a month. In order for this to happen, you will be booked in singles as well as tag team matches. Since tag team matches take place in an intergender division, please let Tad Ezra know if you wish to only wrestle your gender. We will still book you in tag team matches under Mixed tag team rules but keep in mind, tag team titles will be intergender so if you wish not to wrestle the opposite gender, you limit yourself to only singles gold when you do get a title shot. ***Be sure to fill out a <a href=\'http://www.scwrestling.net/boards/index.php?showtopic=12571\' target=\'_blank\'>Tag Team application[/url]***




<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>>[~]-WRESTLER INFORMATION-[~]</span>

Picture Base (Name Only, real picture bases no cartoons. Check <a href=\'http://www.scwrestling.net/boards/index.php?act=ST&f=49&t=12573\' target=\'_blank\'>Taken Pic Bases List[/url]): Josh Homme
Wrestlers Twitter: @MickeyC_SCU
Wrestlers Name: Mickey Carroll
Nickname(s): Sin City's Resident Shithead
Age: 29
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 190
Hometown: London, England
Personality: The biggest part of Mickey's gimmick is that he is full blooded Irish, but British born and raised. He is a high energy brawler, your typical idea of a football hooligan except he applies that passion to everything he does in his life. He can be crude and crass, but he loves to entertain.
Strengths: Fiery, passionate, risk taker
Weaknesses: Alcohol-prone, arrogant, emotional
Gimmick If Any: n/a
Alignment: Face

<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-ENTRANCE DESCRIPTION-[~]</span>

Entrance Theme Music (Check <a href=\'http://www.scwrestling.net/boards/index.php?act=ST&f=49&t=12574\' target=\'_blank\'>Taken Theme Song List[/url]): "Amazing Grace" by Dropkick Murphys
Entrance Description (Mandatory for bookings):

The opening of "Amazing Grace" by Dropkick Murphys plays as Mickey pushes through the curtains. He pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and drops it on the ground, quickly putting it out as he marches back and forth across the stage.

Liam: Coming to the ring, from London, England, standing at 5'11" and weighing in at 190lb, he is "Sin City's Resident Shithead"... Mickey Carrrrrrrrrrrrolllllllllllll!!! @@

He looks from side to side, nodding his head at the cheers before pointing out into the audience, starting an powerful "Oi! Oi! Oi!" chant that really gets the crowd pumped. He dashes straight down the ramp where he leaps up and onto the ring apron. He paces back and forth, stomping along to the beat of the music before climbing inside. He looks up at the ceiling and then signals the trinity, kissing his fingers and then pointing up as he waits for his opponent.


<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-WRESTLING MOVES-[~]</span>

Everyone gets one finisher and 3 signature moves as well as a move set package. Please pick one package for your wrestler. Any moves you really want your wrestler to have please add it to the the signature moves section.

Wrestling Move Packages *Remember you can only pick one*

-Grappler (Think of those known to grab you and suplex you with ease)


Signature Moves
1.) Superplex
2.) Moonsault
3.) Headbutt


Finishing Move
1.) Drunken Lullabies (A Slingshot Suplex (Vertical Suplex, dropping opponent on the top rope to help propel them backward to finish the maneuver)*
2.) Four Leaf Clover (Inverted Cloverleaf)


<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-MISC INFORMATION-[~]</span>

Weapon Of Choice: His trust bat, often decorated for the season/occasion, but in a brutal fashion
Match Of Choice: Bar Room Brawl

<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-BIOGRAPHY-[~]</span>
Superstar Bio:
Past Accomplishments:

3
Current SCU Male Roster / Jamie Staggs
« on: August 21, 2019, 01:04:55 AM »
 <span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>>[~]-CONTACT INFORMATION-[~]</span>

Handlers Name: Staggs
Any Messengers: Discord, Twitter
Years Active: 18


<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-CONTRACT INFORMATION-[~]</span>


You will be booked at least 2-3 times a month. In order for this to happen, you will be booked in singles as well as tag team matches. Since tag team matches take place in an intergender division, please let Tad Ezra know if you wish to only wrestle your gender. We will still book you in tag team matches under Mixed tag team rules but keep in mind, tag team titles will be intergender so if you wish not to wrestle the opposite gender, you limit yourself to only singles gold when you do get a title shot. ***Be sure to fill out a <a href=\'http://www.scwrestling.net/boards/index.php?showtopic=12571\' target=\'_blank\'>Tag Team application[/url]***



<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>>[~]-WRESTLER INFORMATION-[~]</span>

Picture Base (Name Only, real picture bases no cartoons. Check <a href=\'http://www.scwrestling.net/boards/index.php?act=ST&f=49&t=12573\' target=\'_blank\'>Taken Pic Bases List[/url]): Bam Margera
Wrestlers Twitter: @JamieStaggs6
Wrestlers Name: Jamie Staggs
Nickname(s): Dumbass University Vale-dick-torian
Age: 33
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 205lb
Hometown: St Louis, MO
Personality: Idiot
Strengths: charisma, daredevil, speed
Weaknesses: risk taker, lack of intelligence, showboating, lack of technical skill
Gimmick If Any: Comedic idiot who likes to pull pranks of people and grate on their nerves
Alignment: Tweener leaning face

<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-ENTRANCE DESCRIPTION-[~]</span>

Entrance Theme Music (Check <a href=\'http://www.scwrestling.net/boards/index.php?act=ST&f=49&t=12574\' target=\'_blank\'>Taken Theme Song List[/url]):
Entrance Description (Mandatory for bookings):

The lights begin flashing. “Party Hard” by Andrew W.K. begins playing over the speakers when the words “Dumbass University” appears across the screen. Just then, a very familiar face comes running from behind the curtains, stomping and running in place as he stands on the edge of the ramp.

Liam: On his way to the ring, from St. Louis, Missouri, standing at 6’4” and weighing in at 205lb, he is the “Vale-dick-torian of Dumbass University” Jamie Staggs… @@

The crowd cheers as he points his arms out to both sides. He then brings them around to point down toward the ring. He charges down the ramp, slapping hands along the way. He then jumps and rolls inside of the ring under the bottom rope. He holds his arms out like an airplane and he runs around the ring before stopping and spinning.

<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-WRESTLING MOVES-[~]</span>

Everyone gets one finisher and 3 signature moves as well as a move set package. Please pick one package for your wrestler. Any moves you really want your wrestler to have please add it to the the signature moves section.

Wrestling Move Packages *Remember you can only pick one*

-High Flyer ( You take high risks in hopes for a big pay out at the end)


Signature Moves
1.) Savate Kick
2.) Flying Plancha
3.) Baseball Slide


Finishing Move
1.) Dumbass Drop (Diving Headbutt to down opponent)
2.) The Graduation (Opponents head on the second rope (Or guardrail works too), a la 619, however Jamie leaps over the top rope (Or elevated surface if not done in the ring), crashing down with a Guillotine Leg Drop)



<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-MISC INFORMATION-[~]</span>

Weapon Of Choice: Flaming table
Match Of Choice: Hardcore

<span style=\'font-size:11pt;line-height:100%\'>[~]-BIOGRAPHY-[~]</span>
Superstar Bio:
Jamie Staggs has gone by three different names and gimmicks throughout his 10 year wrestling career. He debuted in a small indy fed as Krow, a man as dark and mysterious as his older brother, Spike. They often teamed, but just as often, they feuded. Jamie wasn't happy being Spike's sidekick for long, so he broke off on his own, taking on the name of Axl Rodman as they entered GCW. Axl was soon kicked out because of the company he kept around him at all times, as they caused far too many backstage fights.

Once he left GCW, there were a few years where he went back to indy feds. This was just before he went to GXW upon his brothers request. He enjoyed little success there, holding the Television Championship for a little stretch. He was a super heel here due to his cheating ways. He won by any means necessary, and he bragged on the fact. His hunger for gold didn't stop there as he made an instant leap toward Heavyweight gold in GXW. He came within inches before suffering a back injury that put him out of wrestling for years.

Jamie came to SCW and quickly captured tag team gold as the Raging Dicks with Rage.  Though they did not last long as a team, they remained allies for a while.  This is also when he assumed his current identity as a full on deranged idiot with zero limits.  He challenged for many titles, but only claimed the tag titles in his tenure in SCW.  However, while in SCW, he led a one man charge into then allied NeWA federation BACW, where he claimed their Empire State Championship briefly.

Past Accomplishments:
*UCW Heavy Metal Champion x2
*SEI Tag Team Champion (w/Spike Staggs)
*GXW Television Champion
*SCW World Tag Team Champion (w/Rage Raging Dicks)
*BACW Empire State Champion

4
Supercard Archives / CHRIS CRIPPLER vs SPIKE STAGGS
« on: January 12, 2018, 10:49:25 PM »
 This has been one wild ride. Just imagine being a true nobody who thought he already had his hay day years in the past.  Contemplate for just a minute that you were ready to give it all up to stay at home and raise the children, mow the lawn knock back a few beers while working on a car, and watching cooking shows for new recipes to try for the family.

Now, imagine that this life you had grown accustomed to was flipped upside down. Imagine showing up to an SCW show with no intentions other than to just support the mother of your child, see a few old friends wrestle, and expecting to go back home to Rachel Ray and stepping in Legos that are spread all over the floor.  Can you imagine the temptation set before you when the man who ended your career, and then proceeds to run salt on that 6 year old wound by giving you a Mr. Mom printed apron? Can you fathom stepping away, knowing that you are happy with life, and just brushing it off? Only to come back each show, just to prove that it doesn't bother you?

Can you imagine having your will tested to the point of nearly breaking, week in and week out? Watching this person punish your loved ones, until you just couldn't take it anymore? Can you then imagine that this would open up another chapter of your life? One that you wouldn't trade for the world?  One that would see you get dumped by your fiance in front of everyone you know and love? One that would see you go on to take not one, not two or three, but four World Heavyweight Championships, a few of them overlapping one another? One that would see old friends betraying you, new friends coming into your life, and helping to mentor the new age of the sport that your family has been apart of for 3 generations? Imagine the bruises, the blood loss, the sweat, the tears, the pain, and the joy.  

Imagine meeting your soulmate, in one of the most embarrassing ways imaginable. Imagine that all of the bad shit that transpired, making this chapter in life seem like a curse, and making it a very clear blessing. Imagine that she made you whole, and if that unnamed jackass hadn't felt the need to show his ass in order to get what he wanted, you would have been left unfulfilled by the glory of her love.

Now imagine seeing one of your children growing up to be just like you. One who doubts himself incessantly. One who grew up in your shadow, and even resented the fact that he would never be you. Imagine that he drove himself to the ultra thin line of sanity and insanity because he thought that he could never match up to you. Imagine that it's true, because he will never be you. Imagine that he will grow older, and he will grow wiser, and he will one day eclipse everything that you've ever done in either part of your career. Imagine that, despite what he thinks, he will be better than you. Can you picture it? Now just imagine that you couldn't be more proud of him. Imagine the pride that one would take in carrying a company on their back, just so that your child could be closer when he reaches for the stars. Imagine having the honor of sharing the ring with your child, and feeling the pride coursing through your veins in one of your last matches ever.

Imagine that this was your life.  I don't have to imagine, because this is what SCW gave me. It breathed a new life into thie empty vessel that was my career. It gave me a reason, and a purpose beyond the little bubble of my life. It brought me joys that outweighed the pain. It brought every dream, that I didn't even realize I had, to life. I owe so much to SCW. It helped to bring my career to new heights, and led to my participating in a dream match with another decorated former champion in Chris Crippler.

Only in Sin City Wrestling can dreams like this come true. I am truly humbled to be taking part in the last ever Sin City Wrestling event ever. I am humbled to stand across from the ring to face off against Chris Crippler.  Win, lose, or draw, two legends will put on a show that no one will soon forget.

I look forward to finally working with you, Chris. I've heard amazing things, and I've seen you put on a few classics yourself. I could bullshit you with a bunch of tough talk about how I'm undoubtedly going to beat you. I could go on about how I'm going to end your career. But the truth is quite the contrary. You will officially end my career. Win or lose, this is it. You will be my last opponent ever, and I respect you enough to shoot straight with you. I don't know what to expect from you, but I didn't get into this sport for the expected. Give me something I don't expect. Prove that you are on my level, and prove that you deserve my career's finale in your resume. If you are the fan that you say you are, then you know that I am plenty full of surprises.

At Full Circle, my career will end, just the same as SCW itself. I am unable to speak in front of a camera, because I am gutted over this closure. I'm proud of what I've helped to build, and seeing this end makes it difficult to give this monumental occasion a proper farewell, so I have released this press statement to say, well... a multitude of things. I am proud to end my career where my son Tim has launched his career. I am forever grateful to have met my wife Vixen here. I am happy to have made friends such as Jon Dough, Casey Williams, Steve Ramone, Jessie Salco, Ben Jordan, and Mickey Carroll, as well as reuniting with friends such as Tom Dudely, Mark Ward Junior, Christian Underwood, and Jordan Williams.

But most importantly, I want to thank SCW for allowing the multitude of blessings to enter my life. I am forever grateful for what I've received from my time. Every bit of hard work that I put into helping this company to reach the status that it now holds, has been paid back in full. Though we have not come full circle. I entered this company hesitantly, unsure of myself or my abilities. I stand before you a happy, confident, and established and respected member of this sport, all thanks to you. It has been a bumpy ride, but if I was given the choice, I would do each and every bit of it exactly the same, all over again... and again... and again. I would enter this match with Chris Crippler, exactly as I am now. I would bid you farewell in the only way that is truly fitting; with a performance that will be remembered for years and years to come.

5
Climax Control Archives / A True Legend
« on: December 15, 2017, 09:10:38 PM »
 Greetings, salutations, good evening, darlings!

I am sorry that I have not been able to sit down and give a proper promotional video. I have been so busy taking another company by storm, and reinventing myself. How does one move forward when she has accomplished so much already? Leave it to me to find a way.

Times change, and so do things. I have changed. I have gone from having to always be right, always being the prettiest, always being the most decorated, to being right, being the prettiest, and most decorated champion in SCW’s her-story. I'm sure my knock off clone would like to argue against my point, but I don't have time for talking in circles. I am far too busy in my careers and in my life for that.

Did Christian Underwood beg and plead with Mikah to participate in Climax Control’s 200th landmark episode? Did he send flowers to her door in an attempt to sweet talk her into competing? If she weren't the champion, she would not take part in this show, because the simple truth is that she is a poor imitation of me. Why invite the imitation when the real thing has humbled herself to be here?

I will answer that for you, you cretins. They wouldn't. She should thank her lucky stars that she robbed Mercedes of that belt just in time for this show. Or perhaps she shouldn't. Perhaps she should beat herself up for it, knowing that she is forced to compete on the same show, so that she will forever be compared to me.

Everyone watching at home will see the truth. The undeniable truth that Sin City Wrestling has tried ever do hard to hide from them. I am better. As a matter of fact, not only am I better than Mikah, but I am the best Bombshell ever to grace the six sided ring, touring all over the world. My wrestling skills are on point. I have fashion sense for days, henny. My presence is undeniable. And my record speaks for itself.

Everyone thought that Misty or Roxi Johnson were the be all, end all of the Bombshell Division. Many also slated Vixen as the top of her game. All three were pioneers of the division. They were truly the golden standard. And I beat them. Each one of them, and oh so many others. I am the one that built the division. I brought in talent from all over, just because they needed to be taught that there is no one better than Cordelia Darling.

I was a teacher, a ruler, a true goddess, gifted to Sin City Wrestling by sheer luck. I was only signed to be a segment piece to draw attention to Las Vegas. The fans wanted more. They demanded it. As much as they hated to admit it, they knew that I wasn't the run of the mill model turned wrestler. They knew I was a genuine treasure in this business, even when I didn't see it myself.

I would thank them for it, but I put in all of the hard work. I put in the hours in the gym. I collected a team that swept up every single piece of Bombshell gold in ONE NIGHT! I gave up my personal time to bring the best talent that this sport had to offer, just to knock them down, one by one, and never ONCE did I receive a thank you for it.

But, in the spirit of the season, I will grant one kindness, and I will simply say “You're welcome.”  you're welcome for all of the energy I invested into SCW over the last three years. You're welcome for risking my safety, and my beauty, just to entertain you. You're welcome for becoming the undeniably best Bombshell to ever step foot into SCW, and you're welcome for proving that brawn, brains, and beauty, all wrapped up in the perfect package, is truly possible.

I will thank Sin City Wrestling for giving me a platform to grow. If it were not for their willingness to give my edgy fashion show a chance, the world would not be as gorgeous and bright thanks to me. I owe a very minimal amount of thanks to SCW.

As for why I have not been able to appear lately, it is because I am a very important, very busy person. My time is worth much more money than I would get by appearing in SCW. I am doing a kindness to the fans and to the company that took a chance on me. I needed my chance to say goodbye.

What better way to say goodbye than to beat the only person in SCW that I have never faced, and therefore never beaten, in Odette Stevens? Also give me a chance to defeat another legend in Amanda Cortez, a woman I was fortunate enough to compete alongside in the Mean Girls. Throw in Zuri and Alexis as collateral damage, and it makes for the perfect send off to my SCW career.

This Sunday, it is with a heavy heart that I say goodbye. I built my career here. I built lasting friendships. I became a legend here, and I will never forget that. I am humbled to compete, especially with three women who don't even come close to my level of talent. I will be working on strengthening my back so that I am able to carry them all to the victory.

Sorry bout it.

6
Climax Control Archives / Back in the Saddle Again
« on: December 15, 2017, 03:35:58 AM »
 
<img src=https://78.media.tumblr.com/d48e63ba2710d80e42ad281e265bd180/tumblr_n9102mrgEz1r1dooqo1_400.gif>

Never, Never



Never did I think that I would step back inside of a Sin City Wrestling ring.
Never did I think that the place I helped to build would come to an end.
Never did I entertain the notion that three years of my career, dedicated to building an empire, would slow.
Never did it dawn on me that nothing lasts forever.

But all things are possible.
All things end.
By the laws of physics, all energy is converted, not lost.
Nothing lasts forever.

In my time away from Sin City Wrestling, I did not become a poet.  I kept my promise of training the tomorrow of wrestling, giving back to the sport.  Vixen and I both have worked hard to make Staggs Dungeon the premier training spot in Las Vegas.  Some names you have seen or heard from.  Other names, you will.  I didn’t give a second thought to SCW’s closure, even after my uncle parted ways with the company.  Unlike my unnecessarily vindictive uncle, I held no true ill will to SCW.  How could I?  Unlike my uncle, I was there in the beginning, getting my hands dirty.  I was pushing boundaries, and doing what my uncle requires an army to do.

That is why, when my phone rang that fateful December day, and my caller ID read “Christian Underwood”, a million thoughts rushed through my mind, but what I heard was not one of them.  Blast From the Past 2018 considerations, given my run with Lucy Seraphina, was at the top of that list.  I answered the phone with an almost snide tone to my voice as I stepped away from the ring, where I was training with a few upstarts.

Me:  Yeah?

Christian:  Yeah, Spike?  How are you doing?  It’s Christian.

I roll my eyes and nod my head as I walk to my office.  Vixen is sitting there with the twins, awaiting the time where we get to leave and have dinner together with Tim and Eden.  She looks at me, confused for a moment, before I continue.

Me:  What can I do for you, Christian?  It’s been a while.

Christian:  I wish I were calling under better circumstances, but I have a favor to ask of you.

I can’t hide my attitude any longer.  I give a soft chuckle that, if I were anyone else, Christian would likely give up, refusing to pander.

Me:  Look, it’s been nearly two years now, and my current job leaves me with little time to go on a six week tour like that.

Christian:  Six weeks?  No, I was wondering if you wanted to take part in Climax Control 200.  It’s a monumental show, and all things considered…

Me:  Why don’t you call me back right before C.C. 250.

Vixen gently shushes Bijou as she reaches up to grab at Vixen’s sunglasses and screams out suddenly.  Christian goes silent for a moment before finally breaking the quietness on the phone.

Christian:  I take it that you haven’t heard the news?

This time, it is I who stays quiet.  I rack my brain, trying to think of what he could be talking about.

Christian:  SCW will not be around for Climax Control 250.  Our last show will be in January, Full Circle. That’s it.

Me:  I… see…

Christian:  I had hoped to see you in the six sided ring, one final time.  Vixen as well.  It would be wonderful to see both of you back, even just for one show.  We have two separate Survival Tag Team Matches, one for the men and one for the Bombshells.  Just… give it some thought?

I hear him out, while every bone in my body screams no.  However, one muscle screams yes, and it is the muscle I’ve made a career out of following.  As he finishes up, I give it one final series of seconds to think it over before I give him an answer.

Me:  While I don’t want to officially answer for her, I’m sure she wouldn’t have it any other way.  As for me, go ahead and fax over the paperwork, and count on seeing me… one last time.  Again.  Goddamnit, Christian.  You know, this is the only way I’ll stay away forever…

Christian:  I will make sure those papers are faxed to your office by the morning.  Thanks again, and… take care of yourself?

Me:  Yeah…

With that, the phone clicks off, and the call ends.  I have the opportunity to get my fairytale ending to my career.  The one that I never got.  I set my phone down as the sounds of Jamie hazing my students rings through the air.  Vixen looks at me with concern.

Vixen:  Care to share the details, mon amour?

Me:  I’m just… sort of shocked right now.  I… I don’t even know how to process this.

Vixen stands up as Bijou nestles on the bench, next to Kit, the quiet one.  She grabs onto my hand, as the emotions swirl around in my head.  She uses her other hand to turn my head, looking deep into my eyes.  Her hypnotic eyes come to the rescue once again as I take a deep breath.

Me:  I… wish there were an easier way to break the news, but SCW will be closing their doors in January.  We need to figure…

Just then, the door to my office opens up, and my brother pokes his head inside.  He looks around and finds us standing there.  Aloof as always, Jamie gives that look that makes you just want to…

Jamie:  Yo, scro… We got a problemo out here-o.

Me:  Does it involve a prank gone awry?

Jamie’s eyes search around as he looks for another explanation.

Jamie:  Noooo….?  For your information, it involves two sacks of potatoes, copper wiring, an air duster, and Jaden Pierce.

Me:  So, in other words… yes?

I pull out of Vixen’s hold as I pinch the bridge of my nose.  I storm out through the door, leaving Vixen in the office, only to hear my desperation at what I’ve witnessed.

Me:  Oh… my… FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!


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The Grieving Process


”Within a week of receiving news of SCW’s closure, I had already spent a combined 72 hours in the gym, preparing myself for the physicality of each and every name that was announced, both on my side of the ring, and on the opposite side of things.  I passed off the duties of the gym to Jamie, and prayed to God that he didn’t screw it up.  I had little faith, but enough to continue training my ass off.

This long Wednesday night couldn’t have gotten any longer if it had tried.  Armed with only a protein shake, and two gallons of water, I was powering through a high endurance cardio and weight regimen that I used when preparing for World Heavyweight Championship defenses.  I have weights attached by bands around my shoulders. Biceps, forearms, wrists, knees, and ankles, as I carry a loaded barbell on my shoulders, taking slow steps on the treadmill.  Sweat pours out of every pore of my body as I fight through the physical pains.  I don’t know how I heard it over the whirring of the machine below my feet, but I catch the slightest sound of my phone going off.  That fucking phone…

I gasp as I lean in and switch the machine off with an elbow before walking the last few paces with the slowing machine.  Once it stops, I gently back up and drop the barbell to the ground with a loud thud.  I walk over to the bench with my gym bag, and I pick up my towel, wiping the sweat from my eyes so that I can see clearly.  I don’t recognize the number of the missed call, but they left a voicemail.  I begin listening to it, and everything after that is a blur.

”Good evening, Mr. Staggs.  This is Officer Denise Rogers of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.  If you could give me a call back at…. That would be great.  I cannot share much of the details here, but there has been an accident…. Accident… accident…”


The words echo through my head, and all of the worst thoughts are running amuck.  I don’t even remember getting in the car, or driving anywhere.  I don’t remember pulling up to the emergency room parking area.  All I remember is seeing the ambulance roll up at the doors, and turning to see my baby girl being rushed in on a stretcher.  I remember lunging for her, and feeling my entire body go on fire in a way that it hasn’t been in a long time.  I see my precious baby girl bleeding and unconscious, bruised and battered, and I lose it.  The officers accompanying the ambulance stop me, holding me back, but barely so as I drag them part way with me.

Officer Rogers:  Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stand back!

Me:  THAT’S MY BABY GIRL GODDAMNIT! THAT’S MY BABY GIRL!

Like a vicious animal, I sputter and spit as I bark out uncontrollably, and they ease their hold on me as I charge to the doors.  They hand her off to the staff, awaiting her as they begin working on her right then and there.  I hold onto her hand as I move along with them, whispering to her in my mind as tears stream down my face.

Me:  My precious angel… you’re going to be just fine.  Daddy is here now, and he won’t let anything happen to you.  I love you, baby.  I fkn’ love you, Eden…

The doctors turn the corner and as I prepare to go with them, one of the nurses stops me.

Nurse:  I’m afraid that this is as far as you can go, sir.  Your daughter needs our immediate care if there is any hope of survival.  Every second counts, do you understand me?

All I can do is nod my head, even as she disappears around the corner and readies herself for the operating room.  I stand there, just nodding my head.  Even as another nurse approaches me, and helps me to the waiting room. I can’t say a single word.  All I can do is keep nodding my fucking head.

After a few hours, sitting in the waiting room, Officer Rogers walks through the sliding glass doors.  She is in pedestrian clothing, and her hair is let down as she approaches me.  I give her a confused look as she sits down next to me, setting her purse down on the table in front of us.

Rogers:  How are you holding up?

Me:  Peachy keen…

Rogers:  Do you remember our conversation when you first got into the waiting room?

I nod my head, but the blank look gives me away completely.  She nods her head in response as she checks a text on her phone.  She silences it and places it back into her purse, giving me her full attention.

Rogers:  I didn’t think so.  You went into shock, but responded enough not to be seen yourself.

Me:  I’ll be fine…

Rogers:  You will, because she will.  I’m going to be frank with you, Mr. Staggs.  I’ve seen a lot of shit in my time, but that?  It was the worst.  As a mother, I couldn’t imagine getting into an accident and causing harm to my son.

Me:  How is Misty?

Rogers goes quiet for a second, looking deep into my eyes.  She waits to see if I’m some sick fuck before she takes a deep breath.

Rogers:  Misty didn’t make it out of the vehicle alive.  Her last words were “Save my baby”, as the man who made the initial call told us.

My entire body went numb.  I don’t feel worry, or anger, or sadness, or anxiety, or even sick to my stomach.  Wait about eighty-seven seconds, though, and an odd mix of each of these emotions smack into my like a freight train.  I sink back in the seat, and my eyes well up.  My vision goes blurry, and a pain shoots through my entire chest, radiating from my heart.  This sounds just like Misty, concerned about others before herself.  Misty and I were best friends.  We’ve had our differences.  We’ve seen the highest of highs, and the lowest of lows.  We’ve suffered great loss, and we’ve shared the glory of parenthood.  There is a place in my heart that will always hold her close.  While our hearts belong to others, and neither of us would have it any other way, there is a small piece of my heart that has hollowed out.”


I look up from the piece of paper in front of me, and I look out into the crowd of loved ones who have gathered to say goodbye to Misty.  I see her husband O’Malley, her son Owen, her sisters Desiree and Dixie.  Her father, her mother, her friends, her enemies, and I don’t feel sad.  I feel the love in the room, gathered together for her.  I smile as I look up at the stained glass ceiling, and I raise my hand to my heart, and then up toward the ray of light shining through.  I hear the sobs, and I see the smiles.  I know I did good.  I reach into my pocket, and I pull out a single black rose, placing it on top of the closed casket in secrecy.  I give her a nod before I step down from the altar, and make my way back to Eden, Tim, Vixen, and the twins.  As I take my seat, the pastor comes back up to the podium and continues the service.


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Back In the Saddle Again


Lights. Camera. Action.

Picture this.  The lights are off.  You see nothing.  You hear nothing but the footsteps echoing off of the walls.  Slowly, but surely, the cheering crowd can be heard growing as the footsteps get louder.  The lights begin to click on down the hallway, one at a time, until they meet me halfway.  My black tights with silver spikes printed across them are probably the first thing that you see.  My boots, my knee and elbow pads, or the wrist tape?  No, let’s be honest.  The first thing that you notice about my ensemble is my black, red, and white New X-Tremes t-shirt, still available in the SCW shop, by the way.

”NEW X-TREMES! NEW X-TREMES! NEW X-TREMES!”

Me:  Well… hello there…

I say in my slick and playful tone.  The crowd outside of the casino go wild as I acknowledge them.  I wink as I begin walking further down the hallway.

Me:  It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?  A lot has happened since Blast From the Past 2016.  Things have changed.  Faces have changed.  But some things just seem to stay the same.  See, I’ve been around a loooooooong time.  Since day one, as a matter of fact.  199 episodes later, and here I am, in these same hallways, with that same shit-eating grin, wearing the same tights.  Predictability is good, right?

I take my time as I walk down the hallway.  I’m in no hurry.

Me:  See, around the time that I signed my contract with Sin City Wrestling, there was a fella running around here, who thought that his shit didn’t stink.  He was the most arrogant, pompous, self-centered, diabolical, COCKY...

The crowd gives just the reaction I had hoped for.  I nod my head as my slick smile returns to my face.  I loosen up my arms and shoulders as I bounce up and down in place, getting myself pumped up.

Me:  â€¦ man by the name of Nick Jones.  He did a lotta this…

I flap my hands in front of my mouth, mimicking the notorious gum flapping of Nick Jones.

Me:  But didn’t do a whole helluva lot to back it up.  Now, let’s take his attitude, and freeze frame it.  Fast forward time a few years, crack off a few inches and several pounds, and who do we have left in his place?  Our longest reigning World Champion, J2H.  Same shit, new day.  The only difference is that J2H bored the fans with a never ending reign.  We get it, kid… you’re good.  Don’t rub it in.  It’s bad for business.  Hey, I’m not gonna say anything.

I click my jaw as I pick up the pace a bit, moving forward until I reach the curtains.

Me:  You know what?  Let’s go real old school here.  Give me a microphone.

The crowd cheers once more as I am handed a microphone.  I push through the curtains and move to the ramp.  The fans at the pre-show event scream for me as “Smack Down” by Thousand Foot Krutch plays over the speakers.  They wave their signs and shirts at me.  I stop where I can and sign a few as I work my way down the ramp.  I dash forward, jumping onto the apron as I hold onto the top rope.  I lean forward before hooking my leg on the middle rope.  I look around, soaking it in for old time’s sake.  I then step inside of the ring and find my sweet spot in the middle of the ring as I call for the music to be cut.

Me:  It was in this very ring that I defeated Nick Jones for the World Heavyweight Championship belt, five years, one month, and four days ago.  It was in this ring, that I defended that belt for five months, which to this day, is the second longest reign of that belt in history, because I was not greedy or entitled.  No, I get it.  The point of being a champion is to defend it, and keep it as long as you can.  When I was done, I was done.  What can I say?  I was off building a company instead of taking it under siege.  I was making sacrifices for the younger generation.  If memory serves correctly… one of those defining moments was bending one James Huntington-Hawkes… the third… over my knee and spanking him like a red-headed step child for all the world to see.  Do you remember that, sweet cheeks?

The crowd laughs as I begin pacing in the ring, getting myself pumped up.  I look down at the mat as I concentrate on what really matters.

Me:  I bet my handprint is still etched on your backside to this very day.  I did what your daddy failed to do, and I whooped your ass, both literally and figuratively.  Put you on your back for three, and waved at you as I walked to the back.  See, James, you are my biggest competition in this match, because the record books say that I’m second to you.  Kain, he is too infrequent to count on.  Nick Jones was past his prime the minute I put him on his back, just the same as I did for you.  Banton barely showed up, held our title for a minute, and then pissed off, in a way that surely made his daddy ashamed to share the same name.  Goth accomplished many things elsewhere, but not enough to be in the same class as us.  The crowd knows that it’s going to come down to you and me.

The crowd boos at this, and I hold up a hand, nodding my head as I try to hold off the hatred that they are raining down.

Me:  Hey, hey, hey now… Let’s look at the fact here, because we all know that Hunny is going to drop them to us.  He was the longest reigning World Heavyweight Champion.  He held that belt for well over a year.  He more than doubled my reign.  That’s impressive.  No one else has touched my record.  He held every belt in the company at one point or another, and did so twice.  That’s a lot of titles, right?  It’s a lot of losses, too.  That’s something that I didn’t taste nearly as much.  Jimmy thinks that he built this company.  He did some pretty spectacular things in this company.  I won’t take that away from him, all joking of ass whippings aside.  I even applaud him.  Join in with me.

I tuck the microphone under my arm as I begin clapping my hands.  I look around at the crowd, most of which don’t join in with me.  I am sincere in my clapping as I walk around the ring, trying to encourage the crowd to join me.  I get a mediocre reaction, causing me to nod and give up.  I take center stage once more before continuing.

Me:  Color me impressed.  Oh, how J2H has grown up.  I surely didn’t see that coming, but it is a testament to what Austin Parker can do for one’s career.  I owe a lot to him, myself.  With that said, let me clear up a few misconceptions.  No one in this company is responsible for the heights that SCW has soared over the last six years.  It was a combined effort.  But, if we are going to get down to the bare bones of the matter, though… there were a few names that helped SCW progress.  Let’s mention Drake Green here.  He held the belt, and drew competition into the company.  His charisma was infectious, and the crowd reacted.  Gabriel, our first ever World Heavyweight Champion.  He was magic in the ring, and magic in the ratings.  And let us not forget the man who worked double time to represent Sin City in the NeWA.  The man who brought the NeWA World Heavyweight Championship to SCW.  The man who brought SCW to Twitter.  The man who brought this to the world tier.  Who else could I be talking about, but myself?

I admit, I’m not being modest anymore.  I shrug my shoulders, because modesty has never been my strong suit.  I look around as the fans cheer for me.  They scream my name.  They wave their signs in support of me and my career and what I’ve done.

Me:  There is a reason that Spike Staggs was in the inaugural class of SCW’s Hall of Fame.  It wasn’t because he made false claims of being the best, or the man that sold SCW to the world.  It was because I did sell SCW to the world.  I carried this company on my back as I climbed to the top.  If anyone in history has built this house, it was me.  I set the foundation, and I posted up the walls.  You just moved in your furniture, and kicked your feet up in my house, Jamz.  But, there is no need to try to tell you this, because your big head stops you from seeing the undeniable truth.  Just as it did five years back, this is only going to fall on deaf ears.  I understand though.  It’s hard when you can’t buy success.  It’s not easy to see someone who worked as hard as I did, harder than you could ever dream of working, especially when you have never been left wanting for anything in your entire life.

I pause and look out to the crowd.

But, that’s enough about James.  There are four other people on his team.  Kain, a man that I’ve encountered a limited number of times, but have always come out on top.  I won’t sweat Kain, because he can’t come close to touching me, or my skills, no matter how much ring rust has built up.  There is Goth, a man who fell to the man I personally trained in Giani Di Luca.  Gene Banton Junior… I already said this.  There’s nothing to be said.  Nick Jones, I’ve already proved that I got his number, time and time again.

I shrug my shoulders as I walk over to the ropes.  I lean on them, resting my foot on the bottom rope as I look around.

Me:  You don’t only have to worry about me.  On my side, we’ve got Bo Dreamwolf, JDubs Jordan “P.S.” Williams, Tom Dudely, and Despayre.  We’ve got the dream team, the ones that have made the fans scream.  J2H and the “gang of dysfunction” have got a lot to worry about come Sunday.  See you there, boys…  Let’s put on a great show, just like most of us did back in 2011!

I raise my fist into the air as “Smack Down” by Thousand Foot Krutch begins playing once more.  I step out of the ring, and take a much longer round with the fans, snapping pictures, and signing their merchandise, and doing what I’ve always done best since day one.

Face...TO BLACK!

7
Supercard Archives / HOLLY/ALEX v ANDRE AQUARIUS
« on: September 01, 2017, 11:44:13 PM »
 
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Blonde Ambitions - The “F” Word
#NP “Swish Swish” by Katy Perry


Hi, hello, how you doin’?  It’s ya girl… No, baby, it ain’t Beyonce.  Holly! Holly Wood!  Yeahhhhh, you know it’s that girl with a little somethin’ extra.  If you follow my in-ring exploits, then you know that I did what I said I was gonna do last week when I defeated Ryan Keys, in what was a very close match.  Ryan played it like a true sport, and I loved every minute of it.

Last week brought up a lot for me.  It saw me return to the ring, doing something that’s always made me happy.  Trust when I say that I loved being a referee.  I especially loved the frisking, I mean “checking for foreign objects”.  James Tuscini was always smuggling something but front, but I was never able to pinpoint it.  Anyway, I liked my job, and I felt like I made a difference.  But, not enough of a difference.  I have a very serious point to make, an important cause to fight for.  Eradicating intolerance.  And that brings me to my first, and main, order of business…

The “F” Word… No, I ain’t talkin’ about “fuck”.  That was taboo like twenty years ago, and the only person who has a problem with it is the FCC and people born before 1960.  I’m talking about a word that shouldn’t even exist in culture today.  A word that is so filthy, and so vile, that it brings us back to times where bigotry reigned supreme.  Days where people of color were treated like lesser human beings, just because of something as silly as pigments in the skin.  Humans have gone to the moon.  They invented smart phones.  They discovered DNA.  They beat polio… but they haven’t beaten the one thing that kills more people than anything else known to man… Intolerance.  Honey, I ain’t talkin’ about lactose either.  I’m talking about unjustified hatred.  The kind that is motivated by greed, or narcissism.  Maybe people were raised to be that way and haven’t grown up enough to learn to think for themselves?  Either way, it is an epidemic.

I learned a lot last week.  I was wearing these rose colored glasses, you know?  Oh, I was also naive.  See what I did there?  Yeah, this girl can be witty sometimes too.  But seriously, I thought I left all that racism and bigotry back in Franklin County, Missouri when I hitched a few rides to get to Hollywood.  I haven’t heard anyone so fucking ignorant in my life, until I tuned in to watch a newcomer’s first promo video for his match against Killian Sweete.  Aside from choppy editing and resolution, where you couldn’t understand half of what was going on, it was mighty offensive.  I was honestly shocked when Dante Aquarius wasn’t disqualified automatically for blatantly breaking Sin City Wrestling policy.  I thought I was gonna go into Violent Conduct to give him his second loss in SCW, but then the match happened, and he won.  I guess I should say “Kudos, Dante.”  You surprised me.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it doesn’t surprise me at all.  Of course, I take nothing away from Killian Sweete.  In all honesty, he is the number one fresh face on my radar in SCW, even if he’s been around for a minute.  He’s finally getting the exposure that he should get, and he’s facing a hunk and a horse hung champion.

Where my surprise fades away is that, people who resort to cheap pops for dropping the words “nigga/er” or the “f” word (Hint:  I am talking about the word “Faggot”) tend to find a way of escaping rules.  Hey, if it worked for Chris Shipman, then it could work for you too.  Except, Chris Shipman was reprimanded for what he said.  But, there’s a difference here, right?  He was white, so he can’t say it.  Fool!  What kinda logic is that?  You don’t see ya girl Holly Wood walking up into the Cocktail Lounge on the Las Vegas Strip, saying “Yo, what up my faggot?”  or “How’s it hanging, you fruity little cocksucker, you?  It’s been forever!”  Freedom of speech extends to the morons, I guess.

I have had this conversation before.  I’ve heard that it is a way of taking a phrase back and removing the insulting connotation from it by owning it.  I understand that to a degree, but henny, it’s not 1990 anymore.  Aside from a few backwood swamp cousin fuckers, people don’t think like that any longer.  I, myself, grew up in “the hood” until my racist parents moved us out into the woods where it was “whiter”.  And, believe it or not, by looking at me… At one point, I had a little black in me, but just the tip.

I digress.  I’m being a bitch.  I’m sorry, but give me a minute, because this idiot has just got me on a roll.  The truth is, when I moved out to West Hollywood, I shed any notions of racism that might have lingered in my mind, because I am an adult, and I am a free thinker.  How many boys do you know that put on a dress six nights a week to put on a show, and to raise awareness for a community?  Judging by your promo, I’d say you don’t know anyone who has the balls to admit that they like balls… in or around their mouth.  Or just exposed in their general vicinity.  You strike me as a man who hangs out with “curious thugs” who are afraid to admit that they think a dude is sexy, so they gay bash, and then bend over and take it like a curious ass virgin behind a dumpster out back of a Burger King.  And, hey… for all I know, you might just fit that bill.

So, if that is the case, and I strongly suspect that it is, please take a tip from me.  Also, here’s a piece of advice. (I did it again.  I crack me up…)  Come out of that closet.  Put down ya momma’s coat, and ya daddy’s shoes.  Pretend you didn’t find no Christmas presents with how deep you are hiding.  Just open that door, step outside of it, and shut it.  It’s so much easier to breathe out here.  You got a community that will love you, and support you, even while you go through the angry asshole phase.  That don’t go away right off the bat.  You’re gonna be an asshole.  You’re gonna call yourself a butch masc king, all while you search “Big dick daddies” on Google Images, and imagine them going balls deep.  Go ahead.  There’s plenty of us bottom boys out there who will help you out on your journey.  Grindr helps, because more people on there are riding at your speed.  Either way, we will still hug you when you step onto “that” end of the Las Vegas Strip.  We’ll buy you a drink, and nod our heads when you tell us how masculine you are as you suck your teeth to hold back the lie.  And when you are ready to admit just how down you really are, we’ll point out the guys who are packing, and which ones will be gentle with that virgin hole.

Now… if I’m wrong, then let me break this down for you.  Do NOT ever use the “f” word.  It’s a sign of pure ignorance.  Xander Bishop was one ignorant ass fool, but even he had the sense not to drop “n”s and “f”s.  It really says something when you are even more of a dumbass than Xander Bishop.  You are like a copy of Xander Bishop.  One that you can buy for $10 with the knock off Gucci, Fendi, and Prada bags from a sketchy salesman in a baja hoodie.  You are that weak of an imitation, and if you were hoping to make an impact, I gotta point out that it didn’t work out for him, and he could run laps around you.  If you’re looking for ways to get under our skin, why don’t you try something that at least makes us think, instead of immediately dismissing you.  I’m going to just break this down and be purely honest with you here.  If you have any kind of point of cause that you’re fighting for, even if that cause is yourself… find a new tactic.  People are only hearing two words, and not giving a shit about anything else you have to say.  We don’t even know a thing about you.  Where are you from?  What do you stand for?  What matters to you?  What are your goals?  Do you even like yourself?  Clearly you don’t respect anyone else.  But, that’s your problem, and not ours.

With that said, I’m sure you’re sitting there, thinking “Holly.  Why the fuck do I care what some bitch ass crossdressing faggot has to say?”  Here’s the breakdown, and I’m going to try to put it in the simplest of terms, just so that you can understand.  If I hear you making fun of my community, I’m going to kick your ass.  Oh, baby, that ain’t some kinda idol threat.  You will find that out on Sunday.  You see, at Violent Conduct, you’re gonna get your ass kicked.  There’s no two ways about it.  I’m coming for you, and I’m gonna put you down for the 1, 2, 3.  Then, I’m gonna stand above you, and I’m going to ask you the burning question.  Not only do I want to know how it feels to get your ass kicked by a girl, but how it’s going to feel to have your ass kicked by a “faggot”?  As you are likely to put it.  The truth is, you are going to get beat by both.  In two weeks, I have a very special surprise for you.  You should feel honored.  After earning my full ire, I’m still nice enough to give you a gift.  You can thank me later.

In the meantime, here’s a little warm up gift.  This is the gift of knowledge.  The definition of “Faggot”.

A bundle of sticks bound together as fuel.

2) A bundle of iron rods bound together for reheating, welding, and hammering into bars.
Example sentences
‘The faggots of blistered steel are made by binding in a bundle, around a bar of double that length, four pieces of eighteen inches long, which are secured in their positions by a small band of wrought iron, which is subsequently removed.’
‘These faggots are placed in the forge hearth until they have attained a strong welding heat.’
3)  (usually faggots) British A ball or roll of seasoned chopped liver, baked or fried.
Example sentences
‘Their innate modesty is expressed in their alternative names - rissoles, patties, faggots - and a complete absence of trend-setting ingredients such as mizuna, enoki, frog's legs and mascarpone.’
‘It usually disappears - in England, as in France - with the rest of the pluck (heart, liver, lungs) into faggots, sausages and pâtés.’
‘His faggots were legendary. ‘We opened in 1994; eight months later, we had a Michelin star, one of the fastest ever to be won.’’
‘Made from quality pork liver and pork, Mr Brain's faggots are prepared in a delicious West Country sauce and are available in major supermarkets nationwide in packs of two, four and six.’
‘A year later, steamed faggots arrived, ushering in the golden age of faggots, chips and peas in a tray.’
‘We know people love to see local products, and in Bristol we sell faggots and in Lancashire we sell local cheese.’
‘Spare a thought, by the way, for the home cooks of America, making their way through British cookbooks filled with bangers, faggots and bashed neeps.’
‘The move came after complaints were aired about a Somerfield advert which mentioned faggots, a meat dish normally served with peas.’
‘Cornish pasties and Lancashire faggots are among the culinary terms defined between the covers of the top dictionary.’
‘With the fat left on, it can be used as a filling for andouilles, or it can be scraped to make a convenient flat sheet of casing which can be made into parcels around a faggot or other items.’
4) British dated, informal An unpleasant or contemptible woman.

There it is.  Holly Wood, educating ignorant assholes, one at a time.  I expect a full report on my desk by Violent Conduct.  Either way though, the real lesson will be taught on September 3rd.

Can I get an “amen”?



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All That Glitters 2
#NP “Oh Lord” by In This Moment




”It’s been a rough six years for me.  I can’t say that I don’t deserve it.  I’ve been a pretty shitty person…”

We come in to see Damien X sitting behind bars of the state prison, perched on the edge of his bed as he watches the guards shuffle by.  He has the Bible tucked between his heavily tattooed hands, trying to find forgiveness for his sins.  They haunt him to this very day as he reflects back to his time in Club X.

He remembers the passionate times with Ambrosia as their hot and sweaty bodies roll around in the sheets.  A small zipper bag is handed to her by a teasing Damien, pulling it away as it is clear that her passion is for the drugs, and not for him.  Her legs are open in the air as she takes the bag, and Damien thrusts into her. His lips pang passionately against hers as she caresses the bag in her hands tightly, putting on the act of pure lust for Damien.  Caramel sneaks out from under the two, wanton all over her face as she kneels over Ambrosia, letting her lips dance across Damien’s as she lowers herself over Ambrosia, quieting her.

He remembers coercing Whisper to help him hide the body of that officer, a crime he has never been forced to pay for officially by law.  He remembers making her get her hands dirty, and this could possibly be his biggest regret, watching her help Rufus dispose of the body.  He doesn’t want to remember it any longer as he tucks his face in his hands, weeping for what he did to Whisper.  He doesn’t even know the half of it, either.

He remembers the deeds he first did when he arrived in prison.  The way he shanked an inmate in the cafeteria just to let it be known that he ain’t no bitch.  Or the time he found a man in for tax fraud, and made him his bitch in exchange for protection.  He headed up the Aryan Brotherhood within months, though he never actually bought into their rhetoric.  He made enemies within the group when he changed his ways.  He reached a point of wishing for death.  He found comfort in the thought of taking his last breath, so he turned on the Brotherhood, and cut his mark right off of his skin.  They wanted him dead, but they wanted to play with him first.  They beat him up, and they forced themselves upon him countless times.  But, never once had they broken him.

However, today was a brighter day…

”Today is the day that I get to get out of here.  I get to start over, and make a new life for myself.  I want to do right by everyone that I’ve hurt.  I want to carry it as a burden so that I can make sure that this never happens again.  Maybe I’ll settle down with a wife, have a few kids.  Make a life for myself, to set an example for people who don’t believe that they can change. It has become my new mission in life.  But, it’s been so long.”

The doors open up and a very butch female guard steps forward, handing Damien his belongings.  He gently takes them and sets his Bible on top.  He walks along the row of inmates, getting congratulated by some, while members of the Brotherhood laugh and taunt him, even going as far as to throw literal shit at him, narrowly missing him.  He raises his head, refusing to let them see the damage.  He is eventually brought forth through the prison gates, and led to a car.  The classic white car shines under the sun as a red headed man steps out, his sunglasses perched on his face as he watches Damien carefully.

Diamond:  Damien Xanthos?

Damien:  Yeah…?

Diamond:  Welcome to your new life.  It starts today.

Diamond looks Damien up and down, assessing the situation.  However, there is a little more assessing of his physique than most would expect, but Damien is more focused on being on the outside.  Diamond opens up the passenger side door for Damien, and shuts it behind him as they take off and drive through the city.  It had been so long since Damien had seen this side of things.

”Everything is changed in such a short amount of time.  I remember I hit my first deal right over there in that building.  It was a 7-Eleven back then, but now it’s a church with a drive thru window.  And this skate park used to be a swimming pool, where I picked up my first “employees”.  As a matter of fact, I picked up Whisper here.  Ah, Whisper… I wonder how she’s doing right…”

Damien’s eyes move over to a photograph on the dashboard of the car.  It’s a picture of the officer, three children, and none other than Whisper.

”Oh shit…”

Diamond:  Lovely, isn’t she?  And the children are my ultimate pride and joy.  A lot’s changed over the last six and a half years, Xanthos.  A lot.  And I have to say that I was very instrumental in tearing apart your empire.

Damien:  Surprisingly, I want to thank you for that.

Diamond:  You shut your fucking mouth, and you listen to me, son…

Diamond reaches around Damien’s neck, and slams the back of his head against the dashboard, bloodying up his nose.

Diamond:  You are on borrowed time.  Intel says that there are at least 6 people or groups that want to see you dead.  My job is to hold them at bay until you are off our watch.  Not a second longer than that.  Unfortunately, that’s a job that I have to do, whether I want to or not.  I’ve set you up with the shittiest halfway house in town, that will make you wish that you were still in prison betting buttfucked by Nazi Nick or Aryan Alec.  Now reach under that seat and find something to wipe up the blood.  You don’t want these guys to see you looking weak.

Damien does as he is told, though the anger boils up inside of him.  He grits his teeth as he holds the tissue to his nose to stop the bleeding.  Diamond stops in front of a broken down house on the worst block in town.  Damien watches as a window shutter literally falls off of the side of the house.  Diamond flashes a smirk as he unlocks the doors.  They get out as Diamond leads him into the house, finding the man in charge.

”This was the worst part of the transition.  It won’t be easy, and it won’t be here, but I will definitely get back to good, and on the right path…”

Damien zones out as he is led through the shotty craftsmanship of the house.  He tucks his head, and ignores the man as he speaks about the house rules.  He settles down in his bed as “Dancing In the Dark” by Bruce Springsteen begins playing.  He holds his belongings tightly in his arms as he curls up, despite the large guy walking in with his pants practically hanging down to his knees.  He talks to Damien, challenging him, but Damien just tunes it out.  He tunes everything out as the man shoves him over.

”This… this right here, is all just temporary.  The surroundings.  The guilt.  The regret.  I’m going to make it right.  I’m going to make everything right with the people I’ve hurt, and if it’s too late for them, then with God.

Damien ignores the man as he slides behind him in bed, spitting in his face as he pulls the back of Damien’s pant’s down.  He just closes his eyes, and finds his place of zen, burying his face in his favorite fleece jacket, tuning out the world as best as he can, ignoring the pain, which he has become so used to ignoring over the past several years.  He doesn’t even cry this time as he just listens to the song playing in his head.  And when it is all over, he receives a taunting kiss on his cheek, followed by a slap right across his ass.

Thug:  Welcome to Dickwood Heights, motherfucker.  Next time I talk to ya, and ya don’t answer me, ya better have a good reason for not talkin’ like ya mouth is full or somethin’ or else it will be.

Damien winks and blows a kiss right at the thug as he turns over on his stomach, putting it back in the air as a form of insult to the thug.  The thug shakes his head and mutters under his breath as he leaves the room.  Damien looks around the room to notice that he’s got a roommate sitting on the bed across the room.

Morgan:  You can’t let him get away with that shit, or else he’s going to keep on with it.  Knock out one of his gold teeth, and he’ll run away crying like a little bitch.

Damien:  Whose to say I didn’t want it?  I did just get out of state penitentiary.

Morgan:  Bruh, that’s fucked up.  You coulda just asked me nicely and I could have done it a lot more sweetly.

Damien:  Either way, I’m delighted with the unwanted conversation afterward.  That’s sweet enough… whatever your name is.

Morgan gets off of the bed, and pulls his underwear down, alarming Damien for a moment.  Damien pulls his pants back up as he rolls over on his side as he watches Morgan’s naked form moving in closer to him.  Every beautiful inch of his form.  However, given what’s just happened to him, he holds his hands out to block any sort of attack.  Morgan rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he picks a pair of underwear out from the opened top drawer of the dresser.

Morgan:  Morgan… And relax… sloppy seconds ain’t my style, bruh.  I’m just getting ready for work.

Damien:  Those are some interesting underwear to wear to work.  What do you do?

Morgan takes no time in pulling his underwear up over everything, positioning it all just right before he goes searching for the right pair of jeans.  Damien sits on the edge of the bed, almost nonchalantly as he still waits for an answer that just won’t come.  So he asks it again.

Damien:  Look, I’m obviously out of work right now, and you look like you’re taken care of enough with your job.  Plus, jeans to work?  You must have a good lead or two.

Morgan:  Why don’t you apply at Club X?

Damien stands up, anger written on his face as he tries to stop himself from attacking Morgan right then and there.  This alarms Morgan somewhat, but given the circumstances, he doesn’t prepare to fight back.  However, Damien approaches him slowly, narrowing his eyes at Morgan.

Damien:  What the actual fuck did you just say to me, pretty boy?

Morgan:  That… I work at Club X?  Do you have something against my place of employment?  Sorry, I just work there.

Damien:  What exactly do you do there?

Morgan:  I’m a dancer.  Obviously.  Look, if you’re interested in a job, then I’m sure I can put in a good word.  Looks like you already know Detective Diamond, so you should be able to get on there pretty easily.  If you don’t think all the extra activities going on there will tempt you into trouble.  I don’t wanna be responsible for causing you to stray.  You can do that all on your own.

Damien:  Oh, no… I think I have plenty of experience with resisting temptations.  Introduce me to the boss…

Damien is all smiles as he waits for Morgan to get ready, all while waiting to see the person who usurped his throne.  What he does with this information is still to be determined, but you can’t blame him for being eager to find out.  Once Morgan is ready, he leads Damien out of the door to their bedroom.  The pair prepares to sign out to leave for Club X.


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Self Doubt
#NP “Ride” by Lana Del Rey




I can’t lie and say that preparing for the battle of my life has been easy.  Confidence has come and gone, and I have felt the highs and the lows.  I hit a moment where I wasn’t feeling the power that I usually feel when I channel Holly.  Was that because I was planning to only half dress as Holly for this show?  Either way, I’m feeling a little bit shaken, and a whole lot of drunk.

Fast forward to some bar in the middle of nowhere, far from everything I call near and dear to my heart.  I don’t even have Amand with me right now, because the low I’m feeling is a low that I haven’t felt in a while.  I take a shot of tequila, sitting in the back of the bar, in my cute cut off jean shorts, and a male crop top.  I’m sloppy enough where my that I wear to further establish myself in public, is starting to slowly peel off.  I raise my glass in the air, when a hand reaches over and pulls it from my own hand.  She slams it down on the table and quickly sets her Prada handbag down on the table.  She pulls a chair over to the table, and sits down backwards, facing me.  I sigh and rub my temples.

Me:  Why…?  What’re you do-wing here?

Delia:  You’re a fucking mess, darling… It’s pas’etic.

The Original French Bombshell glares over at me, and I roll my eyes.  She reaches across the table and gently taps the side of my face… or maybe she slapped me.  I was too stupid drunk to remember.  Either way, I stare up at her, and I can feel her eyes burning into me.

Me:  Well, it’s par for the course, henny.  I couldn’t cut it from your shadow, and I can’t take the spotlight.  And I prrrrobably can’t go back to being a referee, so…

Delia:  Stop it right now, Alex…

Me:  Heh… ya’ven’t called me Alex in a *hiccup* long time.  That’s funny.

Delia grabs onto my hand and squeezes onto it.  She holds on, and doesn’t let me look away, even though I can’t really help looking to the side.  She uses her free hand and turns my head back to face her.  I just giggle as I raise my shot glass once more.

Delia:  You are so strong.  I tried to tell you z’at before, but you simply would not listen.  You can handle z’is…

Me:  Oh, yeah.  Because I’m making this match out to be an even bigger deal than I should, right?

Delia:  Wrong!  You are clearly not making z’is match to be as big of a deal as it is.  Z’is match is make or break for your career.  But, more importantly, z’is match is z’e epitome of what you are fighting for, darling.  We have our problems.  We always have.  You have not forgiven me, and I probably have not forgotten, myself.  But we butted heads because you are so strong.  You are so beautiful.  You are many s’ings which I am not, as well.  We trained toges’er, and I learned many s’ings from you.

I laugh as the barkeep brings the bottle of golden liquid courage to my end of the bar.  He pours it, while Delia whispers “Last one” to him.  He nods his head as I look over at him and I think I roll my eyes, but I probably just fluttered them.

Me:  You were top bitch for a long time.  I barely scratched the surface before I gave up.  There’s a reason I gave up, sweet cheeks, and I should have known to stay back.  That’s on me.  I ain’t sorry ‘bout it.  I ain’t swimming in a sea of self pity.  I’m just admitting that this isn’t for me.  My head got hot, and now I’m paying the price.

Delia:  You are giving up so quickly.  I have to say z’at I am surprised.  You never give up.

Me:  Did you miss the memo when I quit wrestling the last time?  It’s like… my thing.

Delia:  I will slap z’e piss out of you, child.  You didn’t give up.  You were waiting for your purpose.  My purpose was to make history wi’s a collection of z’e best women in wrestling, and to lead by example.  My purpose was grand, but your purpose?  Your purpose is so much greater.  Your purpose has a meaning, and it is one z’at we bo’s hold near and dear to our hearts.  All of my friends are part of z’is community.  When you have someone going around saying “faggot” z’is and “faggot” z’at, z’en we have a cultural problem z’at needs to be addressed, and you can hold onto z’at, channel z’at, and own z’at.

I nod my head, smiling as I try to act like I was following all of that.  I heard half, but it was half that made me think.  I stay quiet, and Delia watches me, I guess noticing that it’s starting to sink in.  I go to take the shot, but instead, I just let it sit there in my hand as I look at it.

Me:  You know what?  You’re right.  It was so simple, even you thought of it, Deelz.  No T no shade, baby.

Delia:  Yeah, and you didn’t.

Me:  I just don’t understand how someone can perpetuate so much ignorance.  Andre Aquarius is ignorant, and bigoted, all while calling everyone else out for being that way.  Hell, I fully expect to be called whitey and faggot, while disregarding rules in SCW.  I guess since I’m no longer a referee to enforce the rules, the rules don’t mean shit.  But it’s cool.  At least I know what to expect.  Come Sunday, the Age of Aquarius will be over, and the Age of Holly Wood can finally begin.  My confidence is back, and in full force, baby.  Violent Conduct is mine, girl.  I don’t need this drink any more.  Win or lose, that fucking ignorant asshat is going to be learning a lesson, pulled straight from my playbook.

Delia claps her hands as I slide the drink to the edge of the table.  I set a tip down on the table as me and Delia get up from the table for her to bring me back to civilization where I need to be, once I sleep this off, at least.  Either way, once I set foot in that ring, this shit is on, and there won’t be any changing that.

8
Climax Control Archives / You'll Wanna See This...
« on: August 18, 2017, 09:11:50 PM »
 
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Blonde Ambitions - The Only Blog You Need To Read
#NP “Boogie Feet” by Ke$ha


Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages.  Sin City Wrestling introduces to you, the most talked about event of the last edition of Climax Control, #187.  How appropriate was it for me to decide to return to the ring on this very night?  Because this girl’s gonna kill it… #Slayed .  But, let’s be real for just a second.  It was talked about, but it was more of a whisper, like “Oooooh, did you see what Holly just done did?  She got her’s’es tonight.”  I didn’t strap on these Louboutin’s, beat my mug for the gawwwwds, and serve you fish on a silver platter, henny, just to get whispers.  No ma’am, no ham, no pam, no cauliflower, no cornbread, no green beans…  That was NOT in my mission statement at any place, in any time.  The meek shall inherit  the world, but your girl, Holly?  She wants the whole damn universe.

But what now?  Baby…

I could go on here for a little minute about how I’m one of the most fierce competitors on the roster.  I could name drop the first ever World Bombshell Champion, and talk about how I trained extensively with Little Miss Diva Darling.  I could go on about how I’ve been a referee during some of the most raw battles ever seen in Sin City Wrestling.  Watching World Champions battling it out, and tapping that one, two, three, all while takin’ notes.  I could talk all this mess about what makes me better than the next guy, but the truth is… I ain’t proved it yet.  The long time fans know that I wrestled a few matches, and I even won some of them.  But that’s the past.  There ain’t a damn person left in the men’s division that was around from back then.  What good would it do to brag on that.

Lemme go off on a little tangent for a hot minute.  We got some top grade talent here right now.  We got Kris Halich, who is on his way to becoming one of the most memorable people on the roster to date!  We got Ryan Keys.  You seen that ass?  I have, many times, and it had some leather championship belt hanging right above it.  It took me a minute, but I noticed!  We got Griffin Hawkins, who may or may not remember me from back in “the day”... (Mean Girls days :sad: )  We got the Sweete Twins, and that name ain’t just for show.  It was handed down from their father, and it is God given… Yaaasssss gawwwwwd!  There is the Monstimals, who are fierce, but not in the same way as me.  Then, we can’t forget to mention James Tuscini, and baby, mama got a few things to say about that, but that comes at a later time.  Matt Spears is the underdog of the whole show, and… Wait!  Steve Ramone is still around?  Somebody needs to Suicide Dive his ass right into retirement.  #ByeGurlBye

It all comes full circle now, because I have a respect for the entire Men’s Division.  A… lot… Most of it is tucked somewhere, but besides that, I do appreciate what the men do.  So, let’s hear it for the boys!  Let’s give the boys a hand!  They turn it out, every week, and go extra hard at super cards.  Except Steve Ramone.  He’s trash.  Nobody likes him.  Nobody.  Not even The (former) Nobodies.  I don’t even think Steve Ramone likes himself.  Anyway, back to relevant matters… I respect most of the Men’s Division for what they do.  Now, as weird as it is to say, I am a part of that division.  Just a country girl, moved to WeHo to become herself, fighting the big boys.  Well, in case you didn’t notice, Holly ain’t the smallest of the bunch.  She is the only “man” on the roster who can turn it out in Jimmy Choo’s and Alexander McQueen’s.  Except for Kris.  I seen them legs, boy.  You been practicing your runway.

My point is that, now I’m part of it all.  I am probably the most unique girl in the Men’s Division, and the only girl in the Men’s Division, but I’m part of it, no less.  I gotta do what every other main stay on the roster is doing, and I gotta make my mark.  I can’t rely on name dropping, and watching the action from a distance.  I trained for this moment, and I’m damn sure gonna take advantage of it.  I’m gonna earn every last bit of recognition that I want.  I might be fabulous.  I might have seniority in this company above basically anybody on the male roster.  But, as of right now, in this very moment?  I don’t deserve shit.  I haven’t stepped foot inside of that ring since 2013.  That’s almost four years, henny.  I got no claim to anything, and I know that.

Moving forward, ya girl Holly wants to… no has to give every single one of you, whether it be fans, talent, or staff… a reason to shout instead of whisper.  That’s a tall order, but honey baby child… that’s why gawd made six inch heels.  I’m gonna tower over most of the men, and I’m gonna stand tall, stand proud, and stand for something that is far beyond myself.  I’m steady on those heels, even with an entire community resting on my shoulders.  By the time you see the fire that’s in these doe like eyes, it’s gonna be too late, and you all will be like “Damn, why didn’t I listen to Holly back in August when she said I was gonna be like ‘Damn, why didn’t I listen…’”

We are at a starting point, children.  This week, win or lose, I’m gonna make the world proud.  The whispers will turn to chit chat.  I’m gonna go out there and give Ryan Keys the fight of both of our careers, because mine sure as hell depends on it.  Can I get an “Amen?”





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Boys Will Be Boys
#NP “The Boys” by Nicki Minaj
Locale- Flex Cocktail Lounge; Las Vegas, Nevada
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Hey y’all, Alex Jeffries here.  AKA Mz. Holly Wood.  Lemme make one thing clear for ya real fast.  If I ain’t getting paid, I ain’t doing drag.  That’s a discussion for another time.  I didn’t come here to be all serious and stuff.  I came here to cut loose after a whole lot of training.  Goose get’s ya loose, but so does Brandt the bartender.  I already feel like I got beat into the mat enough for one day, so this is all about relaxing.  I walk into the doors, and I see a Monster High doll moving around on stage.  Oh, I’m sorry… a cheap whore with sunken in eyes, and meth head thin.  She looks like death.  She also happens to be my best friend, Asphyxia Astoria.  Disney’s version of death, warmed over.  I take a seat at the bar, and as Brandt walks up to me, ready to put his hands where they don’t belong, I put a hand in his face, and then knock on the bar.  He brings me a Long Island Iced Tea, with an extra shot of vodka on the side.  I drop the shot, and then sip on the mixed drink as I set my eyes on the stage.  Asphyxia steps to the edge of the stage, and she narrows her glowing eyes in my direction, and she points out at me with a smile on her face.  I put my hand over my face and the bitch decides that she has to make a scene.

Asphyxia:  Look what the black cat dragged in… it’s Mizz Holly Wood!

The crowd cheers as they look around for my stage persona.  Likely because they can’t wait for the show to actually get good.  I take another sip of my drink and continue to shade my face from visibility.  Brandt chuckles and taps Jason on the shoulder to let him know that he’s about to take a break.

Brandt:  I could hide you in back, like in the men’s room.

Me:  Ooooh, classy.  Did I tell you that I’m celebate?  We could read Book of Corinthians together, if ya want.

Brandt:  Oh, baby.  I could absolve you of all your sins in the confessional booth, but I’ll give you one more to brag about on Saturday.

I roll my eyes, because suddenly, public embarrassment doesn’t seem so bad.  I turn around and flash my million dollar smile that lets everyone know that it’s me.  I wave to my adoring fans and then cup my free hand around my mouth as I shout out to Asphyxia.

Me:  Why don’t you do your Rob Zombie “Living Dead Girl” number again, because that ain’t got tired yet!

The crowd busts out laughing as Asphyxia waves me off.  However, right on cue, “Living Dead Girl” starts playing over the speakers as she works the stage.  I blink a few times, because I’d hoped I missed this part of the show by coming to the closing number.  At least it’s only three minutes and twenty seconds longer.  Now, cue the horny drag racers flocking up to me to try to get some.  Now I gotta play nice, even though getting hit on by fifteen men at once was not on the agenda for tonight.

“You’re sexy as a guy.”

“Is that beard real?  How do you hide it during shows?”

“What’s your waist size?”

“I never would have clocked you.  Are you dating anybody?”

“Hey baby.  You DTF?”

“Ever been with a redhead?”

“Ever been with someone older than your dad?”

Oh, and let’s not forget the selfies with me.  I just act engaged and sip on my drink.  I hoped that tonight, I could just be Alex Jeffries, and when I see Armand, he’s going to get an earful for that one.  I love the fans, but the handsy ones are a little much tonight.  I mingle and let them buy me drinks as Jason hands them over to me directly, from the watered down bottles so that I get to keep my head about me.  After the longest fifteen minutes I’ve ever gone through in my life, I see Armand walking through the crowd as people don’t even take notice.  Not because he’s out of drag, but because nobody recognizes him in drag, even when there was just a stage with spotlights on him just moments ago.

Armand:  Hey baby…

Me:  Fuck you for that, girl.  We are leaving.  Now.

Armand:  I get free drinks tonight, so best believe I’m not going any...where…

I don’t give him a choice as I grab onto his arm and pull him through the crowd.  The whole time, his emo hair flutters from the force of the wind, slapping him in the face.  He scoffs as we make it outside of the bar, and this is when I let him pull his arm away from me.

Armand:  What the hell, Alex?

Me:  You know, I could ask you the same damn thing.  I told you that I had some shit on my mind, and I didn’t want to step out into the spotlight.  That’s why I glued a beard to my damn face, even though it’s gonna make me break out.  I just wanted to take a second to be Alex and leave Holly behind.  Can’t I just get a second to breathe?  That’s why I came to one of your shows, instead of a Tesla Twist show.

Armand:  Ohhhh fawwwwwwwk yewwwwww....

I break my bitchy demeanor as I lean in and kiss Armand on the cheek.  He pat’s my arm and hugs onto me.  What we are, has no labels.  The closest explanation to it is “BFF’s”, but it’s a little more than that.  Less than “dating”.  But there is a whole lot of giving shit to one another.  We hold onto each other as I lean onto the much shorter friend of mine.  We walk along the LGBT end of the strip, a couple of “twinks” with no better place to go.  Luckily my size protects us from the flirting, but not the cat calls and the whistles.

Me:  I always wondered what Grindr would be like if it was an actual place…

Armand:  This is more like Scruff.  The Cocktail Lounge is Grindr, you know?  Less class, and everybody here is a bottom.

Me:  Vers bottom, thank you very much.

I reach around and grab a handful of his backside, just enough to feel him jump.  He moves in closer to me as he watches the looks of disinterest start to pour in at the realization that we’re all looking for the same thing… to be bent over.  Eventually, we settle down in a 24 hour cafe off the Strip, where we easily find a seat.  I pick up the menu as the waiter… oops sorry, waitress, whose arms are as big as mine, wearing a flannel shirt, and hair that looks oddly like Armand’s, walks up and licks at her thumb as she pulls out her pad.

Waitress:  What can I get you two?

Armand:  Coffee?

Waitress:  Arabica or Robusta?

Me and Armand look at one another for a second.  He waits for me to make the call like I’m some kind of coffee connoisseur or some shit.  I pause as I answer with more of a question.

Me:  Arabica?

Waitress:  Bengal, Congo, Liberian, Sierra, or Colombian?

Me:  Columbian?  Look, we just want coffee, whatever the best one is.  We ain’t that picky.

Waitress:  Well, we just want people to look at the menu and order what they want.  We’re pretty easy going like that.

And that’s when we met Charley.  Normally, I don’t take well to a smartass, but something about how angry and bitter her comment was, I just knew I wanted her to be friends with me.  I looked up with a smile, and she dared me to say something.

Me:  Let’s scratch the order so far, and make it a couple French vanilla cappuccinos.

Charley:  See?  Easy.  Do you want a couple biscotti to go with that?

Me:  No.  Let’s not complicate things any more than they already are.  Coffee will be good.

Charley nods her head and rolls her eyes as she walks away.  Armand reaches across the table and holds onto my hand.  He knows that I get comfort from comforting other people, so he lets me do it.

Armand:  Ally, won’t you tell me what’s going on?  What has got you acting so off tonight?  You never turn down a night of groupies at The Lounge…

Me:  With everything going on lately, it feels like we’re reverting back ten years.  I simply can’t sit back and do nothing.  I need to give back to the community, but I just don’t know how.  I only know that I couldn’t sit back and do nothing as a referee any longer.  I need a grander stage.

Armand:  What do you mean, you don’t know what to do?

I cock my head to the side as I give that look that asks “Are you serious?”  Armand waits for me to say something, but when I don’t, he looks at me and rolls his eyes.  He grips onto my hand even tighter as he looks directly into my eyes.

Armand:  Don’t hold back.  Be unapologetic.  Make them take a good, long look at the community.  When they shove, you shove back for all of us.  Every time some wannabe skinhead nazi fuck throws a moonshine bottle at you, turn around and blow a big cloud of fabulous right back at him.  Represent, henny.

Me:  Yeah, but how?  How do I represent a group of people, where I am just one?  I don’t know what to do, because a community is a collection of many, and I only know how to be me.

Armand:  Don’t worry about making an impact.  Being you, as bold as you are, is enough of a statement.  Just keep your head held up high, and do you.

Charley brings our drinks and sets them down on the table as I slide a few bills across the table.  Armand scoffs, partially at the fact that I didn’t let him pay, and partially because of the size of the tip.

Me:  Look, that’s all fine and dandy, Mandy, but there’s not a lot that I can do, just based on the fact that I belong to a community.

Armand:  You are fabulous, and you represent so, so many aspects of the community.  Just go out there and have fun, and be yourself.  That’s all you can really do.  The fact of the matter is that the fans already love you.  I mean, who wouldn’t?  You’re a knockout in and out of drag.  They’re gonna love Holly and Alex, and that attention alone will let those assholes know that we’re not going anywhere.  We’re gay, and we’re here to stay.  We’re not sheep, or some cookie cutter conformity victims.  Gays, lesbians, bis, trans, pans, questioning… we’re all people, and we support one another.  Even those two assholes you hang out with sometimes.  The bearded one and the redhead…  We’re a community, and you represent that in a way that says we are all unique.  Even straights.  You can do it.  I got faith in you, babe.

I smile as Armand smiles back at me.  I think it is just what I needed to hear, because I feel a little more brave now.  I feel like I can do what I need to do, even if I don’t know exactly what I need to do… if that makes sense.  The rest of the evening is a blur, because I beamed so bright like a diamond, thanks to my bestie.



<img src=https://thumbs.gfycat.com/SpanishBeneficialBushbaby-max-1mb.gif>



The Transformation
#NP “Bette Davis Eyes” by Kim Karnes
Locale- Undisclosed; Laughlin, Nevada
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I haven’t done this in a hot minute, well, not on this side of things.  I conducted a few interviews in my time as a backstage personality, but I haven’t been on this side of things in a while.  Well, here we go…

The camera clicks on and Gary waves a hand at me to let me know that we’re rolling.  The camera catches a view of the inside of my travel trailer.  Literally, I got so much shit in my wardrobe, that I gotta have a trailer, packed with the outfits, wigs, make up, heels, tucking panties, and body wax and razors.  If you ever think it’s easy being a woman, why don’t you follow a drag queen around for a bit.  The camera pans around a bit to see my fabulous jeweled dresses, over to my favorite rack of wigs.  While I’m a blonde girl, I do occasionally like my brunette, or even my Elvira black wig.  Armand is behind me, looking it over, and the second I hear one of my dangling earrings rattle, I turn around and give him a look of death.  He gently raises his hands and slowly backs away.

Me:  That’s Vivian Westwood, henny, and it costs more than your Toyota Corolla.  Thanks.

Armand rolls his eyes as he takes a seat at my dressing table, and pulls out his phone.  Satisfied, I turn around and look back to the camera with a smirk.  I take a seat at the table, with my mirror at my side so that I can start putting on my makeup.  I pick up the brush as I lay down the foundation, all while staring right at the camera.

Me:  Hello boys and squirrels.  Welcome to this edition of the “Trans-Formation” with ya girl, Holly Wood.  Mz. Wood, if you nasty.  Let me start off by sayin’ that this is a big week for SCW.  We got a lot of big matches.  Topping off the card, we get to see Jessie Salco lose miserably to Evie Baang… because losing miserably to Crystal Millar, Mikah, Sam Marlowe, and, well, the entire Bombshell roster minus Evie wasn’t enough.  Apparently she collecting losses like Pokemon.  Gotta catch em all, so gone and get it gurrrrrr.  Then we got Champion versus Champion, and I gotta say that I wish this was the Main Event.  Mostly because it doesn’t feature Jessie Salco, but also because… well, it’s Champion versus Champion.  What more do I need to say?  Plus, James Tuscini… ‘nuff said.  Them Italian’s, boy…  Then we got Sam Marlowe versus Mercedes Vargas.  I’m more familiar with the latter, because, well… we did this thing together for a couple years, and basically rocked the foundation of SCW to it’s core.  Good luck, ladies.  Then, someone who has lost to Jessie Salco… against someone who has beaten Jessie Salco so many times, when Amy Marshall takes on Crystal Millar, the black sheep of the Black Sheep.  Speaking of Black Sheep, Killian Sweete takes on newcomer Andre Aquarius.  It’s make or break time for the newcomer.  Stacked, right?

I straighten out my right cheek as I dab a bit more foundation to give myself a less shiny Barbie doll complexion.  I then switch over to the next side as I hold up my finger to ask for a second from the adoring audience watching.  Once I finish that cheek with the touch ups, I pull the brown netted cap over my hair to pull it all back while setting up for my wig line.

Me:  Not to mention, you gonna get a whole lotta fish, and a whole lotta beef.  Kinda like Surf and Turf at Red Lobster.  Holly Wood gonna take on Ryan Keys in a specially requested match.  Now, a lot of people have been asking me, they say “Holly?”  and I’m like “Yasss gurl?”  so they like “Why you go and request a match against Ryan Keys when you don’t have anything against Ryan?”  Do I even need to say anything about that?  Who would not want to participate in the most homo-erotic sport on the planet, rubbin’ up on just about every inch of a man’s body.  Did you think I was gonna go ask for a match against Samuel McPherson?  Or someone ugly like Steve Ramone?  No ma’am… I’m gonna ask for the biggest hunk of man meat on the roster.  And since he was already booked in a match this week, I asked for the sexiest piece of man meat on the roster in either Ryan Keys, or Matt Spears.  I got the blue eyed Adonis himself.  They say “Be careful what you wish for.” but I say “Can I get a Porsche?!”  If I’m gonna get man handled by someone, at least give me a memory for the bate crate later.  Am I right?

Armand:  Amen, sister…

Me:  Notice how I said “man handled” and not “get my ass kicked”.  There’s a big difference there.  See, I been in the ring with Ryan before.  He knows what he’s doing.  But, I called many of his matches.  I know what to look for, and I know his game.  I have the “computers advantage” if you will, cause I know his moves, but he don’t know when and where I’m coming from, or what I’m capable of doing.  Really, nobody does.  No one that was around back then is still here… unless you count Steve and Jessie.  But, again, really… nobody does…

Armand:  Again, amen sister…

I finish applying the foundation, so I move along to the eyeliner, getting it established really fast.  From there, a few good swipes of my Nyx Cosmetics, and I’m moving on to the contouring pads.  I start on my cheeks as I continue.

Me:  Now, this isn’t some sort of special request grudge match where I’m gonna talk all kinds of mad shit on Ryan Keys.  We ain’t friends that hang out when we’re not at shows, but I talked to the stud a few times, and he’s a nice guy.  Probably too nice for his own good.  What’s funny is that I’m the sweetest bitch you will ever meet in your life.  But even if I’m sweet, I’m still a bitch.  Don’t mistake.  I can tear down Mother Theresa if I wanted to.  So, Ryan Keys being a nice guy, I have no problems reading to filth.  However, I’m not going to.  The days of the Mean Girls are long gone, even if Veronica and Mercedes don’t realize it.  But hey, if Mercy wants to carry dead weight on her shoulders, then that’s on her.  Not me.  I’m putting the past behind me.  And part of doing that means that I’m gonna show respect to those who deserve it.  There’s a lot of shady folk in Sin City Wrestling, but Ryan Keys ain’t one of them.  He’s a straight shooter, and I appreciate that.

I move over to the left side of my face as I turn to the right slightly.  I keep my eyes trained on what I’m doing as I gently add lines onto my cheekbones and down my face.  I know I look a hot mess right now, but once I’m blended and stuff, it’s going to be oh so right.  I take a clean pad and begin to blend it gently to give a naturally beautiful finish.

Me:  Now, don’t mistake my kindness for weakness.  I spent plenty of time in the gym, working on my fitness.  I got my body right, and I got my skills down pat.  I was fortunate enough to have some of the best in the business train with me, and show me how to wrestle like a lady.  My trainers span the entire history of Mean Girls members, along with Vixen, Misty, and Dax Beckett.  The last one is a joke.  I wrestle better than he does, but I draw my feminine essence from his style.  In the ring.  I don’t bitch non-stop on Twitter or other places where people don’t want to hear me.

Armand:  I’m not gonna say “Amen, sister” again, if that’s what you’re asking for.

Me:  Just like your stage shows, ain’t nobody wanna hear you, baby, so don’t worry about that.

Armand nudges the table, making me slip a little and I turn my head to give him the death stare.  He chuckles as he stands up and blends it out for me.  He knows I would chase him out of my damn dressing room if he didn’t.  However, once he fixes his mistake, I take back over, seeing that I’m good to go there.  I pick up the lashes, and begin ironing them on, while speaking again.

Me:  My point is that, I put on an entire experience.  Now, I heard whispers that this tests the lines of intergender wrestling, which SCW has a history of not condoning.  In the ring, I’m showing off as a full fledged woman.  But the reality of it is that I’m six foot and a buck sixty-five.  Oh, and I got a penis.  It’s nice too, but you ain’t gonna see any sign of it.  Trust me when I say, though, that it takes a lot of work to hide it.  No, it’s not bullshit macho posturing, either.  I wish I was hung like Steve Ramone, ‘cause then it would be a lot easier to hide.

Armand:  Damn it… Amen, sister…

Me:  I know y’all know what Holly is sayin’ there.  But, the thing to remember is that I can handle myself against these guys, all while fighting like a girl.  The Bombshell Division was the epicenter of SCW for a while there, and I learned a lot from the shining stars.  I’m bringing that glow on to the Men’s roster.  See, drag is an art, and it’s very punk rock.  It’s about blurring lines, and baby, by the time I’m done with them, those lines is gonna be as blurred as this contouring.  Beautiful, fabulous, and all around… right.

By this time, I am doing my lips in a luscious cherry red, getting ready to gloss them over.  You know I gotta go quiet for a second while I handle that.  After a few additional seconds, it’s as right as my contour, once I blot.  I gloss them over right quick, and smack them together, making all the boys quiver.  That’s when I go on to the eye shadow, while Armand lovingly does my blush.

Me:  Now, as far as Ryan… I hate to say it, but I’m gonna make an example of him.  It ain’t personal, Ry-Ry.  It’s strictly business.  At the end of the day, I still got mad respect for you, but it’s not gonna be as easy as you think.  While training with the ladies, I stepped my pussy up, and I trained with a number of guys too.  And, only one of those training sessions ended up in the bedroom… or, rather the back of a Ford pick up truck with a fleece blanket.  I gone round and round inside of the ring, and I’m ready.  I made sure of it before I signed my name on the dotted line.  Shit is serious, Ryan, and I want you to know that, just like you said, I won’t be taking it easy on you.  I wanna make sure that you’re aware that this is my platform.  It’s where I launch.  I got held back by friendships before.  I got pinned down because “spotlight” was Delia Darling’s thing.  She even knew her and I wasn’t gonna win a tag match when I wrestled before, and she made me go in and take the fall.  I’m done with that.  I came here to shine, and I’m taking this very, very seriously.  A win is important, and Holly takes no chances.  I’m hoping that this warning is enough to light that fire under you, so that you step it up as much as I plan on stepping up.  Let’s steal the show in the second match, and make our fellow competitors work that much harder to try to outshine all the fabulousness we got inside the ring.  Deal?

With that, I stand up, and walk over behind the silhouette shade, and I make sure I’m totally blocked off.  I turn slightly as I begin stripping off my pants and underwear.  This is the part where Armand makes the camera turn away slightly as I stick my head out from behind the shade.

Me:  This is the part I was… ah… talking about.  It’s gotta go somewhere, right?  Well, by the time I’m done, you won’t know it’s even though.  Again, like Steve Ramone.  Sorry, I really shouldn’t shoot at easy targets.  It’s not very nice, but I need somewhere to direct the bitchiness, agh… at, right?  This gaff tho… Anyway, this week, Holly gonna shine bright.  She gonna be a star.  She gonna be padded to the nines.  You gonna think that I’m after the Twerking Championship, but Jamie Dean is safe… for now, baby.

The sound of hangers banging around are heard as I put on the dress behind the shade.  I waste no time in getting it on and padded, because henny, it ain’t my first rodeo.  I come out and I walk right over to my favorite part of my dressing room.  I look between the wigs, but my wavy old faithful blonde wig catches my attention more, so I throw it over my head, and fluff it out.  I put it over my head, and it looks right with my final check in the mirror.  I take a sucker from the side table and give it a good lick as I turn around, flashing my signature smile.

Me:  I wanna end this on a positive note, so I’m letting you all see how right everything is before Sunday.  But, I gotta ask one last question, Ryan.  After Sunday, you are gonna get one question asked to you, over and over, and I just hope that you are able to answer it in advance.  Let me be the fortune teller of SCW, since Celeste North and Alexis Edwards are now gone.  I’m getting a vision, oh… h-h… hold on…

Armand looks concerned as he prepares to catch me as I get dizzy.  I hold onto the side of the table as if I’m trying to hold on to consciousness.  As Armand approaches, I hold my hand out, telling him to stop.  I open my eyes and stare at the camera with my smartass Holly glare, nodding my head as I pop my lips.

Me:  â€œHow did it feel to get yo ass kicked by a girl?”  Good luck, Ryan.  I’ll see you on Sunday… all of you.

With that, I wink and let out my signature girly Holly laugh as I put the lollipop back in my mouth.  Deep… in… my… mouth… And then for good measure, I pull it back out, and kiss the tip before enveloping it once more.  I snap my fingers as Armand brings me my faux fur coat, and places it around me.  I blow Ryan a kiss as Gary turns the camera off, and we go out to rock Laughlin to it’s core.  Ta-tas for now, lovelies.

The End

9
Supercard Archives / SPIKE & LUCY v DESPAYRE & CRYSTAL
« on: April 08, 2016, 10:52:08 PM »
 
<img src=http://static.tumblr.com/amgy1pj/Quam83bth/dero_goi_.gif>


Old Beginnings
#NP "Our Truth" Lacuna Coil
Locale: Sun Devil Gym; Tempe, Arizona




Everyone saw the outcome of the match that saw Rage and Sam Marlowe against Lucy Seraphina and myself, so I don't need to catch you up on all of that... Wait, what? You didn't? Were you living under a fucking rock or something? Oh, you were in the bathroom because you saw Despayre and Crystal Millar advance, so you assumed it was game over for anyone else? I can't blame you. If I saw a match with that goat-faced snore fest, I would fill up on nachos and empty my bladder to refill it with toxic soft drinks, too. Anything to speed up this meaningless existence, right?

I kid, I kid... Rage put on one hell of a match, and he might have actually finally beat me if it wasn't for what Lucy Seraphina did. Oh, right, you weren't paying attention. Let me get you up to speed on that. The four of us put on a spectacle of a match for the last bathroom break of the night before Jimmy boy took on Benny and the Jets. I beat the hell out of Rage, and he surprised me a bit. I must have let myself go more than I thought for him to get as close to beating me as he did. He about had me down for the count when Lucy shocked everyone by rolling inside of the ring while the referee was distracted, and she clocked the bald bastard. She's clearly not afraid of anyone. Not even a seven foot juicehead like Rage.

I've always been the nice, diplomatic one, and I figured that I'd be greeted backstage by someone who would want to ask me just how appalled I am with Lucy's actions. Perhaps Pussy Willow would be there to ask me how I felt about having the cheapest win of the night. Maybe Ms. Rocky Mountains would greet me with questions about the trust factor that is clearly broken between Lucy and I, even despite the fact that we both got much more personal than either of us had planned. Oh, fuck off, you perverted dick-face, I'm a married, and loyal man... Or, maybe... just maybe, Holly Wood might be just around the corner to ask me about how I plan to continue on to the finals of this tournament with such a thing on my conscience, despite the fact that she will be sexually harrassing me the entire time. I'd bring up Scott Oliver, but he'd probably just ask me to point him to the concession stand for the munchies.

The entire way up the ramp, I am thinking about what way I'm going to explain myself out of this one, and remain everyone's hero. Well, anyone who gives a damn about Spike Staggs. When I get to the back and see Rage down the hallway, throwing a tantrum about the outcome of the match, knocking over utility boxes and lighting fixtures, I figure I shouldn't aggravate the situation any, expecially with Kittie down there trying to calm him down. I turn the corner and breathe a sigh of relief as I walk toward the locker rooms. However, about half way there, I catch a glimpse of our World Heavyweight Champion. I watched his cute little speech earlier, wishing me luck in the only way that the little bitch knows how to, so I have little to no interest in hearing more. However, I do get a slight giggle out of hearing the relief in his voice, knowing that he doesn't have to worry about Rage coming his way. The shit has officially been cleared from his britches, but little does he know that he's about to shit a fucking brick when he sees what I'm really capable of.

As I go to continue on to the locker rooms, I feel a meager tap on my shoulder, one that oozes a bit of uncertainty and nervousness. I guess I didn't get to dodge the interview crew. I start to turn around as I address the person likely behind me.

Me: Scotty boy, the concession stand is uh-thataway...

However, rather than a skeezy stoner standing behind me, it is none other than the woman who had just been knocked out of the Blast From the Past Tournament herself, Sam Marlowe. She smiles as she is still catching her breath from our match, and she even awkwardly waves at me.

Sam: I just wanted to congratulate you on the win tonight.

She is too sweet to be a Marlowe. It's so true. She's so sweet that she gives me a toothache. I narrow my eyes a bit as I nod my head and give a curious smile.

Me: Thank you Sama...

I notice her twitch a little bit as I start to call her Samantha, so I cut it off and simply continue to nod. She leans in for a celebratory hug, to which I oblige, despite how awkward it is for me, considering the circumstances. Though it lasts only a couple of seconds, it feels like hours.

Sam: I'm sure you are going to make Vixen proud in the finals, despite the way things went down tonight.

Something about the way she said that doesn't exactly sit well, so I stare at her for a second, studying all of the unsaid words behind her stare. After a minute of study, I lick at my lip, trying to process it all, before I just out and ask the obvious question.

Me: And what exactly is that supposed to mean?

Sam: Not that it's your fault, by any means, but the way the match ended was a little... sketchy?

Me: Despite what people might think, I refuse to be mad at Lucy for that, because she did what she felt she needed to do.

Sam almost looks a bit disappointed in my answer. However, being the sweet person she is, she pushes it off with a genuine smile as she takes a step back, almost refusing to believe the words that just came from my mouth.

Sam: I guess I understand where you are coming from with that, but it was a little cheap, don't you think?

Me: It was cheap. I won't deny that, but I'm not going to blame Lucy for something that wasn't even her fault.

Sam nods her head as I speak, until the end comes up. My last few words seem to ignite even more confusion in Sam as she tries to fathom.

Sam: How is it not her fault? She went outside and picked up a steel chair, and then she bashed my partner over the head with it, Spike.

Me: If we are playing the Blame Game, maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Samantha...

Sam's sweet side fades a bit as she looks entirely offended, and perhaps a little perplexed at where I'm coming from.

Sam: How exactly am I to blame for Lucy's actions? I had absolutely nothing to do with that.

I nod my head as I listen to her blatant line of bullshit, almost as if I were mocking her. I even let out a few low toned "Yeah"s in response as I try to keep a straight face, and not burst out into laughter. No one questions my character and gets a jovial response. No...body...

Me: Forgive me for being blunt here... You know what, don't forgive me. I couldn't care less. But you need to face the facts. You made a rookie mistake that no World Bombshell Championship can mask over.

Sam is not a dumb person by any means. I've known her for quite some time now, but I think I've got her confused, and in a sick sort of way, I'm almost enjoying it. She gives me an irritated, and confused expression, as her sweet candy shell is starting to crack.

Sam: Please enlighten me, because I didn't have anything to do with...

Me: Cut the shit, Sam! You weren't trained by some no-name empty-headed trainer with no in ring experience. You were trained by Vixen Staggs! A fellow SCW Hall of Famer. Her and I have trained together many times, and she's picked up a psychological edge to her. Surely she told you to always be aware of what is going on around you, no?

Sam: Yeah, but...

I hold my hand up to stop her from making excuses.

Me: I don't want to hear any goddamn excuses! You did the one thing that had every single fan shouting at the ring or at their computer screen. You saw shenanigans, and you all but swung the chair yourself when you kept the attention of the referee. You're just as guilty as Lucy. You're just as guilty as me. You sealed Rage's fate, and all of the denial in the world won't hide that, darlin'...

A little Southern for the Southern Belle of SCW, to emphasize my point. Sam is clearly hurt by my words, as unexpected as they are.

Me: So drop the naive, sweet little girl act, Sam. The only one buying it anymore is yourself.

I'm not sure, but I think I see a few tears in those pretty baby blues of hers. She looks at my own icy cold eyes. She shakes her head, in pure disbelief.

Sam: I thought I knew you, Spike Staggs...

Me: Well, clearly you don't, Samantha Marlowe.

Sam: Nobody calls me Samantha, but my mother!

There is a fire in her eyes now, and I can't help but smile at my handiwork. It has been quite a while since I pissed someone off that people claimed couldn't be pissed off simply by speaking in an even tone to them. She looks as if she wants to punch me, and she likely would if my wife weren't a close friend of hers, as well as her trainer. Instead, she asks the question that I've just been dying to answer.

Sam: Clearly you aren't a friend of mine, but if you could do me one small favor?

I nod my head, because I am all but bursting at the seams to indulge her curiosity...

Sam: How can you sit here and try to justify Lucy's actions like this? How can you truly be okay with that happen...

Me: Because it was my idea, Sam! That's right!

Sam closes her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek, as I just confirmed what she probably thought all along. She tried her hardest to justify it, but in the end, she now realizes that I'm nothing more than another piece of shit wrestler with little to no morals.

Me: I know I'm not what I used to be inside of the ring. I'm still a hell of a lot better than most of these jackasses running around backstage, but just in case I couldn't put down the piece of shit you held in such high regard, I told Lucy to knock him the fuck out...

As I say it, my face hints at a bit of a dying conscience as I lower my head, however, the thought of what happened makes me giddy inside, to the point of laughter. If I'm completely honest, the sullen look fades into a wicked smile as I chuckle, and look back up to Sam, who simply shakes her head.

Me: You didn't stand to gain anything, Sammi. You were only carrying Rage, and I did you a favor by taking that seven foot burden off of your back.

Sam: You're wrong, on so many levels. I could have won a Blast From the Past trophy.

Me: And now you won't. But don't worry, I will. Then I will go on and I will defeat Despayre by any means necessary, whether I have to break his damn neck or not. I said it in my promo last week, before our match, that nothing will stop me from getting to James Huntington-Hawkes the third. And that little speech he gave earlier? It only fueled my desire to treat him like the little bitch he was back then, because no amount of tattoos or muscles can hide the fact that he's still that same scared little boy, only now? He's somehow gotten an even worse attitude.

Sam: Well, I hope you are okay with the fact that you didn't earn your title shot.

I shake my head, because not even my opponent watched my promo, apparently.

Me: I... don't... care... If Jimmy thought that Rage, or the Boogeyman was something to be scared of, he'd better watch out, because nothing beats a pissed off papa bear. You and Rage were just unfortunate casualties, right along with that conscience I spent years trying to build to hide the fact that I'm known as "The Most Sadistic Bastard" for a fucking reason.

Sam obviously can't stand listening to this any longer, so she doesn't give me the opportunity to finish. Instead, she just walks off on me. I watch her, and I couldn't be any more proud of myself unless she had left in tears. I lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest and smiling. After she disappears from my line of sight, I start to turn around to walk off myself, when I'm met with Pussy Willow, Ms Rocky Mountains, and Holly Wood, all standing with microphones, however, none of them got the scoop, because Sam did. Perhaps she'd be a better interviewer than a wrestler. The ladies all walk off, disappointed, leaving Scott Oliver in their wake.

Scott: Bruh, where's the concession stand?

I simply shake my head. Sometimes I'm a little too psychic for my own good. I bump shoulders with him as I simply walk off, because I've got much better things to do than indulge this stoner fuck... things like admiring my placement on the Blaze of Glory card...

10
Climax Control Archives / Ain't No Rest For the Wicked
« on: March 25, 2016, 10:07:21 PM »
 
<img src=http://49.media.tumblr.com/ac894920762c274570825b9d0804ffef/tumblr_myy0pfWgOT1sr6liho1_400.gif>


Ain't No Rest For the Wicked
#NP "Ain't No Rest For the Wicked" by Cage The Elephant
Locale:  BeeHoldzil Fighting Scouts Events Center; Fort Defiance, Arizona




Just because you don't see me, it doesn't mean that I wasn't there.  I am an icon, but when my signature black spikes are covered up with a hat, I blend into the sea of Nobodies, at a rate that is almost scary to me.  After everything that I've accomplished, people in this company don't know me from Adam.  A man who helped to transform the very foundation of this once hodunk promotion, to the massive heights that it is today, and people treat me like a stagehand.  The very reason I left this business, and it's being thrown back in my face.  So much for my change of heart.

After telling the umpteenth stagehand that I don't know where Mark or Christian is at this very moment, I give up on searching for any kind of action in Arizona.  I planned to comfort my son after his loss to the newcomer, Dmitri, but he apparently wasn't that upset, because he ran off with Alexis Edwards to search the back of her throat with his tongue.  I had hoped that with my presence in SCW, I might be able to fend off the likes of Brother Grimm and Belladonna Grey, but they still find a way to get past me.  Connor has left the venue after his win, and he's likely finding a drink, or Tessa's g-spot, so that leaves me here, all alone, as the crowds thin out.  Well, I wished I was alone, but the sad truth is that... I am not.  I think I would be much more at ease if the brash Celeste North would just lay into me.  With a fist?  Or maybe a good verbal motherfucking?  But no, she just sits there, staring at me, as if my very presence is just the biggest possible imposition in the world.  She scoffs, and rolls her eyes, as if she were as disinterested in her surroundings as Delia Darling.

I simply blink my eyes, waiting for a text or call from Vixen to update me on the home front.  I'm sure she will contact me soon, and I want to be able to give her my full attention, so I stay put, sipping on a bottle of water.  However, after the ninety-ninth scoff, I close my eyes, flaring out my nostrils as I try to stop the verbal vomit I'm about to lose, but...

Me:  Can I help you, Celeste?

My voice comes out even much more annoyed than I had expected in would, and I knew it was going to be shitty.  Though, I try to soften the harsh edges as I say her name, my point has been conveyed crystal clear.  She pauses for a second, but her own shitty attitude doesn't allow her to find a way to at least be cordial to me.

Celeste:  Yes.  You can leave now.  I'd like a moment alone now, thanks...

Me:  Oh?  I'm sorry that your night of doing fuck all has exhausted you so much, but I'm not going anywhere right this second.  Thanks for the invitation though.

Celeste:  And I wondered where Tim got his shitty attitude from, but answer is staring me right in the face.

I crinkle my nose with pride at her comment, smiling and relishing in the fact.  This earns me the one hundredth scoff of the night, and even a Delia hair flip.  I must be good at pissing people off...

Me:  Don't mistake the following question as me caring too much, but why are you being extra shitty tonight?  I mean, I'm sure I'm not your favorite person in the world, but have I done something...?

Celeste:  In a manner of speaking... though it wasn't you exactly, but the expulsion from your nut sack...

Me:  Oh?  Do tell.  Color me curious now.

Celeste closes her eyes, and this is where I know I've struck a nerve.  She shakes her head, as if she isn't going to tell me, but I've learned that it is a classic girl move.  All I have to do is strike another nerve, and I think I know just the one.

Me:  Oh, I guess now you're going to pretend you don't want to tell me.  It's cool, I don't really care too much, honestly.

And she flips around, just begging to scream out the answer.  That, my friends, is the secret to melting away the frost of the cold shoulder, but you must be prepared to deal with the fire that comes along with it.  Don't say I didn't warn you...

Celeste:  Well, of course not, because you raised him to be a man whore who sleeps with people's boyfriends.  It doesn't matter that I was his best friend, who stuck by his side through everything, and came to his aid whenever I possibly could.  He didn't seem to remember the fact that I gave him a roof over his head when he wanted to play little orphan runaway, when he slept with my boyfriend, in my bed no less.  He seemed to have forgotten the fact that I helped cast the protection spell that keeps the boogeyman out of every dark corner, from his closet, or under his bed when he was on top of mine... with my boyfriend!

I'm kind of shocked at what I'm hearing, to the point that I can't even speak.  She just shakes her head, and it's clear that she is fighting back tears at this point.  I drop the asshole act for a moment, and just nod my head, despite my mind being stuck on this news.  Celeste tries to process the thoughts running through her head, but she purses her lips as she tries to verbally express too much at once.  She steps toward me, holding her finger up in the air, before slowly pointing it at me.

Celeste:  And let's not forget the incessant bullshit I had to go through with him, over... and over... and over... and over again with Alexis.  Little lover boy can't make up his mind on which way he swings, so he's just giving it and taking it from anyone who will give it and take it...  I'm no angel, not by a long shot, but that?

Celeste digs her fingernail into my chest, but before she can apply too much pressure, she stops, and lets it slide down my chest, and back to her side.  I notice a small tear rolling down her cheek, even before she realizes it.  She looks up at me, and her glossy blue eyes shine under the light of her tears.

Celeste:  That was... so... fucked... up...

I almost didn't think it was possible, but here it is, happening right before my very eyes.  Celeste North is crying.  Real tears, with no discernable motive in place.  She leans against my chest, despite neither one of us being comfortable with that.  She lightly pounds her fist on my chest as she sobs.  I gently pat the back of her head to comfort her, and she lets me.  I'm the luckiest, unlucky bastard on the planet as I get possibly the only glimpse into the vulnerability of Celeste North.  But, it is only fleeting as she pushes away from me, sniffling and quickly wiping away at her eyes, smearing her mascara.

Celeste:  Your precious baby boy did this.  I don't even know why I let you see me cry, because it's obvious that you, of all people, won't take my side in this.

I nod my head as I look into her hurt eyes.

Me:  You're absolutely right.

Celeste:  Figures.  I mean, from what I've heard about you, you're a heartless, sadistic asshole, so why should I expect your spawn to be any different?

Me: That is where you are wrong, Celeste...

Celeste tries to scoff, but it comes off as highly forced.  She turns away from me, though she is staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror.

Celeste:  Oh, right... you're a changed man.  A family man, now...

Me:  No, you were right on the first part.  I'm no saint, by any means.  I've done some pretty fucked up shit, and I'll probably continue to do some even more fucked up shit, the longer I let this sport get to me.  The drive to become a Somebody again is really starting to kick in.  At some points, I almost feel like I'd be willing to do anything to get back my SCW Heavyweight Championship.  Even the ones who remember me around here, most of them don't remember what I'm actually capable of.  I got a taste for the cheer of the fans, and I liked it, but as that faded away, I grew bitter, and angry again.

Celeste:  You know, I hear a whole lot of "You're right, Celeste" and literally no "You're totally wrong, Celeste" going on.

I pause and stare at her.  Clearly the girl doesn't have the patience to see a story through, so I make her wait a moment longer, just because I fucking can.

Me:  My son is nothing like me, and I'm thankful for that.  The only similarity that we share is our love... and hatred... of this business.  I'm crass, jaded, and cruel.  Tim is jovial, naive, and kind.

Celeste snorts, like literally snorts, at the last comment.  I give her a death stare, because no one is going to talk shit about baby bear to papa bear and truly get away with it.  The warning seems to be effective as she slowly folds her arms over her chest and listens.

Me:  Tim might have made some mistakes, but he's still trying to forge his own path in life.  I thought I was doing him a solid when I sheltered him for most of his life, because I had screwed up so much early on.  But, I didn't help him at all with that.  Now, as painful as it is, I'm trying to give him the space he needs to grow into a better man than me.  A man doesn't learn from being hidden away for his whole life, like Siddhartha Gotama.  The kid has to make some mistakes so that he can learn from them, and grow.

Celeste:  And so I'm supposed to just forgive him for stabbing me in the fucking back, when I've been loyal to a fault since day one?  Un-fucking-real...

Me:  Oh, I never said that, Celeste.

Celeste looks confused as she turns around.  A simple, almost dumbfounded "Hm?" escapes her lips as she readies herself for more sarcastic retorts.  However, I stare her dead in the eye, and give her the only piece of advice that she could have never seen coming...

Me:  I never said that you should just be the bigger person and forgive him.  You have every right to be angry.  As I said, I'm not a saint, and I don't believe in turning the other cheek.  For the good of The Nobodies, we've got to get past all of this tired, stale, childish bickering.  It's getting old, and it's holding us back.

Celeste:  Oh, I'm sorry for being angry that YOUR SON...

I hold up my hand, because I'm tired of the victim routine.  Everyone is a victim, but we don't need to broadcast it to the world like my son's new squeeze does on Twitter all day, every day.  I slowly lower my hand, and shake my head, making sure she knows not to proceed.

Me:  I'm letting Tim run the show, but this intervention thing must not have been heard by you.  Suck it up, buttercup, and find a way to get past it, for the sake of this stable.

Celeste:  Oh?  And how exactly am I supposed to do that, Papa Smurf?

Me:  Well, you could just get revenge.

Celeste:  Uhhh, what?

I smile.  Of course I don't want to see my son in pain, but I also don't want to see him being an asshole.  Celeste seems confused, or possibly just shocked at my suggestion.  In case it is confusion, I step forward, my smile growing wider as I do.

Me:  Yeah... He'll never learn if there aren't any real consequences.  At least, I know I never did.  Why don't you think about the most legal, yet gratifying way that you could possibly get revenge on him... and do it.  Even the playing field a little.

Celeste:  So, you... his father... are telling me to get even with him?  I just want to make sure I'm hearing you right.

Me:  Yeah!  It would be a hell of a lot easier to just get it out of your system now, so that you guys can move forward.  And, truth be told, he could use a little corrective action as of late.  He thinks he's untouchable now that Grimm is mostly off of his case.

Celeste:  I could totally break that spell and let Brother Grimm take care of him!

Celeste clinches her fists in pure excitement, all while my mouth hangs open.  I guess it is legal, but I was thinking in another direction.  My face must say it all as Celeste sinks down a bit, saddened by this new limitation.  After a few seconds, her eyes light up, and a devious smile comes over her face.  She grabs onto my shirt collar, and yanks me down, ready to plant her lips against mine.

Me:  Woahhhhhhhhhhh!  Hold on, now...

She lets go, and I adjust my collar.  This almost got too weird to handle.  I clear my throat, and Celeste looks momentarily embarrassed.

Me:  No, that could have worked... if it didn't involve me, so thankfully I stopped that.  But keep thinking it over.  I'm sure you'll figure it out.  Just do me a favor and make sure that it's good, okay?

Before Celeste can answer, my phone goes off.  It is Vixen, and it's my chance to be on my way, and away from this revenge seeking, hormonally crazed woman.  I reach into my pocket, and pull my phone out, just as the scene fades.




Ground Zero
#NP "Dragonfly" Shaman's Harvest
Locale:  Staggs Dungeon; Las Vegas, Nevada



Lucy Seraphina and I had a good conversation at Lestat's Cafe earlier today.  I felt like prior to today, we had established a very self-centered approach to this tournament.  Both of us could have cared less about the other, but only our own interests.  The fame of winning the Blast From the Past tournament, and the title shots that followed, were the only things that we cared about.  This week could be a real test for Lucy, as she gets a taste of Samantha Marlowe, and their encounter could be talked about for months to come, especially if Lucy gets the upper hand.  But, for me, I stand to gain very little from this encounter.  The only thing that could be proved is a win over Rage, which is something I already possess.  Advancing to a bigger goal is the only thing that I've got my mind set on right now.

But, after the conversation Lucy and I had over lunch, I feel like she let me in to her world.  Whether she meant to or not, she showed me a vulnerability that I feel few others have seen.  That means that she trusts me enough to let me in, and I haven't really done that for her.  Besides that, I owe her a training session, since I ran out on her before the last one could even be started.  It isn't much to look at, especially from the outside, but it is my world.  Outside of my family, this is what I have in the now.  We walk up the sidewalk of the warehouse district, and Lucy seems surprised when we leave the broken down sidewalks, to walk down an alley.  While she is not scared in the least, she is surprised that the streets of Las Vegas could actually get more dilapidated than what she's seen.  We approach the gym doors, and much to my surprise, the lights are on inside.  Lucy's eyes look up, seeming to take in the red embossed lettering of the sign above her head.  I place my hand on the door handle, and open it up, motioning for her to enter first.  She obliges, offering a gentle smile, as she steps foot inside.  However, once inside, she doesn't move.  I step around her, as I hear the voice of my lovely wife, Vixen.  Yet, it is accompanied by another female voice that sounds all too familiar.

Lucy:  Are you offering me a surprise gift, Spike?  Because, this is something I could really sink my teeth in to...

Me:  Literally...

The unexpected sight that befalls us catches me off guard.  On the other side of the gym, Vixen is seen with a look of disappointment, or regret, on her face, as she talks softly with none other than Samantha Marlowe.  Lucy clinches her fists as a smile comes over her face.  She takes a few steps forward, but I place a cautious hand in front of her, as a silent plea not to act rashly at the situation.  Instead, I walk over toward Vixen and Samantha, and as I approach, both seem to become quiet.  I look to each of them, with a curious smile on my face, as Lucy approaches at my side.  Lucy's animalistic eyes stare right at Samantha, burning a hole through her very being, while Sam, sweet as ever, simply offers a smile to both of us, perhaps blissfully unaware of Lucy's pre-match animosity.

Samantha:  Well hey there, Spike.  I didn't expect to see you here.

I looks over to Lucy, a serious bloodlust coming over her, so I step over to Samantha, and offer her a friendly, yet worried, smile.

Me:  Hello, Samantha.  I must say, I didn't expect to see you here tonight...

Vixen:  She was actually just leaving, amore.

Vixen comes over to my side, wrapping an arm around my waist, as I lean down for a kiss.  However, she seems to beg for something more, letting her kiss linger.  I stare into the chocolate oceans of her eyes, something that has always calmed me down in any given situation.  She sighs and then smiles.

Vixen:  I've offered Samantha a place to train with Ben Jordan.

Me:  Oh?

Vixen is silent as she simply nods.  As if she could read my mind, something we've both become really good at over the years, she looks over to Sam, and then back to me.  Her French-Canadian accent trickles through, in a cute manner that seems to lull me, as if I were merely a little boy, listening to the soothing songs of his mother.

Vixen:  Conflict of interest, and all... I figured it was best that I took a week off.

Before I can react to this news, one way or the other, Samantha reaches a friendly hand out to me, which I accept without question.

Samantha:  Good luck to the both of you this week.  It's going to be a proper battle between two worthy teams.

Me:  Good luck to you, also, Samantha.  May the best team win.

Samantha looks over to Lucy, and while she seems sweet, she's not nearly as naive as one might expect.  She offers a friendly wave to Lucy, one which is not returned, and then she bows out.  Vixen looks over to Lucy, and she seems to catch a glimpse of the same likeness that I'd seen just a few weeks ago.  Lucy Seraphina is no stranger to our radar, but something about her seems to feel familiar to Vixen as well.  She simply leans toward me and plants a kiss on my cheek before lifting her bag from the ground.

Vixen:  You two must have a training session planned.  I'll leave you two alone.  The twins must be missing mommy about now.

I grab on to Vixen's hand, and plant a gentle, yet firm, kiss on top.  I hold on to it, and smile as she grips my hand in hers.  After a few seconds that feel like minutes, Vixen releases my hand and walks away, giving a respectful nod to Lucy, who returns the favor, though she is unsure of why Vixen would feel the least bit uneasy.  After a momentary locking of eyes, Vixen reaches the door, and exits the gym.  The lights are dim, so I walk over toward the wall, turning the lights above the ring on.  They click on slowly, but very brightly.  I shed my jacket from my body, and drop it on the bench, revealing my old sleeveless New X-Tremes shirt, faded from years of wear.  Lucy approaches the bench, setting her bag down, though she is ready as she is, having the ability to tolerate the cold much better than even myself.

Lucy:  That was... interesting?

Me:  I think you mean, unexpected?  If you didn't, I definitely mean it.

Lucy:  And here I thought you were serving the Bombshell Champion to me on a silver platter.

I chuckle as Lucy wraps her wrists in tape, clearly ready to go harder than I had expected to.  She tosses the tape over to me, giving me a playful look of warning to be more prepared.  I give a toothy grin as I begin to wrap my first wrist.

Me:  Unfortunately, I can't take credit for that, but I'm honestly surprised that Vixen refused to train Samantha this week.  I would have never asked her to do such a thing.

Lucy:  Her loyalty runs deep.  You are a very lucky man.

Without saying it, I'm certainly thinking out loud that she couldn't be more right about that.  We have been through some trying times, but no matter what, we've always been able to count on one another.  Plus, have you seen her?  I'm probably drooling, even after all of these years, so I shake it off quickly.

Me:  Anyway... as you see, I've got a perfect replica of the SCW ring, as most of the wrestlers I train wind up working for Sin City Wrestling, so this is the perfect place for us to spar.

Lucy:  While it is somewhat pointless, because you and Samantha are two totally different people, and I can't exactly face off against Rage due to the gender restriction.

Me:  Consider it a bonding experience.  Neither one of us can truly prepare for our match, as one never knows what to expect, but that doesn't mean that we can't challenge one another to keep us on our toes.

Lucy shrugs her shoulders, though she smirks, because she knows that I'm not expecting a challenge, and yet, that is exactly what she intends to bring my way.  We both climb up onto the apron, stepping inside simultaneously.  We walk to the center of the ring, and while I tower over Lucy, she doesn't seem the least bit intimidated, as I would hope she wouldn't.

Lucy:  Please tell me that you can focus on more things than one at a time?  Tell me your story.  I've told you mine.

Me:  What exactly do you mean?

We tie up in the center of the ring.  While it is second nature for both of us, I use my power to back her against the ropes, but unfortunately, that is exactly what she planned on, and she uses her size to wiggle free, and send me against the ropes with amazing strength for someone her size.  As I bounce off of the opposite ropes, she shouts across the ring.

Lucy:  You said, just three weeks ago, that you were a... monster!

She thrusts her elbow toward my head, pulling no punches, and taking no mercy on me as her partner.  I might have mildly impressed her when I duck the elbow, and grab onto her arm, and wrench it behind her back, while my other arm wraps around her waist in a varied German Suplex combo.  I stop here for a moment, feeling the memories that are as cold, but much more dead, as Lucy's very touch.  Memories of my many training sessions with Misty come flooding back, stopping me in my tracks, as Lucy uses this to her advantage.  She twists out of the arm wrench, and breaks from my other arm with such ease and grace, but it is too late for me as I break out of the trance.  Lucy jerks my arm down, bringing me to my knee.  I pat her arm while I wrap my brain around the chance to break free from her iron clad grip.

Me:  There is no story, really.  I've always liked hurting people, so I made a career out of it.

Lucy:  One doesn't just decide to be a monster and make a job out of it.  One becomes a monster.

Lucy wrenches the arm again, but this time, I surprise her with my own agility for my size, and I kick my legs out, almost leaning back Matrix style, before I twist my body, bringing Lucy over with an Arm Drag.  Lucy skids across the mat, on her feet, as she quickly regains her footing.

Me:  Like foster father, like son.  I'm not sure what else I can say.  My uncle was a sadistic bastard, and to survive that, I had to become one myself.

Lucy laughs.  She doesn't chuckle, she straight up laughs.  I come toward her, stalking closely, but she is stalking me too.  We circle around one another as her laughter calms down, perhaps realizing that she won't lull me into submission so easily.

Lucy:  Your uncle is a lot of things, but sadistic is not one of them.  He strikes me as more of a masochist than a sadist.  What hurts you so badly that no amount of pain you inflict on another human being is enough to move past it?

Me:  I'm not one for sob stories, sister, so...

Damn it!  Reading her is nearly impossible, as she uses the split second of distraction to lunge at me, putting a well placed headlock on, wrenching until I'm brought down to one knee.  However, this one isn't just about utilizing the distraction, but yet there is a bit of anger in her movements.

Lucy:  I trusted you enough to open up to you.  I thought for one brief moment that we could possibly be friends, but I guess I was wrong.

Lucy lets go of the hold, and just drops me.  I rub at the side of my neck as I look over at her.  She waves me off as she walks over toward the ropes.  The Russian temper is clearly in effect, though I can't say that I don't deserve it.  I approach her, and she simply growls, so I hold my hands up despite her not being able to see it.

Me:  My life story in a nutshell is that I was rejected and dejected by just about every person I've ever encountered.  Everyone leaves me, and no one can appreciate that I am a human being.  My father was in the business, and he was always out on the road.  I've heard stories that he was a man whore, and a drug addict who used his time away from his family to live away from the burden.  He died.  My mother killed herself because my father was her life, and she couldn't give two shits about her children.  My uncle loved my mother, and we were the thing that stopped him from moving in on his brother's territory.  My brother looked at me like a father... our father... and he grew to resent me.  My first love tortured me, and toughened me up.  My second love gave me my second beautiful child, before destroying me in the center of the ring.  Any friend I've ever had has ditched me at the first chance they could.  And the worst part is that the beast in me grew to full capacity about half way through all of this.  So, if you want to know why I'm a monster, pick and choose any combination of that, and I'm sure it's a sufficient enough reason to explain why I need to redirect my pain.

Lucy lets it all soak in for a moment, not saying a word.  Perhaps my desperate attempt at making up for the lack of trust on that level was just too little, too late.  Who knows?  All I know is that she isn't speaking to me.  I shrug my shoulders and turn away from her and walk back toward the ropes to make my exit.  As I get one leg through the ropes, her voice cuts through the air like knives.

Lucy:  I thought you said you weren't one for a sob story?  And I never took you as much of a liar...

Me:  Excuse me?

I turn and look back at her.  She has no idea what she's talking about if she feels that any of that was a lie.  I stare daggers back at her, my nostrils beginning to flare up.  She walks toward me, not giving an inch.

Lucy:  Omission is still lying.  I don't know much about your personal life, but you clearly have a wife who thinks the world of you.  You have your children, and you make it no secret that you and your brothers, and even your uncle, are a closely knit family.  If you are a monster, it isn't because you are your father's son.  You just feel like you have to be.  You are limiting yourself to being a pale imitation of your father.  Who is your father, anyway?

I blink, taking her words to heart for a moment.  I slowly nod my head, though I'm not sure where she is going with this.

Me:  "Heartthrob" Robbie Staggs.

Lucy:  I have never heard of him.  But, I have heard of Spike Staggs.  You are your own man, and so long as you continue to live like you are your father, at least as far as your career is concerned, then you have already outlived your career.  I might as well think of another way to get to Samantha Marlowe and her Bombshell Championship.

Me:  Who exactly do you think you are?  You act like you know me so well, but up until five minutes ago, you didn't know anything that wasn't on my Wikipedia page.  I am not my father.  I'm world renowned.  I'm not a cheater, or a drug addict, and I sure as FUCK don't like being away from my family!  I am not my fucking father!

As I shout at her, she has once again goaded me, though this time, her smiling expression spells it out for me.  She pats me on the back, though she might as well be patting herself on her own back, because the pride is within herself, and not within me.

Lucy:  Great.  Now, just convince yourself of that.  I mean, truly convince yourself.  Light the fire within yourself, and then we might stand a chance at getting past Rage and Sam on Sunday.

I breathe heavily, the anger still fresh within my head.  I am pumped, and ready for a true fight now.  Lucy takes a few steps back, and we go back to sparring, a session that will go on for hours, well into the night.  I try not to appreciate what she's done for me, because the fire within me won't burn as brightly, and with the challenge ahead of us... we need to bring all of the heat we can...




Nostalgia
#NP "Freak on a Leash" by Korn
Locale:  Location Undisclosed



There was a time where SCW was my life.  I lived, breathed, ate, and shit all things Sin City Wrestling.  In the beginning, I didn't even want to be part of this thing.  I retired, and it was meant to be just that.  But, "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward always has a way of getting what he wants, and I found my way to the ring.  I almost seemed to pick back up right where I left off.  I went to the center stage, and for a while... I commanded the fucking thing.  I was the face of SCW, and I wouldn't have had it any other way.  I don't think I should have to repeat myself, but for the sake of what I'm about to show you... I will...

I took this company from it's meager beginnings, and I lead a charge through the entirety of the NeWA.  Within months of SCW becoming a territory, I led us to the front of the line, bringing more attention to SCW, and allowing others to capture many of the NeWA titles, or at least compete for them.    I made SCW what it is today, so the fact that I'm truly a Nobody... it's a bit discouraging, I'm not going to lie.  People barely know my name, and the only ones who do, don't seem to want to admit that they shit their pants when I took off my mask just a couple days before my special, limited time return.

It all got me thinking about the days when I was a Somebody.  The days when the crowds cheered my name.  The days when everyone knew exactly who I was.  The days when people actually got excited to tune in to Climax Control.  I took a little visit to the SCW Merchandise Shop online, where they keep at least a little bit of everything ever released on hand.  I went through the list, and found things that were interesting to me.  Things that inspired something within me.  Before I knew it, I believe I had one of almost everything in my e-cart.  I walk into what looks like a merchandise warehouse, but is actually my hotel room, rearranged to display everything I bought.  I walk by the first item, a Jessie Salco men's t-shirt.  You know, from before she became a dirty bitch who hazes young children on Twitter.  I stop and look at it, as I mutter aloud...

Me:  One of the first, truly loyal members of the New X-Tremes.  We saw you win a few titles, and go from zero to hero.

I nod my head in pride at that thought, though it quickly fades as I pack the item back into the box.  Next to it, I find the "Freight Train of Pain" t-shirt that I helped design myself for Casey Williams.  Aside from myself and Jordan Williams, C-Will was the first man actually inducted into the New X-Tremes.  He beat even myself to competing for NeWA gold, despite it not coming to fruition.  He enjoyed many title reigns under my guidance, and even made for a good friend in the meantime.  But, all things much come to an end, as I place the shirt into the same box.  I ruffle through every NXT shirt on hand, tee's and tank tops, and even the hooded jacket that inspired the Nobodies uniform look.  I place them into the box, and fold it back up.  I move on to the next pile of crap, looking down at it fondly.  My own personal tee, the tee featuring Giani Di Luca, Misty, Ben Jordan, Jon Dough, Party Horde, and the many Vixen t-shirts.  I look at each one, cherishing a special memory, before packing them up as well.  I move over to the Simon Jones shirts, as well as the Despayre and Drake Green shirts, and everything in between.  I can't help but smile.  Looking at them, I know that we all helped to build this company, along with so many others.  When I say that I built SCW, I don't mean that I did it alone, but I certainly did lead the charge.

I look through the posters, when I start to notice the decline.  Delia Darling, and all of the Mean Girls merchandise that I ordered with full intention of burning, sits spread out over a box.  As much as I hate to admit it, Mean Girls was an empire, one that moved in to take the place that the New X-Tremes left behind.  They were annoying as hell, but even they made the impossible... possible.  While I wasn't necessarily there, I tuned in each week.  I'd hoped someone would destroy them, but in true Delia Darling fashion, the only person who was allowed to destroy them... was them.  Poetic in a way, really.  For that reason, I won't burn their stuff.  I'll simply tuck it away in a dark corner of a basement closet, far out of view.

Though, there have been a random treasure here and there, SCW has been missing such a spark from a unique stable that makes sense, and draws in dollars from the fans.  The Mean Girls was the last of a dying breed.  The Nobodies is about the exact opposite, and for that reason, we... they... will never reach such a status as The Nobodies.  Nothing excites.  Since my return, it feels like I've just been going through the motions, hoping to recapture that feeling that I once had for this business.  Instead, all I see are dead memories, packed away in boxes, and a firm reminder that the past will always stay in the past, and no amount of wishing will ever bring it back.  It's sad, but a reality that we must all face.

However, one last item that I had nearly forgotten about comes to mind.  I'd forgotten to show it off, because I'm wearing it.

<img src=http://i1253.photobucket.com/albums/hh598/SinCityWrestlingBucket/RageSinOfWrathTShirt01_zps266f2d0a.png>


Ha!  There's no way that anyone should forget that they are wearing something like this.  Remembering that one moment that Rage had hair, and wishing he'd kept it to hide the fact that he's got a peanut head is just priceless.  This shirt is the perfect embodiment of Rage, too.  Each time I look at the picture, I see a big baby.  The only thing it's missing are some tears flying from his eyes.  He's throwing a big childish tantrum, and trying to pull all of the attention on to himself.  Instead of being a normal person, and... I don't know, not sucking at wrestling, or being a choke artist... Rage throwns fits.  He storms off when the going gets tough, but he will always mope around like he doesn't give a shit about anything or anyone, but when the attention isn't on him?  He blows a fit.  When it is on him?  He throws a fucking fit.  My children were never so childish... and they are children.  I have to wonder if Rage actually has what it takes to get past me, or will it be another instance where Samantha Marlowe pulls him through the tournament?  He clearly doesn't have what it takes to get a World title match on his own, and his temper tantrums and "quitting" as if he were Alexis Edwards, have worn thin on the bosses.

Rage has to rely on Samantha to get him through the tournament, because Rage is a classic choke artist.  He is good at getting just to the cusp of greatness, and then failing, and fading.  I've gotten past him before, and I have it on good authority that I will do it again.  if he couldn't beat me when we were both in our prime, and he's clearly let himself go much worse than I have... then how does he expect to get to James Huntington-Hawkes the third?

You see, Rage... you want to fight for the top prize in this business.  You want to earn your shot at the title, so that you can (no matter how delusional this sounds) be the champion that we need.  The strong champion who bats away any and all competition.  Sorry to break it to you, Jakey boy, but you will never be me.  You will never be the original, and you will never even be a knock off of me... or a Drake Green as I like to say.  You will have to find another way to James, because this is my path.

This isn't even about you, Rage.  You're just an annoying obstacle, the same way that CJ Sharpe was.  You see, I've got some business with J2H... haha... and I want him to see me destroy any and all obstables that come in my way.  I want him to shit his pants, knowing that I'm coming for him.  And just to be clear, I'm not coming for his title.  I'm coming for him!  The bastard that sold my son out, in true cowardly fashion.  He might have inked himself up.  He might have spent time in the gym with Austin Parker, but you can't change colors unless you are a chameleon, and James is no chameleon.  He is a C-word.  Cock sucker?  Chicken shit?  Cunt?  All of the above, but first and foremost, he is a coward, and he proved that a zebra can't change it's stripes when he sold my son out.  I'm ready to go round 2 with the little bastard, and no title in the world matters to me.  The only thing that matters is wrapping my hands around his neck and ringing it like a motherfucking bell.

But, Rage... the fact that you want to delude yourself into believing that you stand a chance?  I can actually respect that.  It shows a bit of backbone that I didn't realize you had under all of that muscle and body oil.  It doesn't show that you have any brains, but that's besides the point.  You are not a coward.  You are simply a dumb shit who has taken one too many chairs to the head, and no, I'm not talking about in the Blaze of Glory game I played earlier on my X-Box 360 where I repeatedly hammered away at your head with endless steal chairs... which totally happened, and it was definitely hilarious...  No, I'm talking about real steel chairs.  I'm talking about being concussed to the point you literally see stars and birds flying around your head like you were Roger Rabbit.  No, I didn't choose that rabbit because of your speech impediment either... Okay, I did.  I really did...

My point, Rage, is that I'm a determined man.  I'm not a man child, but a real man, who has his eyes set on something far beyond you.  I will get past you on Sunday, Rage.  I will Suplex, DDT, Armlock, Headlock, punch, kick, and choke my way to victory, because I have to.  I don't want to.  I HAVE to.  I have a few things to prove before I go after the sonuvabitch who put my son's life in needless jeopardy.  You might be my "biggest" challenge yet, but you won't be my toughest.  I've got my eyes on you, Jacob, even if it seems like I'm looking passed you.  Be ready for hell on Sunday, because I will bring every bit of that hell, and oh so much more.

Oh, and just because I can...  we take a look at the many sensual Vixen posters as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

11
Character Building Roleplays / Untitled
« on: March 19, 2016, 03:25:25 AM »
 Untitled
#NP "Pills n Potions" by Nicki Minaj
Locale:  The Recesses of My Mind




No matter what I try, I just don't feel better.  Some might say that I need to find happiness within myself, but I tried that too, and it didn't work.  Self medicating is the only thing that takes the edge off.  Smoking takes the bite off of having all of my friends hating me, and abandoning me.  At the bottom of the Jack Daniels bottle, I find a way to take the sting out of the crushing blow I suffered two weeks ago at the hands of my dad.  The jagged little pill mellows out the disappointment that, no matter what I do, I'll always be alone.  My fears will always conquer, so why should I bother trying to outrun them.  Some call it the coward's way out, but why should I fight the inevitable?  It seems senseless.  Those who give a damn about me have told me that I shouldn't be a sitting duck, but no matter where I go, I am exactly that.

No amount of sex or drugs or training or drinking or prayer will fix that.  And trust me, I've done plenty of all of those things over the last few weeks.  I have just stopped trying.  Even with my match against Dmitri coming up this week, I can't find it in me to care.  Rather, I can't find it in me to sober up to care.  I might as well live while there is life left in me.  Celeste is pissed at me, and I wouldn't doubt if she decides to break the protection spell, the one and only thing keeping me alive.

Most would say that I haven't been very responsible over the last few weeks, but I figure it's about time that I do things my way instead of "their" way.  I've seen the inside of several tattoo shops, had many types of needles in, and through, my skin.  I've seen the bottom of many bottles.  I've seen the ceiling of many different bedrooms and hotel rooms.  Grindr is one hell of an app.  I'm bound and determined to live life before my eighteenth birthday, a week from today.  As I stare at myself in the mirror of some strange girl's bedroom, I can't help but smile.  The change has just been incredible.

<img src=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/11/d7/35/11d7351f56ae9fe02c8c52322cf164d7.jpg>


The furthest thing from my mind right now is my match against some no name vampire.  As if we didn't have enough of those running around SCW, right?  The last two matches I've had were against vampires.  I feel like maybe I was mistaken when I signed here.  I thought it was Sin City Wrestling.  Not Supernatural Championship Wrestling.  It's cool though.  I've had plenty of sin over the last few weeks to make up for all of it, so Sin is still relevant.

I feel like a totally different person headed into the show this week.  I'm wiser, and I'm older, even if I'm acting like I'm stupid.  Even as I pull down her skirt, and clinch her panties between my teeth, I can't help but feel that my mind is somewhere else.  For the next twenty minutes, and maybe a few more if she likes what I'm offering up, my mind will only briefly wander to other things.  Her velvet-like chocolate skin anticipates my tender touch, but I don't even look at her.  Her shift starts in a few hours, but Cinnamon is ready to go now.  As I yank my head down quickly, dropping the pink bow panties to the ground, and get to work, my mind goes back to several other things.

Fighting vampires... Brother Grimm... Alexis... Chad... losing the match I'd dreamed of since I was a child... how long it will take until I don't care anymore.  I must have gotten lost in thought as I find it easier to breathe again, and she collapses on the bed, frantically trying to catch her breath.  I run my wrist against my chin and lips as I hover over her, looking down at her as her golden eyes are on fire with desire.  I reach down for my underwear, and she stops me.

Cinnamon:  Baby boy, I need a break after that...

She continues breathing heavily as I press my lips against hers.  It is more out of habit than desire, before I roll over onto my back and stare up at her ceiling.  My sweaty chest heaves up and down as there is an aching in my groin.  Cinnamon goes to work, but my mind wanders once more.  I can only vaguely hear her words of encouragement, mixed with complaining of her wrist, or her jaw... I can't really tell.  From my experience, girls are no good down there anyway.  Maybe it's that, or maybe I'm just not feeling it like I thought I would be when I saw her at the coffee shop this morning.  Maybe my mind is just in a million different places... Or, maybe she just isn't any good.  It could be a combination, so I remove it from the equation and sit up on the edge of her bed.

Cinnamon:  What the fuck?

Me:  I just remembered that I've got.......

She stares at me for a moment as I try to come up with something convincing to explain why I need to get out of here.  I pick up the lit cigarette from the ash tray on her bed, and I take a long drag from it to give me time, though I fear my awkward nature has slightly come back up again, so I stop trying to convince her.

Me: ... something... to do... in the oven... at my house...

Cinnamon:  You know what?  Fuck you.  Fuck out my house right now, and don't think about ever coming back.

I stand up and sigh as I set the cigarette back down in her ash tray as she begin throwing things at me.  I reach down to the ground and pick up my jeans.  I pull them up, all while side stepping pillows, remotes, phones, and even the ash tray with the lit cigarette, one leg at a time.  I reach into my pants and pull out a cigarette, lighting it, while I just stare at her, with every curse word coming out of her luscious lips.  She got real ghetto on me, real quick.  I pick up her panties and place them between my teeth as a souvenier, before I drape my shirt over my shoulder.  I open the door to her bedroom door, and close it, just as a book of CD's crashes against it.  I walk through her apartment, toward the front door, as her roommate looks me up and down, licking at his bottom lip.

Roomie:  If she ain't did it for you, my bedroom is right around the corner, strawberry shortcakes.

Me:  I think I'll pass, before I wind up dead...

I jut my thumb back toward Cinnamon, before I duck out of the front door, and through the stairwell.  I need to find some kind of trouble to get in to, because this just isn't working.  I take a drag off of my cigarette when I start walking toward Staggs Dungeon to see if any masked Nobodies want to get crazy tonight.  Thoughts running through my mind like a river, I don't even realize that I've made it to the gym already.  I place my hand on the door handle, and just before I pull it open, I see Alexis sitting on the ground, off to the side, with disappointment written across her face.  Part of me really wants to console her, but I know she doesn't want that.  She's got other people to do that for her.  I suck in a breath of air before I start to walk inside the gym.  Her voice cuts through the air, and then, what follows, doesn't quite match up to my expectations.

12
Climax Control Archives / The Natural Order
« on: March 11, 2016, 11:51:27 PM »
 
<img src=http://38.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m0wedli8Ux1r30e2y.gif>


The Aftermath
#NP "So Cold" by Breaking Benjamin
Locale:  Eureka Municipal Auditorium; Eureka, California




The show must go on, it would seem.  My son and I left it all on the mat, and we put on one hell of a match together.  Credit is most certainly due to Lucy Seraphina and Amanda Cortez for putting on one wicked display, but the world was on fire the moment I stepped through those curtains, and everyone felt that heat.  My own son was the only person who knew that I was behind that mask, and not even then was he certain.  I'd like to think that we stole the show, but reality settles in as I watch everything going on around us.  Camera crews are on the hunt for a new story to cover.  Ring technicians are getting things cleaned up for the next match to begin, and we are simply two guppies in the pond, swimming against the current.  Literally no one bats an eyelash at the two of us.  I had this image of coming back to the show, and proving everything that I had thought about my relationship with this company wrong, but all it had done was solidify why I left in the first place.  It proves validity as to why Misty felt the need to return each time after she retired.  No one gets that more than I do, especially now.

But, the more painstaken detail is seeing the look on my son's face.  He had always mentioned that one day, he wanted to do battle with me, and he got his wish.  Granted, it didn't turn out the way he had hoped, and there is a part of me that wishes I had pushed things in his favor a bit.  No parent likes to see their child disappointed, but I stand by the fact that it would have been a major disservice to him to hand him an undeserved victory.  But the pain on his face is beyond that of the outcome of our match.  He just put on one of his best matches to date, and not a single person noticed.  Not a one approaches him to tell him what a great job he did out there.  I remember those days all too well, so they hit a little bit closer to home than one might imagine.

I wrap an arm around him as we approach the Nobodies locker room.  I look to him, and the worry in my eyes must be showing, because he immediately pulls out from under my arm and he stares right into my eyes.

Tim:  Don't worry.  They won't tear you to shreds in there.  Truth be told, I don't think any of them even like me anymore.  Not that I give a shit at this point.

Me:  Truth be told, I don't care what three little girls think of me.  Not enough to stop me from facing them, anyway.  I'm more concerned about you.  I'm worried because you have been starting to go down the same road you went down when you were friends with that douche, Johnny Tsunami, and Liz Smalls.

Tim stares at me, but there is an air of uncaring there.  Behind that mask, there is an extreme fear, anxiety, worry, self doubt, and anger that forms what is apparently an explosive emotional maltov cocktail.

Tim:  You don't even know the half of it!  I've done things that would make you cringe, and that's just since losing the tag titles, and Connor as a friend.

Me:  You have not lost him as a friend.  Sometimes people just need a bit of space to breathe.

Tim:  I'm going fucking crazy, dad!  It's no secret that I slept with my Blast From the Past partner, and her wife, and we did some things I may never get over.  Degrading, hot, self loathing, wonderful things!  I'm tattooed as Rose's "Bad Boy" for life!  Right there on my left ass cheek!

Without me needing visual proof, Tim pulls down the back of his tights and flashes his newest piece of body art.  It's such a plain font choice, even for a prison style tattoo, but that was the last thing I needed to see at this point.  I turn my head and let out a disgusted grunt, shielding my eyes.

Tim:  And now Celeste is mad at me, because she facilitated something between her boyfriend and I, and then when it actually happened, she blew up about loyalty and some other bullshit!  I'm not playing a victim... not since leaving Amanda's dungeon at least, but why would you dangle a carrot in front of a rabbit, and then get pissed when the rabbit fucks the carrot?!

Me:  Ohhhhkay... I know I've always been one for promoting total honesty, and that is my mistake.  Some things are better left unsaid, because I can't unhear that.  As much as I wish I could... I can't.  Not that I am one to judge, because I've experimented many times in life, but a father just doesn't need to hear about his child's sexual escapades.

My mild indifference to Tim's honestly surprising sexual preferences almost seems to shock, yet underwhelm, my son.  He seems as if he's unsure of how to continue, while maintaining the fiery emotional explosion.  He almost seems aggravated that I'm not upset about his bi-curious exploration, so he turns away from me.

Me:  I'm not going to look down on you for choices concerning your sexuality, so long as you play safe.  I don't necessarily want to hear about them, as you're my child, but I'm more than happy to lend an ear for advice.  I just don't want you to feel like you have to work your way through this without any sort of guidance, son.

Tim:  I don't need to hold your hand while I'm having sex.  I'll be 18 in just a few weeks now, and truth be told, I lost my virginity back in Japan.  This isn't new territory for me... well, Chad was, but in general?  No.  I just don't feel comfortable in my own skin right now, and I know that won't change until I find it in myself to change.  I just can't seem to get someone else off of my mind.

Me:  Alexis?

I ask in a horrified manner, though I know I don't even need to ask.  She has dragged his heart through the mud for as long as I've known of her existence.  Since the day I walked in and found her crashing on the couch in my office at Staggs Dungeon, as a matter of fact.  I stare at Tim as he nods his head.

Me:  Look, I know this won't do a damn bit of good, because it didn't stop me from pining after your mother... but everyone warned me that she was trouble.  Everyone told me that she would drag me down, and that I would never rebound from the damage she would do to me.  Granted, I did my own damage in return, but I didn't listen.  She was like a wildfire that just swept me up, and for the longest time, I enjoyed the burn.  I just didn't realize that I was also a wildfire.  We burned together, until we caused explosions, and our flames separated.  We were not good for one another, and unfortunately, you had to feel the burn as well.  Alexis is your mother in so many ways.

Tim:  Yeah, but I'm not you, dad.  I'm not Roxanne, either.  Alexis might not be good for me, but that doesn't stop my heart from wanting her.  But, since that just isn't going to happen, I'm going to live my life, and I'm going to set it all on fire.

Me:  You aren't me.  You're right.  But do you realize that you sound exactly like me at your age?

Tim goes to speak, when the Nobodies step out from the janitors closet we had been using for privacy.  Tessa stops and stares at me, as Celeste avoids looking at Tim.  Alexis looks right at him, though it is clear that she hadn't heard anything Tim just said about her.  Celeste leans in and whispers to Alexis, who doesn't seem phased by her words at all.

Tessa:  What'er ye two doing out here gabbing all private like?

Celeste:  If I had to guess, I'd say it has something to do with fucking boyfriends?

Alexis stares out of the corner of her eye at Celeste, an obvious look of surprise comes over her face.  However, there is no confusion on what Celeste meant as Alexis tries her best to shake it off.  She looks to me, seeing that I'm about ready to explode on Celeste, so she quickly changes the subject before Tim and Celeste have a chance to look to one another to start a war.

Alexis:  That match was fuckin' awesome, guys.  I swore that Tim had it a few times there.

Me:  He did a wonderful job out there.

Celeste:  Oh?  I didn't even notice, what with getting his ass kicked by a legend and all.

Tim:  If you need references on any "jobs" I do, why don't you ask Chad?  He might tell you that I... blow...

Tim smiles as Celeste rolls her eyes.  I step up between the two of them, and I give both of them a firm push apart.  I look to each of them with a stern father look that I instantly wish I hadn't done.  While I'm worrying about rewinding the dad look, I do something even worse.

Me:  KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF!!!

Tim:  Yeah, C...

Me:  BOTH OF YOU!!!

Tim quickly zips it up as I stare directly at him.  I then turn to give the ever defiant Celeste a look.  Neither one of them says a word, and while I regret intervening, it is too late to turn back now, because it's already begun.

Me:  As a matter of fact, why don't the four of you shut the hell up and listen to me.  I don't mean stare at me with contempt, Tessa and Alexis.  I mean drink in the knowledge I'm about to drop on you.

I stare to Alexis who crosses her arms over her chest as Tessa holds her hands up in a dramatic surrender.

Me:  I was the original Nobody before most of you had your first long term memory.  I am the Underdog Story.  I went through everything that you guys are going through right now, and then some.  And do you know what happened?

Alexis:  You sold out to "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward?

Me:  Yes, but you are too far ahead of that.  I formed a group, much like this little one... except much less vagina.  People came, and people left.  The parallels are great in numbers.  But, the second we all actually got on the same page, and stopped fighting over petty bullshit like someone fucking someone else's boyfriend, who they were trying to get rid of anyway... we actually accomplished things.  I'm not talking about championships.  I'm talking about getting noticed, and appreciated, to the point that, yeah, someone like Mark Ward Junior noticed my potential, and gave me a platform to go on to bigger and brighter things.  I became a Somebody, not only because of myself, but because my stable mates and I weren't at each other's throats constantly.  We worked together as a cohesive unit, and that is something that you guys have yet to do.  So I suggest that you four work out whatever issues you have with one another, or at least find a way to choke them back to help each other instead of hindering.  That's how you become a Somebody...  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to take Tim to an emergency clinic to get tested after his training sessions with Amanda...

I pull Tim by the arm as we walk away from the three ladies, and they all look to one another, stunned at what they are hearing.  Tim doesn't protest, though he does give me a dirty look as we head toward the Men's locker room to collect our things.



The Natural Order
#NP "Alive" by Nekromantix
Locale:  Tucson, Arizona; Location unknown



Walking through the streets of Tucson at night is a much more tame time than walking the streets of Vegas.  Some might even say that we are in the middle of nowhere.  Despite the smaller demographic than I'm used to, there are plenty of similarities.  Such as the woman standing on the corner of the street, smoking a cigarette, and dressed in clothes that shouldn't be worn for another month or two out of respect for the seasons.  If she were in Vegas, she would be wearing some kind of small mini skirt, with a sequin top.  The costume is different, but the intent is the same.  She is a predator, seeking her next meal.  She watches the streets like a hawk, and each passing car could be her ticket.  One approaches, and little does she know, this duo of wolves is also in search of their next meal.  The skeezy look matches those in Vegas to a point, the trucker hats, dirty blue jeans, and unkempt hair and facial hair.  There is something different about these men.  The wolves have devious intentions, though the degree of which may vary.  She gets in the car, and aside from the two wolves in hillbilly clothing, I just might be the last person to see the hawk alive.  It's a gamble one takes in the urban jungles.  The concrete dwellings might replace the foliage, but the rules are always the same.  Stay alive for as long as you can.

As I watch the tail lights fade on the beat up car, I turn to see another specimen.  One that is much less aware of the dangers surrounding them.  There is a stray cub, no more than fifteen years of age.  He is seated on the sidewalk, covered by a piece of cardboard that reads "Will work for food".  A man dressed in a Mr. Rogers cardigan and slacks, approaches him, likely with false promises of his next meal.  But what I see in the urban jungle, is a serpant, with devious intents of his own.  He leans down and whispers to the young man, but one can only imagine what tempting words of pure venom drip from his eager fangs.  The boy gets up from his spot on the sidewalk, and readies himself for his next job, which just might take away everything.

This is when the anamoly enters the equation.  The wild card.  The factor that no one can count on as a certainty.  I walk over to the two, and I stare right at the snake, my very own dead eyes glaring right at him as I step between them.  I notice something dead in his eyes as well, though the deviant thoughts are almost too much for even me to take.  I reach into my pocket and pull out a fifty dollar bill.  I turn to the kid, and I place it into his cupped hand, unexpectedly.  The man turns me around and tries not to cause too much of a scene as he speaks to me.

Snake:  Hey man, what do you think you're doing?  Go get your own...

I'm sickened to my core.  I understand desire better than the next man, but this is nothing by comparison.  I scoff at the man, shaking my head as I turn back to the boy, who cuts me off before I have a chance to speak.

Cub:  What do I gotta do for this, sir?

Me:  You have to go down the street to the diner, eat and drink to your heart's content, and find somewhere off the streets to sleep tonight.  It's not safe here anymore.

The boy nods his head as he stares at the snake, his plans now foiled.  He looks angry with me, but because of my size, he makes no attempts to get physical with me.  Though, we gaze upon one another as if we were the next meal, following a grueling battle to the death.  The cub scampers off as the snake is struck with the realization that I was not after the boy, but instead, after him.  He slowly backs up, but I do not relent.  I have a Punisher Complex tonight, and I'm not going to stop until this scum bag has learned his lesson.  I stalk forward as he chuckles nervously.

Snake:  I, uh... needed my lawn mowed, and...

Me:  At 11:30 at night?  The noise pollution laws must be different than where I'm from.

Snake:  He was obviously homeless, and I have a spare bedroom for him to get a good nights rest.

I wink at him and click my teeth as he continues to back up.  Anxiety takes over his face as he quickens his backward pace.  I know I don't need to quicken mine, because I am the most fierce warrior of the urban jungle.  I seek justice, as well as my next meal.  I am man, the true king of the concrete forest.  I don't need to use fear tactics, because his fear is already real enough.

Me:  As a man with a son not much older than that kid, I find predators like you to be the lowest form of humanity.

He trips over a trash bin on the sidewalk, and I hover over him as he tries to slither away on his ass and hands.  However, I grab onto his throat and I stare down at him as I begin to tighten my grip.  I see the reflection of myself in his glossy eyes, and it's a look I haven't seen in ages.  My teeth are gritted, and I'm shaking with rage and anticipation for his lights to go out completely.  The smile on my face almost makes me sick for a moment, but the moment quickly passes.

Me:  The world would be better off without your kind, preying on children because you aren't beast enough to admit to yourself exactly what you are.  You can't man up to take on the other creatures of the night, so you ruin children instead... heh, well not today, Satan...

Lights approach us, and I quickly turn.  Like a chameleon, my smile changes to that of a helpful one as the police car comes over to us, slowing down as they shine a light on us.  I laugh it off as I only turn to face them, blinded by their spotlight.

Officer:  Is there a problem, gentlemen?

Me:  None at all, officer.  This man tripped on the sidewalk, and I was just trying to help him up.

The officer shines his light over to the man who is catching his breath.  I can see the steel blue eyes, searching over the man, and waiting for the truth to come out.  Luckily, I retained memory of my old ventriloquist act from grade school, and I speak to him without moving my lips at all.

Me:  If you tell him what happened, so will I... the whole story.

The snake nods his head as I grab onto his arm to jerk him up almost violently.  He finishes catching his breath, and then forces a smile onto his face to convince the officer.

Snake:  Yes, officer.  I've just been a bit clumsy tonight.  But I have a feeling that this won't ever happen again.

Me:  It better not, right?  It would be a shame to have your knee caps shattered from another slip...

The officer sighs and rolls his eyes, taking off slowly again.  As he turns the corner, I bury my knee into the pit of the snake's stomach.  He doubles back over in pain as I walk off, leaving him to his own tortured memories.  Just outside of the slightly urban cityscape of Tucson, I find a hill, the grass as artificial as the idea that grass could even possibly grow naturally in this region.  The plastic feels almost realistic, minus the mosquitoes in search of their next fix.  I sit there, and watch the city.  Despite not having much going on by comparison to Las Vegas, I seem to be able to hone in on more here.  The faint gunshot that I would have taken for granted in Vegas.  The echoing scream of drunken delight from the girls leaving the bar.  Every little noise seems much more crisp here, and the inner workings of the jungle are more clearly heard.

Me:  You know... there is a natural order to things.  It is, well, the nature of it all.  Every creature is one of habit, and form.  We all take to our niche in life, and we don't ever question it.  Only those who do, are destined for great things.

I stare out as the lights of the city slowly start to die down.  This is something else that Tucson has on Vegas.  Smaller numbers of predators, and the shadow of the night as a blanket for the dirtiest of deeds.  As the city tucks itself in for bed, I stare at it all, a cigarette between my lips.  The glowing ember lights up my face with each drag I take.

Me:  I have never been one for complacent thought.  I do not accept the reality of what is placed in front of me.  By natural law, man is not at the top of the food chain, as we would like ourselves to believe.  There is no food chain.  There is only the circle of life.  We are born, we consume, we grow, we deteriorate, we die, and we become fertilizer for another organism to continue on with the same process.  There is no true rhyme or reason to what is going on.  The mightiest of beasts can be taken down by the tiniest, simplest of organisms.  It happens every day.

The near silence is almost deafening to me, taken over by only the sound of cars driving up the hill to pass me by.

Me:  This is why I do not take my opponent this week for granted.  CJ Sharpe is a mere single celled oranism in the SCW Animal Kingdom.  While I would like to deny it, I am the elderly wolf, who is standing on his last leg.  Sure, I appear to be big, and bad.  I've done some pretty sickening things in my time, and I've earned the respect of most of the pups running around this place, as well as my peers.  On paper, this should be an easy match for me.  I should walk in, stomp CJ out, and continue on in the tournament.  Though, in my years of great wisdom, I can't say that with any kind of certainty at all.  Last week, I was the wild card, but this week?  CJ is a complete unknown to me.  For all I know, he could be the next... me.  Is that arrogant sounding?  Good...

I take another drag from my cigarette, finishing it off before flicking it out into the street, very non chalant.

Me:  CJ Sharpe could be the next phenomena, and he could be waiting for the perfect opportunity to take down the weakened beast with the highest of decoration.  He might go into that ring and destroy and embarrass me, the way Andrew Watts did to my uncle in last year's tournament, in the second round no less.  Who knows?  It could very well happen.  Though, logic tells us that I could just as easily walk into the ring on Sunday, smash him to pieces, and win the match within seconds.  That will likely be the outcome, but it is due in part to not thinking that it will.  No one should go into a match expecting to win, and listing off their accomplishments as a way of convincing themselves why they are going to win.  List them as honor, not that you held the titles, but that you were part of something much bigger than yourself, building it up.  What has CJ done here in SCW?  I couldn't honestly tell you, because I have not paid an ounce of attention.  It is the order of things around here.  I pay attention to that which is necessary, and I never viewed CJ Sharpe as "necessary".  No one is perfect, myself included.

I reach into my pocket and pull out another cigarette from my pack.  I place it between my lips, and just savor the cool touch on my lips.

Me:  This match isn't so simple, of course.  It isn't just about me.  It is about Lucy Seraphina and Kate Steele.  Both ladies have their accomplishments, but on paper, Kate has the advantage of being a champion.  She is the Bombshell Roulette Champion, currently reigning.  Kate is a beast all her own.

I size up my cigarette for a moment before I light it up.  Taking one harsh drag, I pause and shake my head.

Me:  I've come to realize that people don't remember anything in this business past two weeks.  Kate just won the belt.  Lucy held a belt of higher tier.  She defeated Amy Marshall to get that honor, a woman who I consider a dear friend, and a woman who is no laughing matter.  She is the only Bombshell to Grand Slam all four title, and Lucy found it in her to best Amy.  Lucy is a beast by nature, both literally and figuratively.  Her and I work so well together, because we both have a thirst for blood.  Mine isn't a need as much as a desire, but still.  Lucy and I are both skilled and controlled, which is the most lethal kind of beast.  In the jungle of SCW, we are the anomalies, and we will prove this week why we are absolutely nothing to laugh at.  We both have our sights set on the trophies, and we will not stop until we have won them, or can no longer move.  I will not repeat what my uncle did last year.  Lucy and I will advance past the second round, come feast or famine.  CJ, I hope you watched what I did to my own son last week.  I hope you studied it really hard, because that is but a mere taste of what is to come for you.  I'll see you on Sunday...

I wrap this up quickly as my eyes get lost in the rarest of sights.  The starry sky mesmerizes me into a trance-like state as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

13
Climax Control Archives / Back To Reality
« on: March 04, 2016, 10:56:59 AM »
 Back To Reality
#NP "Grime of the Century" by Orgy
Locale:  The Road (Outside of Azusa, California)


It's a long hard road out of Azusa.  As much as I act like I don't care about anything, I care almost too much.  According to my GPS, Long Beach is less than an hour away from Azusa, but I really need some time to think.  I've purposely veered off course, and despite the constant nagging to make a U-turn, or reroute, I just need some time to think.  I've got a full tank of gas, and four dollars to my name.  I can take a few hours to just drive around.  Besides, it's not like anyone is with me.  Connor and Tessa opted to stay overnight at the hotel, and Celeste wanted to fly, for whatever stupid reason.  She's not always that smart, or she's a little too spoiled to make an hour long drive.  Whatever the case is, I'm all on my own tonight.  Alexis is off doing whatever, as she usually is, so that's nothing different.  Probably getting her birthday pound cake on with Johnny.  It's not my business.  It's really not.

Then why the hell does it bother me so much?  Is it because I opened myself up to both of them, only for one to screw me over by leaving me stuck with this Nobodies vision all on my own?  While the other one is off screwing the guy who screwed me over?  Is it because they both betrayed me, after I tried to help them straighten up their lives?  I helped Johnny get clean, only for him to turn around and start using again, and yet somehow, he thinks he's better than me now.  Where was all that money when he was crashing in my dad's office on the couch?  Where was all this confidence when he was nodding, strung out at the gym?  Where was this current overly confident douchebag when he was dope sick puking in the back of my car?  Alexis didn't see any of this, because I wouldn't let her.  I didn't want her to have this terrible vision of Johnny when we were supposed to be working together, because I had faith that Johnny would change.  He did, but definitely not for the better.  If Alexis can't see that, and see that he's still up to his same old tricks, trying to get what he can out of anyone, then it's on her!

Even the shadows of the night don't stop me from noticing the sad look on my own face in the rear view mirror.  I can't even fool myself on this one.  Every part of me wants to warn her, but Alexis is so headstrong.  When she gets an idea in that pretty little head of hers, there's no changing her mind.  Believe me, I've tried.  I've tried until I was blue in the face, and I just can't do it anymore.  I have love for her, and that's why I couldn't even call and wish her a happy birthday yesterday, or mention it to her today when we "talked".  I can't stand to see her self destruct so badly.  She's distanced herself, and I can't say that I'm mad at her for it, because I did the same thing.  I think that, if I want to move on, and be a friend to her like she needs... I have to get over these feelings for her.  I have to move on.  Everyone tells me that I'm young, and I'm growing into my looks, and that I will have no problems finding someone to care about me, no matter what path I choose to go down on.

I think the point of all of this going on in my head is that I'm heartbroken.  I'm lost.  I feel like part of myself has been missing for months, and I don't even know where to start to get that back.  I'm a leader, but it feels more like the blind leading the blind.  The only ones who find the right path are the ones who see how full of shit I am, and leave me.  I'm a fixer.  I try to fix things, situations, and people.  Unfortunately for me, no one ever takes the time to see that I'm broken, and that I could use a little fixing myself.  I need help, and I know exactly where to go for that help.  I've known since I set the coordinants on my GPS, that I needed to stop by the North home in Beverly Hills.  I don't know why, but something is pulling me there.  I think I would feel safe under their roof.  However, before I even realize it, I'm pulling into their half circle driveway, sitting in front of the gate.  A security guard stands up in the booth on this side of the gate, and looks at the car.  He almost immediately recognizes me as he opens up the window to the booth.

Ralph:  Heyyyy, Timmy!  Good to see ya, man.  Celeste ain't here yet and I don't know when she'll be here.

Me:  That's okay, Ralphie.  She's flying to the next show location.  I'm actually here to see Crystalline.

Ralph:  Oh, man, she ain't here neither.  She at her circle tonight, but she should be back in a couple hours.  You wanna go wait inside?

Me:  Sure thing.

He opens the gate, and I reach over to bump fists with him.  He's probably the most positive person I've ever met in my life, despite spending so much time sitting inside of a box, watching after Celeste's family.  I drive on past the security box, and around to the front door.  It actually takes a few minutes, what with the huge yard they have.  I turn my car off and just sit there for a minute.  I reach down the the necklace I am wearing.  It is a piece that my mother, my egg donor, Roxanne, left me when she left me.  Despite my feelings for her, it has always made me feel safe when I pick the celtic cross up, and run my fingers over it.  Celeste and Crystalline blessed it to protect me at all times.  I haven't taken it off in well over a month.  I can almost see a blue glow coming from it, especially in the light of the moon.  I close my eyes as I feel the protective powers flowing through my body, all but my mind, which seems to reject any idea that I'm ever truly safe.  It's still comforting.  I open my door as the sound of the huge fountain to my side, splashes, a sound that is most soothing to me.  I could almost fall asleep right now, as I get out of the car.  I walk over to the front door, and I ring the doorbell.

Standing there, I can feel all of the hairs on my body stand on edge.  I've been off of the pills for a week and a half now, and I haven't felt that anxiety take its hold over me once it was out of my system.  But right now?  It's full force.  The shakes start.  My head feels like it's spinning, and my brain is swimming around inside of it.  The metallic zing spreads across my whole tongue, and my legs feel like noodles.  I can't breath.  I can't breath!  Dear God, help me.  I'm looking all over for something, anything that could have caused this.  Nothing comes to mind.  My face feels numb as I lean against the pillar to my right.  Every second feels like an hour as I lick at my lips to try to gain some kind of moisture to them, but my tongue is almost as dry as sandpaper.  A cold sweat comes to my forehead, as my armpits feel like they are on fire.  I lean over as my stomach feels like it's about to explode inside of my abdomen.  It feels like there is a ton of bricks sitting on my chest, and I fall to one knee.  I reach up and press the doorbell button once more, pounding weakly on the front door.  I grab onto the handle to turn it, but it's locked.  Ralphie, how can I wait inside when no one is home?  Oh God, help me!

I pull myself up to a standing position with the doorknob, and lean against the door frame, just in time for Chad Miller to open the door.  He smiles for a second, until he sees the expression on my face.  I can't talk, even as he talks to me.

Chad:  Hey, Tim.  What's up?  Tim?

He notices how flushed I am, and he wraps his arm around my back, ducking under my left arm to help me stumble inside.  He helps me to a chair, and sits me down.  Without asking a single question, he grabs a crystal pitcher from the table, and walks over to an indoor fountain, dipping the pitcher into it.  He brings it over to the table in front of me, and pours some into a silver chalice, lifting it up toward my mouth.  I grab onto it, and tilt it back some, as the surprisingly cold liquid fills my mouth.  I gulp it down, unsure at first, but it tastes nothing like water.  It tastes of mint... cotton candy... sunshine... heaven?  Before I know it, the chalice is empty, and Chad pours more into it.  He lifts it toward my mouth once more, only this time I feel like I have a little more strength to handle it on my own.  I gulp it down within seconds.  I can hardly hear Chad speaking as my ears ring.

Chad:  Don't tell me you took something.  Did Celeste do it, too?

I can't really respond.  I just shake my head from side to side.  I hold the chalice out once more, and Chad pours more of the crisp liquid into it.  I take a few deep breaths, and sip on the liquid, slow this time, so that I can savor whatever the hell this is, letting it moisten my mouth so that I can rid my mouth of the dry feeling, and the metallic taste.

Chad:  You just look like you're having a bad trip or something.  I'm glad you're alright.

Me:  Yeah...

Cool.  I said a word, so that's a good sign.  I lean back on the white plush sofa, feeling like I'm sitting on a cloud.  I'm still catching my breath as I stare over at Chad.  Apparently, my eyes are still wide, because he still looks very concerned.

Chad:  Not to, um, ask too many questions?  But, uh, what are you doing here?

Me:  I... don't know.  I just had a feeling that I was supposed to come here, and...

I take a deep breath, and then Chad seems to get it.  He holds a hand up, stopping me from having to explain any further.  The fire crackles loudly in the fireplace for a second there, which causes me to jump a little until I look over to see the embers glowing and flying out in tiny sparkles.

Chad:  I don't know what that shit is, but any time I ever had a little too much to drink, or just felt off, Crystalline would give me some of that, and I'd feel better in minutes.  No judgments here.  I'm sure you can figure out how often I've had to force feed it to Celeste, but it works.  It tastes like bourbon, and powdered sugar, and mint, and... goodness.

Interesting.  I nod my head as I nurse another sip from the chalice.  I don't taste any of that other than mint, but judging by the smile on his face, those must be things that make him happy.  It must be some sort of blessed elixir or something.  Who knows in this house, but it is one of the things that makes me feel safe about being here, despite whatever came over me just moments ago.

Me:  I've gone through a lot lately.  I hate to keep using it as an excuse for looking like an idiot, but I have.  And my one lifeline, I flushed down the toilet over a week ago.  Don't worry, a doctor prescribed them to me...

It's Chad's turn to nod his head now.  From all of the bad things that Celeste says about the guy, he's actually kind.  He listens, and tries to make me feel better.  I don't know him at all, and after the dream a few weeks back, and the Nobodies hotel party, it still feels a bit awkward, but the feeling slowly begins to fade.

Me:  I'm sorry to just barge in on your evening like this, having a freak out.  Thanks for helping me and listening, even though we don't really know each other that well.

Chad:  Ouch, bruh.  That really hurts...

He clutches at her chest, as a sad expression covers his face.  He shakes his head in disappointment, and just as I open my mouth to question him, he starts chuckling.

Chad:  So I guess that kiss meant nothing.  I see how it is.

Me:  Uhhh, you came out of nowhere and forced that on me as a joke or whatever.  If anyone should be upset about it, it should be me!

He chuckles at me as I grow more and more serious.  Not to mention the fact that he's been texting me off and on lately, following up, I guess?  This is getting confusing again, though I'm too relaxed from the elixir to question it any further.

Chad:  Chill out.  I was just playing around.  There's no need to make a case of it.  Celeste has been kinda crazy lately, and she made me do it.

Me:  And I suppose she also made you text me twice a day since then?  Yeah, I'd believe that just as easily.

Chad:  I'm sorry if that confused you.  I just saw how down in the dumps you were, and thought you could use a friend.

Me:  I don't need any friends, Chad.  Friends only serve to complicate things.  I've already had my fill of them, if I'm being honest.

Chad's eyes sink as he sighs, shrugging his shoulders.  I can tell something is off with him, and the fixer in me sends an instant feeling of remorse for what I'd just said to him.  All at once, I begin to feel the bricks returning to my chest.

Me:  I'm sorry.  It's not your fault that I've had some bad luck with friends lately.  I just... I...

As I try to unburden myself, hoping that it will make me feel better, it almost seems to do the opposite.  My skin quickly goes pale as I stare down at the ground, watching it shake as if we were experiencing an earthquake.  I struggle to catch my breath, but I can't even hear what Chad is saying as my ears ring.  He stops and looks at me, not giving me the chance to try to talk as he shoots up from his chair.  He walks over to me, and helps me to my feet.  He walks with me as I wheeze, trying so hard to catch my breath.  He helps me up the stairs, one at a time, his arms tightly around me as I almost seem to try to fall with each step.  We make it to the top of the steps, and he guides me toward the bedroom.  I look inside, and it's almost the size as one floor of my house.  I'm not sure if it's a halucenation, or if it's for real.  He sets me down on the bed, and I curl up with one of the pillows.  I squeeze onto it tightly as Chad goes to cover me up.

Me:  No?  No blanket, please.  It will stop me from breathing...

Chad:  Um, alright?

Chad drops the blanket down to my feet and pulls a chair up near the bed.  He sits down on it backwards, watching over me closely.

Chad:  It's gonna be alright, buddy.  Just relax.  You're safe now.

I nod my head, but my shirt... I can't breathe with it on!  I sit up quickly and struggle with my shirt, trying to get it off as I repeat "No, no, no..." over aloud.   I seem to get tangled up in it, causing me to flail even more.  After a moment of this, Chad leans forward, tilting the chair back a bit as he does, and he holds my arms still.  Once I stop resisting, he slowly reaches on the underside of the shirt, and slowly lifts it up.  My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest, and I close my eyes.  However, I can see the veins in my eyes pulsating.  I feel Chad's hand rest on my shoulder.

Chad:  Dude, just lay down and relax.  Crystalline will be home in a bit, and we'll get you something to chill you out.  I'm right here if you need anything.

Me:  I... I...

Chad places a finger over my lips, and then gently presses against me shoulder, pushing me back down to the bed.  I suck in deep breaths as I try my best to relax.  I close my eyes, watching the red flashes like bolts of lightning against my eyelids.  They slow down some, but not enough.  I open my eyes to see Chad staring at me.  I know this is going to sound like a strange request, but...

Me:  Will you... hold me?

I'm embarrassed even hearing myself say it.  Chad seems taken aback by it, and even a bit hesitant to the idea.  However, seeing me in the shape that I'm in, he stands up from his chair.  He walks to the edge of the bed and slowly crawls up it.  He tries to find the least sexual way to do this.  It's just a bro hug, right?  Right?  I tell myself that as we lie there, and as soon as he rests on a position of the arms, I calm down enough to where I don't even notice that Chad has a phone call.  He reaches over me and picks the phone up off of the nightstand.  Hearing his low voice talking into the phone is soothing, and eventually, I fall asleep without realizing it.




BDS-OMG!
#NP "Pussy Liquor" by Rob Zombie
Locale:  Los Angeles, California



"Insert cryptic bullshit here..."

When I found out that Amanda Cortez was my partner for the Blast From the Past tournament, I was really excited.  Sure, she's a sex icon in wrestling, and not just because she's beautiful, but also because she's a fetish club owner.  Speaking of her club, she's invited me to it in order to get more acquainted so that we can team together much better.  I didn't know what I was getting myself into, because I was picturing a Christian Grey penthouse with a red room, but his red room pales in comparison to the general area.  I see so many mashing and clamped genitals, I feel as if my own is trying to crawl back inside of my body.  I cringe at the sight of the unflattering displays surrounding me, and find myself shielding my own eyes.  It's not like I'm innocent myself, but this is enough to make me blush.  I continue walking through the club until I reach the back, near the bar area.  I watch as a blonde woman leans down toward the table, taking a big sniff with a straw before wiping frantically at her nose.  No one bats an eyelash, but me.  I stare for a moment as she smirks at me.

Woman:  Come to mama, little boy.  I'll read you a bedtime story while you feed.

Me:  No... thanks?

I turn on the balls of my heels, and nearly bump right into Amanda Cortez herself.  She smiles and gives me a warm hug before kissing each side of my face.  She stares at me for a moment with her almost black eyes, looking me up and down.

Amanda:  Thank you so much for coming tonight, Tim.  I have been so excited ever since I found out I was teaming with you for the tournament.

Tim:  Yeah, I've been...

My eyes wander to the very vivid scenery around me, and my head quickly jerks back in her direction.  I must not have been very subtle as she giggles at me, resting her hand on my shoulder as she continues to look up at me.

Amanda:  Come, come.  Meet my wife, Rose.

That is a relief, because I swore she was hitting on me right there.  Sometimes I worry too much about the small details.  She takes my hand and leads me toward an exclusive table, where another blond woman, one who is much more classy looking than the breast feeding lady, is sitting at the table with a glass of rose colored wine in it.  She sips as her blue eyes look me over all the way, but definitely not in a good way.  Amanda brings me over to the table where she insists I have a seat next to Rose.  As I scoot into the booth, Amanda scoots in on the other side of me.

Amanda:  Would you like anything to drink, Tim?  maybe a cigar?

Me:  Um, you do know I'm only seventeen, right?

Amanda:  Oh, right.  How about a coke then?

She winks at me as she waves her hand, and a scantily clad woman walks over to our table as Amanda whispers to her, and she nods her head and disappears as quickly as she arrived.  Amanda reaches to the center of the table, and toward a box.  She pulls out a cigar, and hands it to me, along with a pair of cigar cutters.  I am familiar with them, but I've never partaken before.  I sniff the cigar for anything funny, but it seems to be nothing more than a good quality tobacco.  I place it to my lips and cut the tip off.  Amanda happily pulls a match away from the candle in the middle of the table, and she lights it for me, burning slow and smooth.  As I blow some of the smoke out, I turn to her and smile.

Me:  Thank you, Amanda.  For all of this.  I thought since I was so young, you would act like any other Bombshell in SCW, and just totally ignore me, or get angry that you were teamed with me.

Amanda:  No, I would never think this about you.  I've seen you in the ring, and I know exactly how good you are.  I feel lucky to have someone so young and vibrant as my partner.  I was afraid I would get someone like Steve Ramone or Travis Nathaniel Andrews.  Someone with so much big talk, but not so much to back it up.  Instead, I wound up with you...

Amanda runs her finger over my newly cut hair, and I fidget nervously at first.  The waitress hands me my soda, and then disappears again as I turn toward Rose.

Tim:  Um, how rude of me.  My name is Tim Staggs, and you must be Rose?

Rose:  That is me.  I am Amanda's loving wife.

The two look to one another, and there's definitely some kind of silent conversation going on, but I'm not picking any of it up.  I just stare between the two women as they both begin to grin.  They lean back in their seats, and I feel at ease for a moment, until I take a sip of my drink.  As soon as it hits my tongue, I taste the harsh notes of Gentlemen's Jack Daniels mixed into the cola.  I nearly cough it up, but it's not my first run with alcohol, so I choke it back and breath softly.

Rose:  Luckily, I am used to the life of a wrestler's wife.  I understand that being on the road is so stressful, and being married to a woman as beautiful as Amanda, I have to get used to the fact that others look at her.  Others, such as Max Burke...

Amanda gasps as Rose reaches around and lightly tickles her stomach, while taking a moment to also sniff me out.  However, instead of reacting badly, she leans back away, and begins running her finger over my other ear.

Rose:  I don't really get jealous often.  Men and women just adore Mandy, and I understand that.  I just wish...

Amanda:  What do you wish, Rose?

Rose:  I just sometimes wish that I could go on these adventures with her.

Tim:  Oh, you mean on the road?  I'm sure she could get you...

Rose slowly shakes her head from side to side as a grin appears on her face.  She doesn't speak the word, but her lips move to express the word "no" as she gently taps the tip of my nose with her finger.  Okay, pardon me for saying this, but... BONER ALERT!  Not one, but two hot girls are coming onto me... ME!  I almost can't believe it.  Wait, scratch that... I CAN'T believe it!  I would pinch myself to make sure I'm actually awake right now, but Rose does it for me, twisting my nipple in a delightfully painful way.  I suck in air between my teeth as I close my eyes, and give a deep giggle straight from my stomach.

Tim:  Sweet bitch, that's nice...

Amanda:  I don't know about Rose, but I find that after a few drinks, I really enjoy the back room of the club.  Of course, it is only twenty one and up during business hours.

Rose:  But business hours are up in about fifteen minutes, my love.  What could we do for fifteen minutes?

Amanda stops and thinks for a moment.  However, Rose seems to know the answer all along.  She reaches over and lifts up my shirt, exposing my ripped body, tattoos and all.  She looks at it up and down as she begins to massage my chest, while Amanda massages my stomach.  I bite onto my bottom lip, trying not to seem too eager.

Amanda:  I just saw the SCW site and see who our opponents really are.  I have to say, I'm starting to get nervous that you won't know what to do in the ring against your father, or that you might lose on purpose to help him.

Tim:  I've known all along, and do you know what?  I'm not nervous at all.

Amanda:  Why not?  He says that he's a former five time world champion.  This is a lot of world championships, and four of them were when he was last in the ring.

I laugh at this.  True, my father is upset with the disrespect he gets in this business to this very day, but turnabout is fair play, isn't it?

Me:  That was years ago.  He's suffered two broken knees, and he hasn't actually wrestled for three years now, just about.  He's out of shape.  He's in denial that his golden days are long gone.  It's time for a new generation to take the stage, and there is a newer, younger Staggs on the scene.

Rose:  I bet your father would hate to hear you say such mean things about him.  But Mandy and I are loving it.  Keep going, please?  It makes me so hot when I hear a man talk about violence.

Me:  Well then, I wonder what it will do when you tune in on Sunday and watch me break his knee cap again.  Three strikes and you're out, old man.  "I can say it, you can't!"  He knows I'm just kidding around... mostly...  But, everyone who has tuned in to see who my mystery opponent is, they are just laughing at me.  They don't think that I stand a chance in beating him.  Well, if they were to look at the facts, they would see that he trained me.  Not only did he train me, but so did Giani Di Luca, Ben Jordan, Connor Murphy, as well as Mickey Carroll, my uncles, and my great uncle Erik.  Not only that, but I am in peak physical shape, and I know his repertoire better than anyone.  So, if there is a person that is most likely to take him out of the tournament, it will be me.

Amanda:  That's right.  Just focus on him, and leave Lucy Seraphina to me.

Amanda rests against my chest as she continues to rub my stomach.  Honestly, I don't want her to know this, but she's winning right now.  She is in full control, and a fire is being lit underneath me.  I take another puff from my cigar as I lean back, leaving my chest and stomach more exposed for both ladies to continue.

Me:  My dad is a has been in this company.  Don't get me wrong, he put this company on the map, and I respect that from him, but this isn't 2013 anymore.  This is 2016, and his time in the spotlight is over.  He just doesn't realize how silly he is going to look.  He doesn't realize that so much time has passed, and so many talents have come and gone, that most of the locker room, and most of the fans, don't remember him.  His ego will have a hard time getting through the curtains on Sunday.  But don't worry... I'll be there to knock him right off of his feet, and on his big fucking head.  All of that tough talk about beating me so easily because I haven't done anything.  He made fun of the tag titles, and yes, they are a laugh.  As a former Bombshell Tag Team Champion, three times over, you have to agree, right?

Amanda:  For sure.  The titles are meaningless really.

Me:  Then how come he could never get his hands on them?  He can say it all he wants, but he never held those titles, and he once told me, on camera, that he was proud of me for doing something he's never done before.  In the ten months I've been in SCW, I've already held a championship, and defended it against a former World Heavyweight Champion, someone who held the belt he made famous.  I toured the world, and the seven seas.  What has he done in the last ten months besides play Mr. Mommy, and help train my army?  How many titles has he held?  He's done NOTHING.  He's held NONE.  He sounds like a fourty year old former high school quarterback, reliving his sad, pathetic glory days long after they've passed.  That's not going to be me.  I won't sit here and say that what I've done so far is ground breaking, or earth shattering.  But, what I've done surpasses what he's done in the last year.  He can't take that away from me, no matter how hard he tries.

Amanda and Rose lift my shirt off as my body glistens underneath the red lights of the club.  Amanda leans in and kisses on my neck as Rose takes the opposite side of my neck.  I pause, shuddering as I stare down at each one.  I puff on my cigar, giving a light smoke screen so that I might keep this moment all to myself.

Me:  My dad needs to wake up and smell the oil of the ring ropes, because this is today, and today, I am the only active member of the Staggs Family.  It isn't because they are giving me the spotlight.  It is because I'm demanding it.  I'm out there, slowly earning it, and while no one seems to think of me, I'm still far ahead of my dad in the popularity ratings.  The only thing I need to catapult myself to the stars and become a real Somebody is to beat a Hall of Famer such as himself.  I've already beaten champions and former champions.  After I beat my father, no one can deny me what is rightfully mine, and that is the throne at the center of the Staggs Family court.  And just because we are related, that doesn't mean that I'm going to take it easy on him.  I don't expect him to take it easy on me either.  This is about bragging rights for now, and for so much later on.

Just then, the lights in the club start to shut off, and regular lights slowly take their place.  The crowd begins to make their way to their clothing as the music stops.  However, Amanda and Rose rise up from their seats, as they take my hands and help me to my feet.  They guide me out of the booth as I grin and wag my eyebrows.

Me:  And dad?  Don't you dare try to get a cheap win by threatening statutory rape, because this is anything but...  I'll see you at home later... and then I'll see you Sunday.

I wink at the camera as Rose and Amanda giggle, guiding me toward the door to the back room.  Amanda unfastens my belt as Rose rips it clean off, revealing my Andrew Christian trunks as my jeans fall to the floor.  Instead of trying to get a hold of them, I just kick them off as both ladies grab a chunk of my backside, and we disappear into the back room.  The scene fades... TO BLACK!

14
Climax Control Archives / Faces (Posted for Mystery Male 2)
« on: March 04, 2016, 09:21:08 AM »
 
<img src=https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6GZfTP0tQUA/UFqpv_NNuII/AAAAAAAB-DQ/778jAOyVI6M/w800-h800/V5Fis.gif>


Epilogue of Epic Proportions
#NP "The Nobodies (Stepane K Rock Mix)" by Marilyn Manson
Locale:  Everywhere and Nowhere all at once...



"S"

Greetings from beyond the grave...  Salutations from outer space.

Mystery surrounds us all, does it not?  Answers to questions unasked, while asking the questions that go unanswered.  We live a paradox, and I couldn't be happier.  I wear my hood and go about my business just as unnoticed as any other member of the Nobody Nation.

The chatter amongst us is that the hood conceals all.  Some find it a prison, anonymity as the keeper, and Tim Staggs as their warden.  Others find it to be the most freeing, exilirating feeling they could imagine.  Moving amongst the shadows as nothing but a blip on the radar of the masses.  An invisible breeze that goes unnoticed by anyone and everyone.  Though confined by a mask, it truly allows someone to be themselves to their fullest.

In my study of the human race, I have found that we only show a mere fraction of our true self to the world around us for fear of, well many things.  Ostricization.  Scrutiny.  Rejection.  Ah yes, rejection.  There are so many forms.  As an observer of the human race, I've found that the primary objective is to copulate and procreate in order to leave a lasting mark on this world.  Rebellion is in, so we're all wearing it like it's a next season Raf Simons original.  All the while, conformity is the next season.  Conformity is Anarchy, and I am above the law.

This is why I don't mind pulling on some black horned Halloween mask, and wrapping a gangster bandana around my face.  I don't find the black turtle neck we bought from Walmart, or the dollar bin black gloves, or the thrift store black jeans and hooded jackets we got on bulk discount from Amazon Prime with free two day shipping in a variety of mislabeled sizes.  The conformity serves as a message of solidarity that I've been a part of since day one.  Well, more like day three or four, when Tim asked for my help.  But, it is something that I've always held near and dear to my heart.  I am a celestial being, gender neutral for the time being.  Though, despite that, I've been assigned a gender role of male for the Blast From the Past Tournament.

I just find it funny that having bangers and mash defines ones gender in such a simplistic, black and white way.  A man must watch sports, drink beer, fix cars, mow the lawn, sit around in piss and sweat stained undergarments, beating on their hairy chests, and ordering a wife around in neandrathal fashion, while women must raise their children, cook, clean, satisfy every man's needs, while also looking as presentable at all times as June fucking Cleaver.  Our ideals have not changed at all since the 1950's.  Masculinity and Femininity are two separate things, and yet?  We all possess them, as we are a product of both of them, all the way back to Cain, Abel, and Seth.  Why do we decide to deny ourselves based on archaic ideals of gender specific roles?

Though, I'll bite.  I'll puff our my big burly chest, and pass some gas while using my body language to suggest that I've got a penis.  But, not until I've taken off this mask to show exactly who I am.  Don't worry, I'm not a very patient person, so you will find out exactly who I am at the end of this promotional piece.

Until then, I will use big words to confuse you, and wrap your simple minds around my riddles.  Mindfuck is my middle name, and winning the third annual Blast From the Past tournament is my game.

My mission is to blow your mind, and I will not stop until I have done so.  But first, I wanted to explain what it's like to be behind the mask, under the hood, and a complete unknown.

Imagine you are Angus... from the movie... Angus?  No?  Really?  You've not heard of that?  Did you not live in the 1990's... Oh wait, everyone here is in their early twenties, and some were born a year after that came out, and it isn't old enough to be a classic... Let's try this again.  Imagine you are E.T. ... Ha!  There we go.  But, the comparison doesn't really hold up.  I just wanted to see if you knew the fucking movie.

Imagine you are Adam, the Christian Slater character from Untamed Heart.... Oh for Christ sake, go see a movie that doesn't star Channing Tatum or Liam Neeson or Ryan Renolds... unless the Ryan Renolds movie is Deadpool, then turn this promo off and drive to the nearest theater, buy a ticket, and a medium popcorn.  I'll see you in about two and a half hours, pondering the whole time why you have not been slapped for not seeing what is clearly a cinematic piece of fucking gold.  *Waits*  Anyway, Adam is a character who was an orphan who almost dies from having a damaged heart.  Other than one unrealistically nice nun, nobody gives a shit about Adam.  He doesn't talk.  He is just kind of there.  People laugh at him, call him stupid, and once they've made themselves feel better about their shitty situations, they go back to forgetting that he even exists.  The viewer likely feels bad, because we all know that he's a sweet guy with a heart of gold, but much like the latter parts of the movie, that doesn't pertain to the moral of this story.  No one feels bad for The Nobodies, because no one cares about The Nobodies.  The fans don't care, because they can't see the struggles we go through to just make it through our lives.  Many of us just come to the shows to collect a small paycheck.  Some of us drink it down, while others shoot it up.  But, just like Adam, we get to move along and do anything we want without anyone ever noticing.  Except, I'd never sneak into a girls bedroom to watch her sleep like I was Edward Cullen.  Not since the restraining order(s) at least.  But, we could if we wanted to.  We might all just sneak into your room tonight and watch you sleep.  How would you like that?

Since you've likely tuned out everything I've said over the last ten minutes because you either didn't understand half of the words, or the imagery I painstakenly mapped out for you, here's something tangible (or relative to your interests)... I will be facing the man who has singlehandedly built a future empire.  I will be facing the man who has led a group of talentless, or aimless, or otherwise uninspired people or wrestlers to express themselves.  While we wear a uniform, there is not a single Nobody who is like the other.  We each have our own story, our own reason for being the way we are, and for wearing the hood.  It has nothing to do with wanting to be uniform.  It has everything to do with making a statement about how we are seen.  No matter what our story is, we are on the blind side of every other star or Bombshell.  Of every member of staff.  Of every person who rests their eyes on us.  But that only makes our accomplishments that much more impressive.  And Tim Staggs is the man who has made this possible for us all.

Tim and I go way back, and that makes this that much more difficult.  However, I know that he would not want me to give him any less than the best I have to offer.  I refuse to give him anything else, because he deserves that.  I may be a nameless, faceless question mark on the card, but my opponent knows me all too well, and I know him even better.  It is just a shame that we have to face one another so soon, because I'd wager to guess that we would meet in the final round otherwise, and this match would be all the more sweet.




Faces (Part One)
#NP "Where Eagles Dare" by The Misfits
Locale:  Staggs Dungeon; Las Vegas, Nevada



"T"

Standing on the outside of the ring, with my hood drawn closely over my head, I look around the gym to see a crowd of the faceless hoods, and yet I am just another one of them.  Tim is centered in the ring, staring out at us as we watch him, waiting for some kind of a reaction.  However, he just stares.  He's gone through his fair share of problems as of late.  Prescription drug addiction, being attacking by the boogeyman, and the troubles of a world tour on someone so young.  However, his mind seems very clear as he studies us all.  We know who he is, and he knows who we are, while only the unmasked are known to me at this point.  There are many different shapes and sizes in the crowd, some male, and some female.  And possibly everything in between for all I know.  I look around at them, making my own guesses on the twenty or so people standing outside of the ring.  However, I glance over at Tim, who grimaces and shakes his head.  He points directly at me and points to me, then his eyes, and finally to himself.  Like an obedient child, I simply nod my head and give him my full attention through the eye holes.  He gives a satisfied nod as he lifts his hood back to reveal a new haircut.

Tim:  Things around here are about to change.  I feel like I have been fair as of late.  I've given the opportunity to each and every one of you to do as you please.  I've given the freedom that each of you need, with just one tiny request.

Tim looks across the crowd, and his eyes rest on me, narrowing them for what seems like an eternity before he continues to sweep across the crowd.

Tim:  The only thing that I've ever asked of you is to keep your mask on during gatherings, and to keep a certain level of secrecy with your affiliation to the group.  I am a lenient leader.  I don't think I ask too much of any Nobody.  Would you say that's accurate?

Tim pauses and holds his hands out in front of him, welcoming even the most harsh of criticism from The Nobodies.  Celeste simply folds her arms across her chest, while the rest of them nod along with me.  It is the truth, but perhaps I am partial.

Unknown 1:  Isn't that the exact opposite of freedom?  Asking us to keep who we are a secret?

Tim:  In a sense, that is right.  But, in the mask, you are free to express yourself in any way you see fit.  It makes you a sense of anonymity that gives you less inhibition.  I haven't asked you not to be yourself, but only to unleash your most inner desires.

Celeste:  That's a common theme around here, I'd have to say.

There is a tension that could be cut with a knife, and it smothers everyone in between Celeste and Tim.  There is a moment where no one says a single word, and the two just stare at one another.  Not a single person in the room, masked or unmasked, wishes to share a single peep while this is going down.  Tim finally breaks the awkward silence with a smile and a light chuckle.  He waves off Celeste's comment as nothing more than a joke.  He steps over to the ropes of the ring, staring right past me, and any other masked Nobody, to look right at Celeste.

Tim:  Celeste is a soldier, isn't she, ladies and gentlemen?  She has gone above and beyond since day one.  She has been loyal to a fault.  Never once have I questioned that.  She was so eager to make an impact that she signed a contract even before her identity was revealed.  She wrestled in a mask for a month, just to prove her loyalty.  And it was for that exact reason that I have never felt the need to give her the official initiation.

His eyes are on fire as he continues to stare at her, and from the heat I feel on the back of my head, I'd say that she's giving it right back to him.  I take a step to my left and slowly turn my head to see an unexpected smirk on her face.

Tim:  Loyalty is a virtue in The Nobodies, and has been since the day I took the reigns.  However... I was thinking something.  Celeste, would you join me in the ring?

She pauses for a moment, studying the young Staggs in a curious manner.  She finally pushes her way through the crowd and rolls in under the bottom rope.  As she stands up, her and Tim share something that shocks us all.  There is the most heated hug I've ever seen in my life.  There is an explosion of animosity cloaked in a friendly expression, which is something I've never expected to see.  The tension all but dies as they release their embrace.  However, Tim suddenly straps a pair of handcuffs on Celeste, and drags her arm over to the top rope, where he clicks the other cuff.  Tim takes a step back as he looks out into the crowd of Nobodies.

Tim:  I think that I know Celeste better than anyone else.  I think there's a bit of a resendment that she hasn't been initiated as the other unmasked.  This is my mistake, and one that I hope to fix, right here... and right now...

Tim smiles widely as he waves his arms at us, welcoming us all inside of the ring.  We look to one another, unsure of what is going on.  I think I have a good idea, so I hesitate on entering the ring.  The others roll inside as I remain standing on the outside.

Tim:  As we are not on an SCW broadcasted program, I wanted to give Celeste a full on welcome... officially.  I trust that each and every one of you have all required Nobodies uniform pieces?

Alexis smiles as she steps to the front of the crowd.  She drops a mini baseball bat from her sleeve and rubs her hands together.

Alexis:  Fuck yeah!  I've been waiting for this one for a long time now...

The female members of the Nobodies all drop their weapons from their sleeves, and into their hands, ready to start beating on the surprisingly eager Celeste.  Tim looks around with a smile and steps in front of them all.  He studies them, and then shakes his head with a disappointed sigh.

Tim:  No, this just doesn't seem right.  Ladies, go ahead and start a little pregame beating, but guys?  Yes, men, I want you to welcome Celeste, too... I mean, it's not like she hasn't been beated with Johnny's baseball bat already, am I right?

He giggles as Celeste's face goes white.  Tim looks at her, waiting for her to object.  While she appears scared, she doesn't try to stop anything from happening.  She tries to hide her fear, but we see it.  This is just wrong.  I go to speak as Alexis jams her bat into the stomach of Celeste, doubling her over, as Tessa lashes at her with a chain, and the other masked ladies beat on her with everything under the sun.  Several of the men brush past me, and begin laying into her, while a few seem to share the same apprehensions as I do.  Again, I go to speak up, but I'm cut off as a voice comes from across the gym.

Spike:  WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!?

Spike Staggs walks into the gym, and he wastes no time in rolling inside of the ring.  He walks to each Nobody and yanks the weapons from the men's hands, and tosses them to the outside.  He then walks right up to Tim and shoves him to the corner in a rough manner.  He tries to keep his anger in check as he quietly talks with his son.

Spike:  I thought I taught you better than this, Timmy.  You NEVER beat on women.

Tim:  Yeah, but beating on children is perfectly acceptable, right?

Spike is caught off guard for just a second, especially as the women begin to wail on Celeste once more.  Tim takes advantage of the microscopic silence as he continues talking.

Tim:  Besides, I wasn't beating on her.  The other guys were.  I didn't touch her in a violent manner, and she was loving it.

Spike:  You are never to promote that kind of violence.  Do you understand me?  I can't control what you do, but I can tell you that this shit right here?  It will NOT take place inside of my gym, or any other roof I own.  If you want to appease the sadist, take it elsewhere.  But, if I ever catch wind that you laid an inappropriate finger on a lady... or female, as that one is no lady... I will beat your ass.  Comprende?

Tim simply smiles, clearly finding Spike's words to be a joke.  However, he obliges with an insincere nod of his head before brushing past Spike.  He leans on the shoulder of a couple weaponless men, as he watches Celeste get beaten.  Part of him feels like he needs to stop it, but instead, he giggles, clapping his hands together.

Tim:  That's right, ladies.  Let's make up for lost time.  I'm starting to see flashbacks from the aftermath of the match with Jessie Salco.  Very nice!

I slowly walk up to Tim.  Something about this still doesn't feel right.  Something about this new Tim seems to almost intimidate me for a second.  I hesitate, despite raising my finger to tap the back of his shoulder.  Right before I'm about to do so, he stops and looks around at everyone shy of the person who wants his attention... me...

Tim:  You guys look bored.  Kind of like you are feeling left out now?  I got your blood pumping, only for you to be let down by my father.  Why don't we...

He spins around, and latches a pair of cuffs onto my wrist as he drags me just a few feet over to the ropes.  He gives me the same treatment as he gave Celeste, with a hug before stepping back.  He drops a pipe from his sleeve, pointing to me with it, and that sadistic Staggs grin spread from ear to ear.  I look from side to side as I watch the guys close in on me like a pack of hungry wolves.  They slap their weapons against their palms, as Tim holds a hand out.

Tim:  Today, we will see another member of The Nobodies inducted.  This man right here will be my opponent on Sunday, as I enter the Blast From the Past tournament.  To avoid any future problems with people not feeling fully welcomed, we make him feel right at home.  But I want to take a moment to make it clear that I'm not doing this to gain any kind of upper hand in our match.  I just want to make you feel like an official member of The Nobodies.

I nod my head.  It is a natural human reaction to feel a bit of fear when you are cuffed to something, and you have nine guys standing around you with blunt objects and chains in their hands.  It's even more natural to sweat when you look over and see someone, undergoing the same treatment, and they are barely hanging on to consciousness, a bloody mess as they stare over at you, the life starting to disappear from their eyes.  However, I gulp and puff my chest out, ready to take the brunt of the beating.  Tim steps forward, before all else, and he swings the lead pipe at me, and instantly, I feel the beautiful pain tracing from my ribs, around to my back.  The swelling starts when one of the men hits me with a slap jack against my jaw.  I hear the sickening crunch as my jaw pops slightly.  My head turns as I feel a chain smash against my forehead.  I feel a shot to my crotch, and this doubles me over to my knees.  They attack me like a hungry pack of vultures, starving for my blood.  Steel, leather, metal, arms, fists, and feet smashing into me from every possible direction.  My arm is the only thing keeping me on my feet.  I'm no stranger to violence and being outnumbered, but this is a whole new level.  I feel the blood pouring from my busted lip as I look over to the ladies, who are finally letting up on Celeste.  She is hunched over, her nose busted and flowing onto the white mat, and her eyes just stare over at me.  Alexis crashes her boot over the back of Celeste's head, knocking her out, as I pray for the same treatment.

Tim:  Welcome to The Nobodies, soldier!

The mentioning of my name seems to cause several of the members to stop dead in their tracks.  However, Tim doesn't let up as he hammers away at me with the pipe.  There is an inner anger that seems unquenched by the damage I've taken.  It would take the blood of a thousand men to quench his anger, but I feel as though I am the start.  My vision goes blurry as Tim leans down to get into my face.

Tim:  Don't think that I plan on taking it easy on you next Sunday just because of our relationship.  I've got far more to prove than you do, and I will do everything in my power to prove it.

With one final blow to the back of the head with the steel pipe, I watch as blackness takes over slowly, and I join Celeste in a painful world of nothingness, even for just the slightest of moments...




Faces (Part 2)
#NP "(We Were) Electrocute" by Type O Negative
Locale:  Staggs Dungeon; Las Vegas, Nevada



"A"

I stare into the mirror, despite being covered up completely.  I look into my own eyes, despite the constant whirring of vision from the screaming headache I've got going on.  i lift up the corner of my mask, just from the bottom, and all I see is my blood covered chin.  I grab the rag to my right, and I begin dabbing at the chin, cleaning it up slightly, though it leaves a rosy tint to my skin.  However, my focus is on the eyes.  I stare into them, and every cold thought reflects from my blue eyes.  They are like ice, as every life long memory flashes through them.  All of the pain.  All of the anger.  Every mistake I've ever made.  It is like staring into a crystal ball that is my life, and it captivates me so that I almost forget about the pain coursing through my brain.  However, one sharp pain causes me to close them, and groan.  I reach over to my left and empty a few small brownish red pills into the palm of my hand.  I reach them under my mask, and dry swallow them.

After a second, the horrible taste causes me to let out an exasperated sigh, before I lean down and lift my mask up entirely.  I can't bare to look at my own face right now, so before I get the chance, I look down.  I cup my hands under the running faucet, and splash the cool water over my face.  I watch as it returns to the white sink with a deep red tint to it.  For just a slight moment, I feel a relief from the pain, but just as quickly as the water splashes off of my face, so does the relief.  I repeat the process quickly, many times over.  Each time I do, the less red seems to be in the water.  My face is tender to the touch, but as soon as the water is almost completely clear again, I stop splashing, and I take the rag from the side of the sink, and I run it harshly across my face.  I scrub away most of the blood from it, but at the same time, I seem to aggravate some of the wounds as they slightly open back up.  I place the mask under the running water to rinse it out.

After a moment of this, I stare at the water running down the drain in a swirling motion.  Occasionally, I see a drop or two of blood hit the water, only to get spun around in the whirlpool.  I seem to be momentarily mesmerized by it, while remaining in this position to give myself a rest from the pain.  Suddenly, I look down at my phone.  A text arrives for me, but it is only the thing that makes me think to look at the time.  It is 2:37pm.  Shit!  I was supposed to meet with my partner for the tournament to discuss some strategy, and have a bit of a chemistry lesson.  I'm already running late to the party, but fortunately, I'm already in the right place.  I take another rag and pat my face dry.  Being one with a flare for the dramatics, I place my mask over my face, and pull my hood back up as I stare back into the mirror.

Me:  You can do this...

I look toward the door to the private bathroom, and I walk toward it.  I hesitate for a moment as I unlock it.  Soon enough, I open up the door and step out into the gym.  I look around, and the only person standing inside of it is Tim.  He doesn't look as confident as I thought he would after such a precise beat down on his future opponent.  There is something different about him in this moment, as he rests on the bleachers.  He seems lost in thought, and part of me doesn't want to disturb him.  However, I know from personal experience, that getting too lost in thought becoems a bad thing.  I walk over toward him, and sit down next to him.  I do everything I can to hide any sign of pain as I bump into him lightly with my shoulder.

Me:  Is something on your mind?

He looks up at me for just a split second, with a look that screams "No shit, Sherlock" before he looks back down to the ground.  He doesn't say a word, and I respect that.  I stare at the door, expecting my guest to walk through it at any moment.

Me:  Just so you know, Tim?  We aren't opponents until the bell rings on Sunday.  You don't have to follow in your father's footsteps by playing mind games with me, and with yourself.  We're allowed to rely on one another for advice and support in the meantime.

Tim:  I still wonder, in the back of my mind... if I'm really strong enough to be a leader.  If I am, I should be able to handle whatever I'm dealing with on my own.  Besides, how do I know that you're not just playing mind games with me?

Who says that I wasn't already, right?  We both know that wrestling is just as psychological as it is physical.  But I do care about Tim, and I wonder what exactly is going on with him.  He has gone from one extreme to the other.

Me:  I just wanted to make sure that you were able to bring your best to the ring on Sunday.  I don't want you to half ass it and make my win look less than deserved.

I chuckle as I nudge him, but he doesn't seem to find the humor in it the way I had.  He just keeps staring at the ground silently.  I sigh and run my hand against the back of my head as I join him in staring at the ground.

Me:  I won't make you talk to me about what's going on, but know that you can if you need to.

Tim:  You're not my keeper, okay?  We are stable mates, and you support the cause I started.  That will be appreciated forever, but we are not personal.  Not as long as you and I are opponents.  Do you understand me?

With that, Tim stands up and walks off, leaving me to stew in that comment.  I am not really sure how to react to that, given his state of mind lately.  Despite being in a clean mind, he has never been more disoriented.  He pushes his way through the door, and right past a woman in sunglasses. She doesn't move at first but slowly she turns her head like she was glaring daggers at Tim. When he is out of view she slowly turns back to me. She gently removes them as she looks around the gym.  I see the side of her face, as she removes the cloak from around her body.  She is wearing a black tank top and a pair of form fitting jeans.  She definitely seems like someone I would have hung around with in my earlier days of wrestling.  I stand up from my seat, and place my hand on the hood of my jacket.  She turns to face me with a smile on her face.

Lucy:  Hello there.  I received a mysterious message from my partner for the Blast From the Past tournament to meet him here, and...

As I stare into her face, something seems awfully familiar with her.  It is like a ghost of the past, and one that I couldn't forget, even if I tried with every fiber of my being.  She seems like someone that I've had an awful lot of dealings with in the past.  Memories of her come back to me, like a flash of lightning.  The good and the bad, all at once, and I'm stuck with my hand awkwardly placed on the back of my head as she looks at me curiously.

Lucy:  Excuse me?  Hello? Anyone in there?

She walks toward me, studying my posture and smelling my own confusion and fear, which immediately puts her on the defensive.  She holds a hand up to try to ease me, but it only causes me to take a step backward.  I rest my hands at my side, and I can't help but just stare back into the animalistic eyes of Lucy Seraphina.

Lucy:  Are you the mystery partner I'm supposed to be meeting here today?  I got a text from Tim Staggs on your behalf. Said to be here around this time and all that jazz.

Me:  Yuh... yes...

She smirks.  I can't tell what her intentions are with it, which is a rare thing.  I'm usually great at reading people, but Lucy is very different.  And despite being different, which is usually a quality I admire in people, she makes me nervous.

Me:  I was thinking that it might be a good way to get to know each other before the match this Sunday.

Lucy:  I would have to agree.  It must be hard to wrestle in a mask like that, so I would hope you might consider removing it beforehand?

I chuckle at her comment, despite how serious she is being.  I reach back and pull my hood back.  I'm shaking, and it takes a few tries, but I get it down.  She stares at me, as if I hadn't made any attempt to reveal my identity to her as I am still wearing a ski cap and the black devil mask.

Lucy:  What are you so afraid of?

Me:  I'm not afraid of anything!

I snap at her as she tilts her head to the side.  She takes a moment as I turn away from her.  It is then that I notice the salivating at the sight of my jugular vein.  Despite the thirst, she doesn't make a single move to satiate it.

Lucy:  I could smell your fear from the moment I entered the door.  If you want this team to work cohesively, then I'm going to need for you to trust me.

She places a hand on my shoulder.  A cold hand that sends shivers throughout my entire body.  Part of me would rather feel the death coursing through her veins, than to look at the hauntingly beautiful face that reminds me of the past.  I stare straight ahead at the ring as she gently removes her hand.

Me:  I don't trust anyone as far as I can throw them.

Lucy:  That's pretty ironic, considering the fact that you look like you could throw someone pretty far judging by your build.  But, I don't need you to trust me very far.  Just until we both get what we want.

Lucy's words show little compassion.  As a matter of fact, they seem quite selfish.  Yet, somehow it is the most sensible thing I could ever imagine coming out of her with all things considered.  I let it soak in for a moment before my hand once again reaches for my hood.

Me:  So then you agree?  We shouldn't concern ourselves with matters such as trust, as long as we both understand that one wants this just as badly as the other?

Lucy:  That is exactly what I'm saying.  We only have to work together for the next six weeks.  If you don't trust me beyond that, or if I don't trust you beyond that, then we lose nothing.  We only stand to gain from this partnership.

I turn back to face her, and our understanding seems to spark something within me.  I pull my hand down, just to flip my hood back on my head.  I stare at her once more, but this time, I look only into her eyes, as steady and precise as a wolf, and just as unyielding as one as well.

Me:  Then I ask you this... Do you really mean that?

Lucy:  I most certainly do.

She cracks a bit of a smile.  One that lets me know she does, and she refuses to apologize for it.  I adjust the hood in a stylish sort of manner as I lean back against the ring, making myself comfortable.

Me:  Then... I guess you won't mind if I keep my identity a mystery?  I could be anyone from the pizza delivery guy you ate last night... to the owner of this company... or anyone in between, and you aren't the least bit curious about that?

Lucy:  Of course I am, in some small way.  You are a curious creature, but I don't need anything personal out of this arrangement.  I just need to know that you're going to show up to the ring, and fight as if you were fighting for your very life.  Because, if you don't... you may very well be doing just that.

When anyone says such words to me, I usually laugh it off.  Perhaps it is my healthy ego, but I find such threats to be tedious and meaningless.  Though, this time, I know she's serious.  However, I am serious as well, which puts us on the same page.

Me:  Don't worry, Lucy... I will lose the mask before our match, but I'm just having too much fun with it, so I think I'll keep it for a little longer.  But you need to know one thing.

Lucy:  Oh?  And what is that?

Me:  I plan to give this everything I've got in me.  I have been training seriously since I agreed to do this.  Since I inked my own contract with the bosses, in my own office, I've been taking our partnership seriously.  You strike me as someone who is on the same page, and therefore, I'm not worried.  I can't read you like I can with others, so I don't know if you are worried about my motives.  Just know that I've been waiting for this ever since the last time I stepped foot in an SCW ring, and left so much unfinished business.  I didn't come here for a one off match.  I came to right many wrongs, and that's going to take more than a couple weeks.

She stares into my eyes, and suddenly, a spark of recognition seems to shine through.  Something about the look she gives me, scares me again.  She narrows her eyes, and then she gasps as she steps closer to me.

Lucy:  Erik...?

Rarely does anyone look into the eyes and recognize someone they know so little about.  However, her detective skills cause me to choke.  I struggle to find my breath, and the mask definitely doesn't help any.  I made a promise to Tim, and I won't destroy it so quickly by taking my mask off.  Before I know what's happening, i turn away from Lucy and I run off toward the bathroom door once more.  I fling it open and run inside where I feel like I'm about to throw up.  Maybe I'm really not ready to take off my mask and show the world that the same broken person they had last seen, is back to try it again, even if only for the tournament.  I look at my own reflection in the mirror as I rip my mask off.  Before I can do anything, the nerves of it all overcome me, and I vomit right into the sink.

"G"




Faces (Part 3)
#NP "Meet the Creeper" by Rob Zombie
Locale:  Location Undisclosed



"G"

The Staggs family is a dynasty.  We are at the very foundation of Sin City Wrestling, and wrestling as a whole.  I could go on about championships our family has held in other promotions, some of which are worldwide.  But, what exactly would that prove?  The six sided ring changes the entire game, and anything that doesn't take place within it, doesn't count.

<img src=http://img.supernatural.com.tr/iu/4oi0rBx.png>


The sad part is that only one man is ever remembered, and that is only because he's the man you go to with all of your problems.  He's your whipping boy.  He all but licks your boot clean at the end of the night.  He is a paper pusher.  He is nothing more than a behind the scenes fall boy.  He was one of wrestling's most notorious in the Indy circuit well into the nineties, when he stepped away from the ring to open his own Indy promotion, known as Ultimate Championship Wrestling.  This spawned many names that SCW has seen on screen, and he alone discovered them.  Right from his three newphews, all the way to names such as Roxanne, Michelle Andretti, Chanelle Martinez, who all achieved greatness in other organizations such as GCW, GXW, and 3WL.  He has an eye for talent, but most forget that he is not someone to be taken with ease.  He stepped into an SCW ring after lacing up his boots in last years Blast From the Past tournament, where he moved to the second round with Necra Octavian Kane, only to be knocked out by the team of Misty and Andrew Watts, who went on to win the tournament.  Some say that he's expressed feelings that he never truly got to showcase his talents to the SCW Universe.  To say that he's got unfinished business would be the understatement of the century.  Could this truly be my true identity?

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Or perhaps it is I, Spike Staggs.  The Godfather of Sin City Wrestling.  The man who got the small territory noticed by the world in the very first place?  Many of the conceited members of the roster... or more accurately, today's roster as a whole... might not remember Sin City Wrestling's humble beginnings.  Not that the venues have stepped up in quality since the beginning, but from day one, Spike Staggs appeared on the broadcast, and gave it his all.  Going to war with "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward, he became the household name.  Granted, the household only held downwards of a few hundred each night.  Upon the interest to be absorbed by the National eWrestling Alliance, Spike Staggs worked his way up their rankings, oddly enough, next to his now wife, Vixen Lafabvre-Staggs who is total hotness, by the way...  and before long, he received a shot at Jack Kraven for the NeWA World Heavyweight Championship.  This is when the world started paying attention to Sin City Wrestling, even if only to laugh at Kraven's newest victim.  The term Sin City Screwjob (part one) was coined at this event, when Staggs walked away in an extreme upset, felt through the entire inter-fed promotion.  However, during round two of Staggs-Kraven, Spike walked away with the championship, and hence, solidified SCW's place as the crown jewel of NeWA, as their posterboy.  After a couple defenses, Spike lost the title, but was approached by a scumbag by the name of Brad Batee, to save the title from embarrassment, and go for it one more time.  The world was not surprised that he took down said opponent, whose name... well, does not live in infamy.  Honestly, no one remembers who it was, and their records have been since "lost".  Spike defeated all major contenders placed in front of him, including Kai Kennedy and Sean Jackson.  All, but Nick Jones, a man he had a very sordid past with.  The two were set to compete, and in wrestling's stupidest maneuver to date, Brad Batee cancelled the match on suspicion that Spike Staggs was somehow set to purposely tank to Nick Jones so that he could make his exit, and Nick could carry the torch for Sin City Wrestling.  Batee banished either man from competing in any inter-promotional matches ever again, (where Sin City Screwjob part deux took place), getting "Sean Jackson'd" even before Sean Jackson was "Sean Jackson'd"

The publicity alone caused Sin City Wrestling to become a self-sufficient brand, along with the Staggs name.  After Spike was stripped of the title, yet never relinquishing the actual belt, he soon retired, giving only one more match for his wife, Vixen, so that they could compete in her dream match, as a team.  After this, Spike and Erik opened up a gym, and the entire Staggs family has run it ever since.  He enjoys success as a trainer, and a former five time World Champion... but he has made it no secret that the terms he left on were... less than admirable.  Unfinished business?  Obviously...

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No stranger to the debacle known as the National eWrestling Alliance, Jamie Staggs competed cross promotion for the better part of SCW and NeWA's business relationship, competing across the country in Bad Ass Championship Wrestling, starting an interfed feud with former SCW World Heavyweight and Roulette Champion, and BACW Empire State Champion, "The Italian Stallion" Giani Di Luca.  Jamie felt the sting of the Sin City Screwjob through denial into certain events due to his relation to Spike.  Any event he had entered around that time, he was treated as a joke, if he was allowed to compete at all.  He never took it out on his brother, but since the interfed relationship dissolved, Jamie had mostly disappeared from the ring, other than a short stint in RWF.  It has been said that his ire for the sport rages on.  Throw these rumors next to the ones that claim Jamie Staggs is secretly a genius with a 214 IQ, and you can chalk this up to another set of "unfinished business" that could easily mean that I am... him.  *Wicked, maniacal laugh inserted here*

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While the Staggs family eyes aren't exactly present with Tommy Staggs, his history deserves to be taught in this lesson.  Don't worry, he is expecting you to fast forward to the inevitable reveal at the end of this promotional video, but let us not forget his name.  Tommy Staggs is a man who is not as well known in SCW.  His glory days were at the tender age of 18, where his brothers broke him into the business.  He quickly won the GCW Extreme Championship under the name Tommy "The Terror" Edmond, holding on to it for quite some time before exiting the company.  Now, only beaten out by Tim, he was the youngest champion ever in the Staggs family.  In my... I mean, the first promotion run by the Staggs family, he became the UCW High Flyer Champion, remaining undefeated through the entire year long existence of the company.  He has seen his fair share of hard times, many of which hit since he signed with SCW.  Due to his family connections, people expected great things from him, only for him to choke at the cusp of said greatness.  With so much failed expectation, would it not make sense that he would hide behind a mask, and find his way into the signature tournament of SCW?  Unfinished business seems to be a theme for the family, no?  And, would it be too much of a stretch to say that he could very well be mystery man?  Me?  It would not be a stretch at all.  It is a very REAL possibility.

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How fucked up would it be, if I was my own opponent?  How insane would it be for me to have entered twice?  Just imagine the eptitude of that kind of awesomeness, right?  Either way, I'm would go on to the next round.  I mean, it is possible that the son of the "Most Sadistic Bastard" and "Wrestling's Original Mindfuck" could pull the wool over your eyes, no?  Tim Staggs is the definition of unfinished business.  He couldn't even finish a doughnut from the catering table.  He can't finish assembling a team of people who want to be seen with him.  He can't finish telling a girl how he feels before she goes off and screws wrestling's grossest man since Drake Green retired for the fiftieth time.  He can't finish a feud with Brother Grimm without nearly overdosing on Xanax, and shitting his underoos.  He still hasn't finished The Sixth Sense.  Spoiler alert, Timmy... Bruce Willis... is dead... *Eerie Twilight Zone music*

Yeah, obviously Tim couldn't finish a plan to ensure he makes it to the second round of the tournament, because God, Jesus, Joseph, Mary, even Stevie Wonder can see that his skills won't do it.  I can say it.  You can't.  I'm family.  In case you didn't notice all the whispery bold letters spread kind of cryptically throughout this promotional video, it has spelled "S-T-A-G-G" and somming up soon, it will throw up another "S" to complete the name "Staggs".  Oops, I forgot to say "Spoiler Alert" again.  Too bad you're probably a moron and didn't get it on your own.  I'm now sad for the human race *Sad face*

Tim Staggs is a future star.  Emphasis on the word "future".  It is not his time yet.  He needs to learn the business and earn his way to greatness.  He's asked over and over again to get noticed for something other than his name, but that would require he actually do something worth noticing.  Holding the tag title is something that only Spike has never done before.  Even Jamie has held the tag belts.  Freaking Jamie Staggs!  Maybe the useless crab apple doesn't fall far from the tree?  Again, I can say it, you can't... My point is that the tag belts are like something you throw to someone who whines and cries about not getting any exposure, while the people with actual skill and appeal go for titles like the World Championship... um, at least when I last wrestled, that's the way it was.  We didn't aim for belts where we have to rely on another person to carry them.  We didn't aim for the low card belt that put our bodies through hell in fire, barbed wire, thumb tacks, and other forms of torture, because... I don't know... the wrestlers who go for higher belts usually have actual skill.  We don't need weapons or jaged broken pieces of glass to beat the ever living fuck out of someone, because we're capable of doing that with our own two hands and two feet.  We didn't need to bleed on the outside, because internal bleeding and hemorraging was badass back then.  I tell you what, I've taken note, and the next time I wrestle, I'll light the announce table on fire and put little Timothy through it.

What is that you say?  Every member of the Staggs family, short of Tim, was known for hardcore wrestling?  Multiple hardcore titles were held by Staggs?  Of course.  And then we got better than that.  Tim thinks he is, so he doesn't gravitate toward them, but somebody needs to teach him how to swing a steel chair, because judging by his third grade tee ball games, he can't swing for shit.

Basically what I am saying is that, even with Amanda Cortez at his side, Tim Staggs stands no chance of winning.  I point to my head because this is where he needs to be.  He needs to get inside of my head, and out of his own.  He needs to rape my ears, and fuck my brain.... oh.... wait.... that breaks all kinds of taboo walls down, doesn't it?  Fuck you and your one take bullshit!

The lights have been on to reveal each picture placed in front of us, including one of Vixen, who needs no introduction as the woman who swept through every title SCW had at the time, to become the first Bombshell Grand Slam Champion, before the Internet Championship was introduced.  Plus, she's hot, and she doesn't leave anyone's memory, amirite?  I mean, this gorgeousness?  I point down to her picture and nod my head as I do the giddy up motion and nod my head.  Gorgeousness like that haunts your dreams.  I'd like to tell Spike that I'm sorry in advance, but I'm not much for lying these days.  I'm so not sorry, brother.

Now that we've caught you up on all of the history of the family... oh, wait... here's a picture of Kittie, but we've got devil horns and mustaches drawn all over it, as well as a terrible rendition of a pube infested penis ejaculating in her left eye, so it's not very recognizable.  She divorced Jamie, and ran away like Misty, except she waited until after a Vegas Wedding to run, instead of doing it before.  But, both women knocked a pair of Staggs nuts on their way out.  We've come to accept it as part of the breaking up process in our family.  *Shrugs*

Also, there is a redheaded dominatrix that held a few titles in other places, and beat the ever living fuck out of Misty to give us our most bloody match to date.  She also birthed my opponent this week.  Roxanne... ick...

I think we're done with our history lessons, you beautiful, beautiful self absorbed morons.  I lift up my mask so that you can see the signature Staggs smile.  I can still keep an air of mystery, but I find it very important that Tim and Amanda see the words coming from my lips as my heels click against the concrete floor of this warehouse.  I walk closer to the camera, yet I remain far enough away that the shadow hides certain features that may give away my identity.

Me:  I hope that you have enjoyed your history lesson, but we are not finished.  You see, behind this mask, rests the man who will do what no other Staggs has done... or will do, Timothy.  I am going to win the Blast From the Past Tournament... with Lucy Seraphina.  Timmy, you asked me if I was playing mind games with you the other day.  I wasn't.  However, I've been in your head since the day I signed up for this tournament, and learned you were also involved in it.  I'm not like this current generation.  I do my homework.  It doesn't matter if it is my nephew, my son, my great nephew...?  It doesn't matter at all.  This business is very cut throat.  You can think of this as a lesson in the business, Timbo.  I am doing you a kindness, really.  This match is going to be the time where I show you that it is better to have than to been had.  I could go out there, and I could lie down on my back so that you and Amanda get an easy win.  But, what would that teach you?  It is a disservice to you, kiddo.  It does exactly what every fan is thinking... no, saying... It is giving you a free hand out because of your bloodline.  It won't make you earn a damn thing, and it's time to put up or shut up.

I step in front of Tim's picture, and I look into those big blue eyes of his, full of innocence, and dark circles from Xanax abuse.  The middle fingers serve as the only essence of hope his picture offers.  I sigh as I gently stroke the red mop of hair on his head, at least where it is represented by the picture.  I runb my gloved hand down his cheek and to his chin as I talk right to him.

Me:  You may find it to be a slight to you.  I mean, a win over me could really push you into the stratosphere, but the likes of Jessie Salco and Steve Ramone would only say that it was handed to you, like everything else.  And, sadly?  They would be right, for once in their miserable lives.  Well... okay, maybe not once, but even a broken clock is right twice a day.  My point being is that you have a multi time Tag and Bombshell champion in your corner.  You have advantages all on your own.  I don't know Lucy that well, but I am all too familiar with Amanda Cortez, and you couldn't have drawn a better partner, so long as you keep your eyes off of her chest, boy.  Though, I'm afraid that you might feel a little too comfortable with her.  I tell you what, I will give you another bit of friendly advice.  A true kindness... Don't find familiarity in her, Tim.  I mean, she is a sultry redhead without a single fetish unexplored, who has a penchant for leather, and owns a fetish club in California.  Short of the club, she is a shorter version of your mother... except looking at her, she has a right to be a whore, because... well... hmm... yeah.  Sorry, that truly was inappropriate.  I'm sorry for that.  Neither woman is a whore, because neither accepts payment for their "services".  I know a member or two of the family who has tried.  Amanda is so kind, she won't even take a tip... just THE tip.

I crack a grin, and wave almost apologetically at the camera.  Of course I don't mean it, because Amanda has only ever had sex with her wife... and Max Burke... and Holly Wood... and she tried with Delia and Angelica many times, so who knows if either of them ever cracked... It's not like she is a slut or anything.  But, I'm not going to say that out loud, because I like people to think that I'm a nice guy, even though I'm a manipulative asshole.  That wasn't a hint, because it's almost a standard trait of the Staggs family...

Me:  Of course it's just the mind games.  I'm getting inside of your head, because that's essential to the game.  It is as I told you, Tim.  Thirty percent physical, and seventy percent mental.  But, now that I've given you your fair share of mind games, I almost feel like a show off.  I tell you what, son.  We're going to put this on an even playing level.  I know exactly who you are, and I know exactly what I'm getting into on Sunday, but you don't... So, in the interest of fairness...

I lift the hood off of my head, and drop it to my shoulders.  After resting there for a moment, the lights come on to show off the mist going through the room.  I turn my head to the side, and I lift the mask from my face, almost pain stakenly slow...

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Me:  I'll see you Sunday, son...

I grin wickedly at the camera before reaching my hands into the air, snapping my fingers, and causing the scene to face out entirely... TO BLACK!

15
Climax Control Archives / Sweet Dreams
« on: January 22, 2016, 07:18:41 AM »
 
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Boys Day Out
#NP "Bittersweet Symphony" by The Verve
Locale: Market grille Cafe; Las Vegas, Nevada



I hate to appear like a savage, but there is nothing like licking tzatziki off of your fingers after the beautiful disaster known as the gyro.  It makes you feel like a beast, consuming it faster than you would think is humanly possible, but it's nearly impossible not to.  I move along to the fries on the side of my plate.  As I pick up a couple and ready them for dipping, I look across the table at my son, sitting there with a blank expression on his face.  He has barely touched his food, just as he'd barely moved around the laser tag course, or barely accelerated the go cart at the track.  He always loved our Boys Day Out, but today, he's just going with the flow, like he's barely ever here.  I set my fries back down on my plate as I stare at him for a moment.  He doesn't look discontent or miserable, but he has almost completely checked out.  I reach across the table, waving my hand in his face as he just lets out a "Hmm?" as a response.  He picks up the pita and brings it to his lips as if he were taking a bite, but he doesn't even take a crumb into his mouth.  He's pretty convincing though, as he pretends to chew a huge bite, and swallows the nonexistent bite.  He picks up his glass and takes a sip to wash it down as he offers me the most forced smile I've ever seen in my life.  I purse my lips for a moment as I try not to comment, but after a solid month of this, I can't hold it back any longer.

Me:  Do you feel like you're getting any better?  Any closer to becoming your old self?

He pauses, knowing that I know the answer to my own question.  He looks past me, trying to pretend to look me right in the eye.

Tim:  A little.  It's a slow process, but...

Me:  I was thinking about increasing your visits to Dr. Liddell to twice a week, you know... to help you get back to normal more quickly.

Tim:  I don't think the doctor is going to be of any help, dad.  I thought after what happened the week before Christmas, that you would get that.  We're not just dealing with some lunatic with boundary issues.

I let out a groan of hesitation, recalling what had happened with Belladonna Grey a couple weeks after the crazy Christmas attack on my son.  He's right. I can't ignore the fact that something more is going on here.  I saw the effects of Brother Grimm's attack, and after everything I've seen in my lifetime, there's no way any human being could animate Gingerbread men and teddy bears, and make it snow a foot within twenty minutes.  Still, he doesn't get the fact that this insane stalker is hot on his trail.

Me:  I've been working closely with the North's, and we are dealing with things on that end.  And you've got so many people surrounding you that this Belladonna freak couldn't possibly be stupid enough to try anything else.

Tim:  She doesn't even care.  She's got something else up her sleeve, and I just know it.  Not to mention the fact that Brother Grimm hasn't forgotten about me, either.  He made that pretty freaking obvious last week when he told everyone why he's on my tail now.

I don't say anything, but my blood boils at the thought of that.  I try not to show it, but us Staggs don't have the best way of hiding our anger from one another.  I slowly lick at my bottom lip as I chuckle, in a manner that conveys anything but humor of the situation.  I guess the ass beating I gave The Brat Prince in the middle of the ring two years ago didn't do anything but make him fear any type of obstacle that gets in his way.

Tim:  It doesn't really matter, though.  Those Xanax pills are such a life saver.  Brother Grimm could walk through that door right now, and I wouldn't even flinch.  I don't care, about anything.  It's great.

I see him smile for the first time since August.  Like, really smile.  I wish I could say I was happy to see it, but given the circumstances, I'm pretty far from happy.  He picks up his sandwich and takes a real bite, delight written on his face as he leans back in his seat to crack his back.

Me:  I'm glad to hear that you've got your anxiety under control, son, but what you're doing isn't healthy.

Tim:  Oh and living in fear constantly is healthy?  I tell you what, I've been able to keep food in my stomach, and I've been able to train without feeling like I'm going to fall over.  If that's not healthy, then I'm afraid I just don't know what is.

In a manner of speaking, he is right... though, it just isn't right.  I can't seem to gather the right words to say it, but it's not.

Me:  It would be great if you didn't need to rely on pills to help you conquer your fears, in the long term.  It takes away from your strength overall.  That's not you, son.  That's not in our blood.

Tim:  Mental disorders aren't in our blood?  I'd say that's a real line of bullshit. Uncle Erik is a simple narcissist, but you can't look at Jamie and tell me something's not wrong.  And no offense, but you aren't the picture of mental health yourself.  Uncle Tommy deals with depression and anxiety.  We're pretty fucked in the head, dad, and if you can't see that, then we can just add delusion to the long list of your mental ailments.

The words coming from his mouth cut like knives, even with the cool, nonchalant delivery Tim uses as the conduit.  He's not trying to be hurtful as he states it all as fact.  Not that he's wrong, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow these bitter pills of truth.

Me:  It's great that you hold your family in such high esteem, kiddo...

Tim:  That's not a bad thing.  It makes us stand out... well, it makes you guys stand out.  Apparently my pale skin and hair bright red enough to stop traffic doesn't even get me noticed.  Unless you're Brother Grimm, of course.

Me:  We have a mutual understanding that we don't judge one another, because not one of us is better than the other.  As for Brother Grimm, we'll deal with whatever comes our way.  You have people who care about you, and will protect you at literally any cost.  That should be enough to make you feel safe.

Tim:  Well, it doesn't.  What makes me feel safe are those little white pills, three times a day.  If you want to know the truth, this is all beyond you guys.  Brother Grimm might as well have just killed me at December 2 Dismember.  He killed any trace of a normal life I could ever hope for, along with another thing that happened at that event...

I watched the show from home, and just like any proud father, I tuned in for every second of my son's on screen time, including watching him have his heart broken by that no good, foul-mouthed, low rent piece of trash.  Not that I'm in to shaming my students, but I didn't care for her before she broke into my gym and led my son down a horrible path, let alone after she crushed his heart on live broadcast for thousands to watch live.  In a lot of ways, I think that's what has destroyed him the most, and left him vulnerable for Brother Grimm.  I believe his apathic state is due to Alexis humiliating him on social media.  However, until he wants to talk about it, I'm going to play stupid with a gentle nod.

Me:  You are dealing with a lot right now, and this is why I didn't want to negotiate your contract, or let you sign up for ASW last year.  This business tears you apart from the inside out, and not everyone recovers.  I put my life on the line, week in and week out for fifteen years to make sure you could have any life you wanted.

Tim:  And if I don't want any life?  What if I'm just sitting here, waiting for the inevitable?  Does it comfort you to know that I'm at least comfortable in just waiting to die?  That I've come to terms with what is coming for me, and that those pills make the transition less hard on me?

The anger fester inside of me has finally reached its boiling point.  I smash my fists against the table, causing out drinks to splash out a bit from our glasses.  Tim looks over at me, though he obviously doesn't sense the urgency in my voice.

Me:  No!  I'm not okay with that!  How am I supposed to be okay with the fact that my little soldier, the most prized fruit of my loin, just wants to wither and fall off the vine?!  In no form of reality, alternate or otherwise, am I going to be okay with that, son!

The mild crowd of patrons within the Mediterranean restaurant stop and look in our direction, but I don't care.  Some how, some way, he needs to understand what I've apparently failed to make clear throughout his entire life.  I just don't see him listening to me right now, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be said.

Me:  Apparently I'm horrible at expressing my feelings, because you went seventeen years without knowing that you were the one and only consistant thing in my life that kept it worth living.  You are my child, and although I've failed you in the past, I will watch your eyes light back up with life one day, even if it's the last thing that I do.  Bet your ass on that, Tim...

I can't watch his indifference.  Not right now.  I need to get up and leave before I boil over and cause a real scene.  I pull out my wallet, and I slap down a few bills on the table.  I push my plate to the edge of the table as I walk off.  Hearing the sound of a text alert, I reach for my phone, only to see Tim pull his phone out, and he smiles kind of awkwardly as he hesitantly responds, seeming to totally write me off.  I shake my head as I slap the keys to the car down on the table, because I'm about to take a long walk, and eventually I'll make it home.  Eventually.....





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Sweet Dreams
#NP "Sweet Dreams" by The Eurythmics
Locale: Inside of Tim's Mind



I'm lying in bed, thinking about everything people have said to me over the last few days.  I'm losing everything, and I just... don't... care.  Literally, my world is crashing down all around me, and I couldn't possibly care less.  What don't they get about my current situation?  I'm only staving off the inevitable.  I will be taken by Brother Grimm, and there's no stopping it.  My dad wants me to ween myself off of the pills.  Connor and Celeste want me to stop taking them altogether.  Tessa and the rest of The Nobodies are too afraid of hurting my feelings to tell me that they want the same, but there's always this feeling whenever I walk into the crowd of my hooded brethren, that they agree with Connor and Celeste.  Well, except Alexis, because she's off doing Johnny, or god knows what.

This is when I feel it.  The shaking begins.  I've lied awake for too long, and now the meds are wearing off.  I look over to my nightstand, toward the bottle of Xanax waiting to take any remnant of feeling away from me.  I throw the covers back just slightly to reveal my bare arms and chest, and the newest "body art" that Celeste recommended to help ward off Grimm, a pair of doves to promote inner peace, one on each side of mhy chest.  I reach over toward the bottle, but I've underestimated the distance.  I groan as I sit back in bed, wiggling up to a seated position.  I take a breath and then reach over toward my nightstand to grab my glass of water, taking a sip to relieve the bit of dry mouth I'm starting to feel as the fear washes over me like a long lost friend.  Obviously, it is an unwelcomed one, so I'm quick to reach over for my pill bottle, when I miss it once again.  For some reason, this sends chills through my whole body, as that familiar metallic taste washes over my tongue.  Something's not right.  I can't breathe.  I cough a bit as my heart tries to race, and I do everything in my power to convince myself that the air is just too dry.  I close my eyes and slowly count to ten before I open them again.  My arms flinch as I reach back toward the pill bottle.  This is when I watch my nightstand move across the room... except the entire room has stretched out now.  I feel like I'm the size of an ant in my own room.  I can't breathe!  Fuck!

I throw the blanket off of me, and grab around for my pants.  After a few rapid attempts, I find them, and slide them on.  I stand up out of bed, looking down at my legs as they appear to be fifty feet long.  The room is slowly spinning as I freak out.  I stumble over across the long journey to my nightstand, and I slap around for the bottle, finally taking it into my hand.  I fumble around with it a bit, trying to get the cap off.  Once I do, I go to pour a couple into my hand, but they fall through the cracks of my fingers and onto the floor.  I look at the ground, which feels like it's a hundred feet away from me.  I kneel down, and wind up falling, knocking my head against the nightstand.  The rush of pain is only momentary before my eyes close, and darkness begins to overwhelm me.

Embarrassment...


I don't know how much later it is, but I feel the fear creep back inside, whispering a chilly "wake up" to me.  The sinister laughter echoes through my ears as my eyes shoot open.  I lift my head up to look around my room.  Everything seems normal, besides the smashes pills in my carpet, and the skeleton standing in the corner, laughing at me.  No big dea... WHAT?!  Holy hell, it's another nightmare.  Since I started taking those pills, I haven't had one.  And, even though I know it isn't real, I can't stop myself from feeling like it is.  I back up against my bed, covering up my nearly naked body with my legs and arms, curling up into a ball as the skeleton walks closer.  He is wearing a black hooded jacket, much like the ones my crew wears.  His sick smile and eyes that are somehow blacker than the shadows surrounding my room cause me to shake.  I sit there, trying the whole "they can't see me, so they can't hurt me" routine, but he clearly can.  His heavy footsteps approach me as he reaches down and yanks me up by my hair, causing me to yelp out in pain, but scream out in pure fear.

Skeleton:  Just when you thought you were safe, is when you were most vulnerable.  Isn't that how it always works, child?

I want to tell him to fuck off, but I... I can't.  My voice won't work.  Not even a squeak escapes my lips as I dangle from his frosty, bony fingers.  His mouth opens as some sort of black liquid begins to flow through his teeth.

Skeleton:  What's that?  I can't hear you through all of that delicious adrenaline seasoned fear pouring out of your skin, boy!

He brings his mouth closer to mine as he cackles in a demonic tone.  I turn my head, but it doesn't do much good, as he simply twists my hair ever so slightly to turn me back around to face him.  However, instead of a skeleton standing in front of me, it is Celeste's on again, off again boyfriend, Chad Miller.  Instead of lifting me up by my hair, he's got his fingers tangles in my hair, tugging back lightly as he leans in.

Chad:  Ever since that night at the party, I've been wanting to do this again...

I try to turn my head, but his hand is latched on to my hair, and all I can do is close my eyes, and hope that it all goes away.  I think... it might have actually worked.  I stand there, frozen for a minute, but I feel nothing.  I shoot my eyes open, ready to sigh in relief when I'm nose to nose with him, and his lips press against mine.  I squirm to escape it, but I can't get away.  His lip lock is tighter than my Untitled No. 1!  I feel the warmth of his lips, but the chilling cold of putrid black liquid and a serpent tongue prodding into my mouth.  I try to scream, but it is muffled by his mouth.  I look around as the masked Nobodies all laugh and point at me.  Chad's hands run all over my body as I do everything in my power to escape.  I somehow find it in my to shove him away, but the laughter still rings through my ears.

Me:  No... NO!  NO!  NO!  DON'T LAUGH AT ME!

I look around, and somehow, my bedroom has turned into an SCW venue, and the crowd consists of nothing but masked Nobodies, all laughing at my expense.  I spit the putrid black from my mouth, feeling the wretching feeling deep in the pit of my stomach.  Chad winks at me as he wipes the black from his mouth too.

Chad:  Oh, come on.  I know I'm not the only one who enjoyed that...

He slowly starts to unzip his jacket before reaching for his zipper.  I back up quickly, hitting my back against the ropes of the ring.  I dive through the ropes and to the outside as I keep my sights on Chad, running up the ramp backward.  I trip over a wire and fall flat on my boxer brief covered ass.

Crowd:  You're a pussy! *Clap, Clap, ClapClapClap*  You're a pussy! *Clap, Clap, ClapClapClap*

I scramble backward up the ramp, but Chad is gaining on me quickly.  I didn't like that.  I didn't like it one bit, so I certainly won't enjoy any more than that.  I make it to my feet, until my body collides with something, or someone.

Celeste:  Go ahead, T-Bone.  Screw my boyfriend, and shit all over our friendship.  It's not like you haven't been doing that lately anyway.

I turn to look at Celeste, anger boiling under those deceivingly soft blue eyes of hers.  She tries to nudge me closer to Chad, who licks at his lips in what I assume is supposed to be in a sensual manner, but it just makes me shove past Celeste and through the curtains.  As I reach the backstage area, it looks a lot like... my hallway?  I look back to see Chad still in hot pursuit as the crowd reminds me that I'm nothing but a walking vagina.  I slam the door shut behind me and rest against it.  I look around, and everything is quiet.  I take this time to catch my breath before I start walking down the hallway.  I can hear the creaking of the house as it breathes in a soft yet steady tone.  I see a soft light trickling up the stares, and I'm almost sure its coming from the living room.  I walk toward the steps as I can hear a bit of chatter coming from the living room, and it's not the television.

Failure...


I can't quite hear what they're saying, but the soft whisper of the word failure lingers in my ears, even more than the one I'd heard earlier which was clearly "embarrassment".  I feel like there is a heavy weight on my chest, making each breath take fifty times as much energy as it should.  I walk down the first step, but it makes a loud creak, and the voices stop.  I softly move down a few more steps and have a seat as I get a clear view of the living room.  My family is sitting there, pretty much everyone.  My dad, Vixen, Eden, the twins, Jamie, Tommy, and Erik.  They look over toward the steps, but I know they don't see me from this position.  Once they realize no one is there, my dad clears his throat and begins speaking again.

Dad:  It's no secret that we've got a big problem here.  I'm just not sure what to do about it.

Vixen:  You're right.  It's a very big problem.  As much as I love you, Spike... it is becoming a lot for me to handle.

My dad sighs as Vixen bounces the fussy twins on her knee.  Her usually calming French Canadian accent deceives the frustrations in her voice, but to those who know her, those frustrations are very clear.

Vixen:  I am starting to see why the other two left like they did.  Who else could put up with that?

Dad:  Look, I know!  But, we all play with the hand we were dealt.  There isn't a discard pile for kids who just aren't good enough.  Well, there is, but that only resulted in a bit of jail time, and even then, I was still handed back that Joker card.

Erik:  Well, I sure as hell couldn't keep it in my hand.  I'm playing with all aces.  I can't have a four of useless shitheads in my deck.  He's your kid, so you should have done what I told you to do in the beginning and make Roxanne get an abortion.

There is a hush that comes over the room as I feel a tear start to trickle down my cheek.  I purse my lips together, waiting for some sort of sick punchline to come through, but it doesn't.  There is just a round of mumbles of agreement.  My dad sighs and shakes his head.

Dad  Hindsight is twenty-twenty, uncle Erik.  But now, it's considered murder, so it's a little late to do anything about it.  We just need to figure out how to deal with it.

Tommy:  He's at the age where he can be emancipated.  Why don't you feed him a few bullshit lines about how cool it is to be an adult, even though it's a total lie, and once he signs those papers, tell him peace out Red?

Jamie:  Or, you could do what you did with me, and sign him up for scientific experiments and stuff?  Totally made me smarter and way better to be arrrrrrrrr-rrrrrrr-rrrrr.... Wait, what?

I think Jamie had a mini seizure as he looks around the room at everyone who is staring at him, shaking their heads.

Eden:  Can we make him go live with Uncle Jamie?  Ooooh, can I have all his stuff?!  Doesn't he have a real mommy he can go live with?

Vixen:  No, sweetie... just like everyone else, nobody wants him.

Eden:  Oooohhhhh....

Eden nods her head as she seems to understand now.  My vision goes a bit hazy from the tears in my eyes as I softly sniffle so not to bring attention to myself.

Erik:  So, murder is out of the question, but I know a guy who could make anything look like an accident.  He's a bit pricy, but...

Dad:  No!  I've tried already, and it doesn't work.  Why do you think I signed his wrestling contracts?  I thought he'd have killed himself already, but the most he did with his shitty wrestling skills is nearly kill someone else!  I mean, I hate to say it, but my son sucks.  He sucks so bad, and I'm finding it harder and harder not to tell him that while I smack those beady fucking eyes right out of his head.

Vixen:  Oh my god, tell me about it...

I can't help but make a loud noise from crying, and all conversation stops.  My dad stands up as I cover my mouth to stop any further noises from escaping my lips.  I hear footsteps slowly coming toward the stairs, and then, moments later, I see my dad looking up the steps with a fake smile on his face.

Dad:  H-heyyyy there, kiddo.  How long have you been sitting there?

Jamie:  Hopefully not long enough to hear how we all hate his ugly guts.  I mean, he looks like a ginger Gollum, emirite? Huh?

Erik:  Uhhhhghhhh... totes...

I try to play innocent as my dad slowly walks up the steps toward me, with his hands behind his back.

Dad:  We're really worried about you, son...  We were just... oh man, I can't hold it in any longer.  You are shit.  Not "the shit", meaning cool from twenty years ago, but shit.  As in shitty.  Basically, you suck, and the only people who want to be around you are losers who also suck.  I mean, you can't wrestle for shit.  It's kind of embarrassing to all of us, really.  I mean, even Jamie, with all that he lacks, can still wrestle.

My dad chuckles, hoping that I'll understand.  I just keep covering my mouth, despite the fact that I can hardly breathe without a hand over my mouth.  I gasp through my fingers as I begin crying again, shaking my head.

Dad:  You're an embarrassment to the family name, son.  I mean, everyone hates me for not making you use a fake name to wrestle under.  They were all pretty on board for hoping that you kill yourself in the ring, though, and that's the only reason they still talk to me.

Me:  I'm... I'm... champion.

My dad tilts his head to the side as if I just told him a sad joke, where he gives me a pity laugh.  Downstairs, I hear laughter ringing from the living room.

Tommy:  What a dumbass!  Did you hear that?  No, no, it was like "Ohhhh, but, but... I are champeen!"  Give me a fucking break.

Dad:  He's right.  Having the tag championships right now is like being friend zoned... something else you're totally familiar with right now!  HA!  Am I right, guys?

Everyone:  OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Vixen:  Somebody take him out of the oven, because he just got BURNED!

I get up and run down the stairs, tears falling out of my eyes.  I stop right at the front door, frozen as I feel their eyes on me as they laugh at my expense.  It slowly dies down as my dad comes up to me.  As he approaches, I see a butcher knife in his hand.  He slowly raises it up with a bit of joy in his eyes.

Dad:  You're such a failure, son.  A miserable failure, and I only see one option left, to rid the family of the burdens you put on us.

As he goes closer, the rest of the family stands up, butcher knives in their hands.  Even the twins, clank theirs together in Vixen's embrace.  They come toward me as they all keep repeating "Failure... Failure... Failure..."  I fling the front door open as I run out toward the cold, but...

Failure...


The ghastly word echoes through my ears, as probably the biggest fear I face.  Everything is dark and misty as I walk through the abyss.  I look around, and see what appear to be gaslights, but there is no street, and they are so far apart.  I approach the first one, slowly.  As the mist clears, I see a red throne, with a woman and a man, wearing a gimp mask, lying at the feet of my biological mother.  All three are leather clad, and my mom holds on to two chain link leashes, going to collars around each of their necks.  She looks over at me with narrowed eyes.

Roxanne:  You gave me the greatest gift I've ever received when you wouldn't let guilt get the better of me, doll.  It was the best thing I ever did, leaving you with your father.  It made him miserable, because he had to be around you.  I might not have much of a heart now, but I felt bad about it.  Now that I've seen what you become, sugar?  I'm glad I chose this life over you...

Before I can even try to say anything, the light goes out, and she disappears.  While it does hurt that my biological mother abandoned me when I was five years old, I try not to let it show much, and each passing day, it's gotten easier to deal with.  I sniff a little, as I let out a laugh.

Me:  Is that the best you got, Grimm?

I shake my head as I walk off toward the next light.  The fear is easing up some as I walk up to see Misty standing there, singing a lullaby to Owen, he baby boy.  I walk up to her, while her back is turned to me.  I'm ready to speak, when I hear her speak.

Misty:  Mommy will always love you, best.  You're my real son.  Not just by a piece of paper handed to me from some other woman who didn't want you.  You are a product of love, no matter how momentary.  Timmy is a product of hate and violence pretending to be love.  He is cursed to be a terrible person with no real purpose.  Ohhh, but not you, my beautiful baby boy.  You're my little miracle.

She nearly weeps in the splendor of the light resonating from her baby boy.  Her... real son.  She turns around to face me, and that beam of joy fades away quickly to a look of utter disgust.

Misty:  Shouldn't you be hiding in a corner, shaking like the little coward that you are?  That's what you've done your whole life, so how in the hell do you expect me to see past that and value you as a member of my family?  You put so much stress on the relationship I had with your father, that we wound up hating each other.  I am not your mother, and I didn't have to stick around for you.

Me:  What about Eden, then?  Why did you leave her?  Is it because you're a coward, too?

Misty:  I figured that, with a son as useless as you, our daughter would have turned out that way, too.  But, when she didn't, I came back.  It's not your stock, Timmy.  It's you.  And that is why everyone leaves you, or pushes you away.  You are nothing, and the only smart thing you've ever done is label yourself as the leader of the Nobodies...

I close my eyes and sigh, because I don't exactly know how to argue that in my state of mind.  Luckily, I don't have to, because when I open my eyes, the light around her had gone out, and she disappears into the darkness with Owen.  The next light seems as if it is a mile away, but the sound of a woman being hurt echoes across the abyss.  I begin to speed walk toward it, but the sounds get louder and louder, sounding more urgent as I hear skin slapping skin, and a pained groan from the woman as she pleads for her attacker to stop.  My walk turns to a jog, and then to a run as I try to help whoever she is.  Near the light I see a bench, where the light only seems to cast a soft glow on the face of Alexis.  She is in pain, as her eyes are closed, and her left eye is swollen, and ready to bruise.

Me:  Lex?  Lexi?!

I charge up to the bench as I see her lips quiver, and the pained groan suddenly becomes a clear moan of ecstasy.  The mist around her stops anything from being visible, but I'm pretty sure she's naked.  I know it sounds like the creepiest option, but I skid to a stop and just stare at her.

Lexi:  Smack me harder this time.  I'm not a lesbian, so I don't want to fuck pussies.  Do you understand me?  Oh, no... choke me...

She opens her eyes to look down at the man below her, but she sees me instead.  She loses a bounce in her proverbial step as she scoffs at me, shaking her head.

Lexi:  What the fuck do you want, T-Bag?  Do you get off on watching people have sex, because you know you'll never have it on your own?

Me:  No... I... uh...

Lexi:  Duhhh, uhhh, uhhh... Get on with it already.  Can't you see I'm busy right now?

Me:  I thought you were being hurt, so I was, um... trying to save you.

She laughs as she gets back into her groove.  She moans loudly before looking back at me.

Lexi:  You couldn't save anyone.  You're pathetic.  I mean, if you can't even get a girl who thinks so lowly of herself, because you're such a fuckin' ugly loser, how do you think you'll ever manage to be man enough to save me, or date me?  Once I realized that you were so beneath even me, it was only a matter of time before I moved on.  I mean, you had a year and a half where you could have weaseled your way into a pity fuck from me, and possibly knocked me up to trap me, but you didn't even have the balls.  You're weak.  There's a reason everyone hates you.

I can't argue with that, and she knows it.  She looks away from me as she leans down and kisses the man in the mist.  However, as she does so, her eyes look at me, teasing me with that which I will never have.

Johnny:  Bae, will you tell the loser to fuck off?  He's total bonerkill.

I see Johnny's head raise up from the mist, and he looks back at me, winking as a form of insult.  I can't help but charge at them, ready to hurt him, and possibly Alexis at this point.  The anger inside of me boils over, but before I can reach them, the light becomes so bright that I can't see for a few seconds.  As it dims slightly, and my eyes adjust, I look around to see everyone lying there on the ground.  The Masked Nobodies.  My family.  Celeste, Chad, Alexis, Johnny... all a bloody mess... dead.  I gasp as I look around, shaking my head.  This can't be real.  I walk through the pile of bodies, and I look down at them.  As I look down, there are blood stains all over me, and the splatter on my white boxer briefs let me know exactly what it is.  Smeared across my chest is the blood of those around me.  My arms are dripping with the thick crimson liquid, leading to the knife in my hand.  I quickly drop the knife as I fall to my knees.  I shake my father, but he doesn't answer me.

Me:  Dad?  DAD?!

I look over to Celeste. who is spurting blood from her mouth.  She's not quite dead yet.  I cradle her head in my arm as she looks up at me, horrified.  She tries with every bit of strength she has to escape me, but she can't.

Me:  Celeste?  What happened?  Tell me what happened.  Please tell me what...

Celeste:  You...

Her eyes roll back as her body goes limp.  Tears start to roll down my face as I hear the sinister chuckle coming from right behind me.  I slowly turn back to see Brother Grimm standing right behind me.  He is smiling at me, but it is all but calming.

Brother Grimm:  The fact that you are so horrified by the thought of killing those who look down on you, means that you are just as innocent as I'd hoped for.  I will see you soon, child...

His chuckles as he slowly backs away into the shadows, disappearing...

This is when I wake up.  My iPod is playing "Sweet Dreams" by The Eurythmics as I look around the room.  There is no wrestling ring.  No Nobodies, or skeletons, or Chad Miller.  Everything is normal, except the sweat and tears rolling down my face.  I look over to my bedside table and pick up my pill bottle.  I open it up, seeing all of my pills are in tact.  I tilt the bottle into the palm of my hand, but as the first pill hits my palm, I stop.  I look down at the pill for a moment before dropping it back into the bottle.  I close the lid, and toss the bottle across the room.  I need to do this on my own, from here on out.  I need that total control over myself.  I'm doing this... alone...




Ink
#NP "Zerospace" by Kidneythieves
Locale: Alien Ink & Body; Laughlin, Nevada



The bell rings above my head as I walk inside of the tattoo shop.  There are pictures of art work all over the walls, and I have to say, it seems pretty impressive.  I walk over to the front desk where a woman with neon green hair is sitting in a leather barbers chair.  She looks up at me and smiles as she sets her cellphone down on the desk.

Lady:  Welcome to Alien Ink & Body.  What can I do for you today?

Me:  I have an appointment with Kenny at six thirty.

She quitely whispers "okay..." as she searches through the computer.  It takes a minute, but she seems to find what she's looking for.

Lady:  Okay, and your name?

Me:  Tim Staggs.

Lady:  I thought I knew you from somewhere.  You're in town for the SCW show, right?

I nod my head, almost finding it weird that someone actually knows me.  It couldn't possibly be the championship belts, could it?  Have they started to gain us recognition?

Lady:  I love SCW, but I love The Nobodies so much more.  I like how you guys are underdogs, but you usually show everyone up.  Like how you guys are set to face a former World Heavyweight Champion, and a man who pinned the current World Heavyweight Champion a few weeks ago?  Those have got to be some tough odds to overcome.

Me:  And everyone thinks that the first tag title defense is easy, right?  It's not like we have to face the Surf Boys or something.  I guess we got lucky because we were free when they needed someone to throw to the wolves known as Guns For Hire, the guys who everyone thought would run over us as if we were just garbage on the street, when it was actually the other way around.

She smiles, and I think she might even be flirting a bit now.  Awkward, but I do have to say that it's nice to have a fan.

Lady:  Yeah... you guys were totally supposed to be the easy defense for them.  And I guess the conspiracy against you guys continues as they try to put the belts on *air quotes* real wrestlers.

Me:  Wait, real wrestlers?  The Monstimals?  I thought we were doing some interpromotional bit where we were wrestling Muppets.  How does anyone take a name like that seriously?  I mean, somewhere out there, there's at least one person thinking "Damn, and we thought a name like The Nobodies was embarrassing..."

The lady giggles as a man emerges from the back, auburn beard, a bit heavyset, and a baseball hat on.  He looks right at me as he asks the question...

Kenny:  You Tim?

Me:  Unfortunately...

He chuckles as he waves me over toward the back.

Kenny:  So, you want to pick something from the book, or you got something specific in mind?

Me:  I've actually got something very specific in mind, K-Dawg.

I look at him, and the name doesn't really seem to resonate with him, so I flash him an apologetic smile.  He pulls out a piece of paper and a charcoal pencil.

Kenny:  What you got in mind for this peace, and where you want it?

Me:  I am actually a professional wrestler, and I've hit a bit of a rough patch lately.  I've been feeling kind of... weak.  Helpless.  I realized that it's impossible to do what I do and be weak.  Even if I lost, like all the time... like my name was Travis Nathaniel Andrews... you're still not weak.  He's not weak.  He's just stupid.  And I win way more than he does, which is sort of sad if you think about it.

Kenny nods his head, but he's not exactly following me here.  Not yet, anyway.  But this idea is pure genius, and anyone who disagrees is as stupid as Steve Ramone!

Me:  Even in defeat, there are lessons to be learned.  And in victory, we grow stronger.  So... and this is the part that you should care about... on my left arm, I want the word "Defeat" written into an upper half sleeve tattoo.  On this arm, I want to put symbols or faces of those who have defeated me, in or out of the ring.

Kenny:  I dig that.

Me:  But that's just the half of it.  On my right arm, I want the same thing, only instead of the word "Defeat", I want the word "Success", and I want to have symbols of my successes inside of the ring and out... though for now, the latter doesn't really apply...  This way, I can look to one arm, and learn from those mistakes, and when I'm feeling down about myself, I can look to the other for inspiration.

Kenny:  Awesome shit dude.  Let me wrap these around your arms to get the dimensions straight, and we'll work on the specifics.

I nod my head as Kenny wraps the first piece of paper around my arm, tracing the full circumference of my right arm, and then he repeats it for my left.  I go on about my time in ASW, and how that would make up most of my "Defeat" arm.  I show him pictures of my opponents and tell him a little about them.  I move along, giving him an idea of my time so far in SCW, and he works some really cool designs of the championship belts, the black hoods, amongst other highlights.  This conversation goes on for an hour longer than it probably should, but I'm happy with the end result.  He quickly traces over it as we continue to talk about the good times, and the bad, and before I know it, I'm sitting in the chair, as the loud buzz of the tattoo machine starts up.  He dabs the needle into the black ink as he starts to trace over the design that is flattened on my arm.  But, I brought the cameras here, hoping that I wouldn't cry like a little bitch, the way I did with the doves on my chest.  By comparison, this isn't nearly as bad.  I take a deep breath as I look over to the cameras.

Me:  Defeat.  It has such a negative connotation, doesn't it?  By definition, ibeing defeated means to be overcome by an obstacle, or to be beaten.  That doesn't sound very positive, now does it?  Defeat can be positive.  It can teach you of the mistakes you once made, and can serve as a solid reminder not to make those same mistakes twice.  Defeat can be just as beneficial as success.

I look down at my left arm, nodding toward the word being traced as we speak.

Me:  Success can be a great motivator.  You think of success, and you almost instantly remember moments in your life where you overcame the odds.  You straighten your posture, and take pride in those moments, no matter how many or few they might be.  Success is something I'm fairly new to when it comes to wrestling.  I am not as accomplished as some had expected, given my pedigree.

I take a moment, remembering the dream from the other night, and hearing the words my family spoke to me in those dreams, and it causes me to waiver for a moment.  I do my best to bounce back, because I'm trying my best not to be overcome by my own self doubts and insecurities.

Me:  I didn't come into this business to ride on the coattails of my family.  I entered the business the same way each of them did, green as lettuce.  The only advantage I've had, if you can even call it that, is my name.  My family wasn't known until my father made a name for himself in Generation X Wrestling, becoming their undefeated World Heavyweight Champion.  He came to Sin City Wrestling under... different circumstances, but he only furthered the legacy of his name by becoming two time NeWA World Heavyweight Champion, again, undefeated in his second run.  He became the SCW Heavyweight Champion, holding that belt alongside the NeWA World Heavyweight Championship for months.  He didn't just appear in SCW one day and say "Hey, I'm going to be the Heavyweight Champion."  No, he worked for that for a decade.  I've been wrestling for almost a year now, and I have the SCW Tag Team Championships alongside Connor.  So, to everyone who says that I suck, and that I have no business baring the name "Staggs"... put that in your hashpipe and smoke it!

I use this moment to tense up some, as it offers a great distraction from the fact that I'm in a bit of pain here.  I clinch my free fist as I shake it at the screen in a joking manner.  However, I'm pretty damn serious.

Me:  I told the  world that I would defend these belts against any losers that wanted to step up to us for them.  No one answered.  That's either an insult or a compliment.  I haven't decided which one it is yet, though...  Either way, Christian Underwood, in all of his infinite wisdom, decided to force the hand a little bit and book us against The Monstimals...

Kenny:  The fuck are Monstimals?  Are they characters from some retarded Saturday morning show on Cartoon Network?

Me:  I thought it sounded like mentally challenged Muppets...

Kenny shrugs his shoulders as he nods his head, seeing where I'm coming from.  I give him a look that asks him "Right?!"  before I look back to the camera.

Me:  The Monstimals are a tag team in SCW, Former Heavyweight and Roulette Champion, Lord Raab, and... Samuel McPherson, a guy who has done nothing but pin the World Heavyweight Champ.

Kenny:  Oh, you musta done that a hundred time then?

I go quiet, and shoot him a dirty look that suggests he go back to work on my arm.  It is a look that I instantly regret as he digs a little deeper than he had before.  I suck air through my teeth as I regain my composure.

Me:  Well, he's no SCW Champion, so I win...  If Mark Ward has anything to do with it, that victory will be erased from any and all record books, where my title reign will be sealed in the books for eternity.  But, I didn't come here to trash The Monstimals.  That is just a little bit of fun I'm having on the side.  No, I came here to explain to these deranged psychopaths the meaning of the words "success" and "defeat".  I'm sure they didn't hear me before, because I didn't mention them specifically, so I'll repeat myself.  "Defeated" is defined as being overcome by obstacles, or beaten.  You can learn from your mistakes, so you don't make them again.  Though, honestly, I know I find comfort in repetitive behaviors for the sake of stimulating myself mentally or physically.  It's my own personally tailored Aspergers experience.  Surely Samuel feels the same way?

I pause for a moment, as if I expect an answer.  When I don't get one, I tilt my head to the side and let out a growling response.

Me:  Yaarrp!  Anyway... I don't find comfort in defeat.  I just understand that it is sometimes necessary.  Without defeat, we have nothing to learn from.  Without defeat, we have nothing to make the successes we enjoy feel that much greater.  So, this week, I'm going to give the both of you a gift.  I'm going to make it easy for you two.

I smile, as I expect people watching this (Hi mom!) to give a reaction like "Whaddufuq??"  It's okay, if I weren't me, and didn't understand the way I think, I might also have this reaction.

Me:  I'm going to let you guys win... by being defeated horribly.  See, in this case, everyone wins.  The idiotic duo of savage numbskulls get to learn a lesson, while Connor and I retain our championships, and defeat a former top dog.  Win-Win... For us, anyway.  But, as I said, defeat offers many valuable rewards, and I'm sure your shrink can put those in terms that you will both understand.  Yaarrp?  Naarrp?  Okay then.

I smile, as even I know how wrong it is to make fun of Samuels limited speech capabilities.  But, why should I be the most mature one in SCW all the time, when I have the most excuse to be immature?  After all of the retard and ugly jokes I've heard, lashing out at the competition to make them bring every bit they have is the least I deserve.  But, that's not my main focus here.

Me:  SCW... fans, roster, management, whatever... There is a new Tim Staggs here, a refreshed Tim Staggs... a confident Tim Staggs.  I'm not scared anymore... at least I'm not crippled by my fear anymore.  I'm ready to face it.  And in doing so, that means proving to each and every one of you that, despite being a Nobody, a faceless, nameless body amongst the masses of the unknown... I am not to be taken lightly.  I've warned you all of this, time and time again, only to fall on deaf ears.  Not now.  Not this time.  Once I defeat The Monstimals, a former Heavyweight and Roulette Champion, and the man who pinned Drake Green two weeks ago... and retain these belts with Connor, you will be forced to take us seriously, and give us the chance to become Somebodies.  Sunday will be a game changer for The Nobodies.  Are you ready for what's to come?

I stare at the camera for a moment, letting the intensity in my eyes linger.  The cold stare that I inherited from my father, and his father, resonates as the sound of the buzzing continues, and the first outline is nearly completed.  Kenny puts the finishing touches on that side, as he spins my chair around, turning my back to the camera to work on the other side as we fade out... TO BLACK!

16
Climax Control Archives / Santa Claus Is Coming?
« on: December 18, 2015, 02:14:21 PM »
 
<img src=https://45.media.tumblr.com/f648d30c3437adcc104966a68977f7a4/tumblr_my0wzs358c1t8u5o8o1_500.gif>



Homecoming King
#NP "Trip the Darkness" by Lacuna Coil
Locale: Staggs Family Home; Las Vegas, Nevada




"One, two, Grimm is coming for you,
Three, four, lock the doors,
Five, six, grab your crucifix,
Seven, eight, stay up late,
Nine, ten, never sleep again...
Hehehehehe!"


The way he looked the entire way home was hard, Vixen said.  Not that any of these last few months had been easy on anybody, but it is especially hard seeing him in this shape.  Xanax barely made him content enough to get him on the plane.  The shaking had stopped, but he was just a shell, as if Brother Grimm had already beaten him.   All I wanted to do was be there to do what I could to comfort my baby boy.  I thought I was respecting his wishes by letting him live his life, but it was premature.  I guess the rumors are true.  I'm an awful parent.

As soon as the car pulls up into the driveway, I dart out of the front door.  My sights are set firmly on the passanger's side door as I rush over the walkway and to his car door.  Misty is close behind me with Owen, despite the cold breeze.  I don't hear or see anything as I fling the door open.  There he is, shaking so badly that his teeth are chattering.  As if he were six years old again, I scoop him up into my arms.  It nearly brings a tear to my eyes as he rests his head on my shoulder, wrapping an arm around me, sobbing.

Tim:  I'm sorry, dad.  Can I come back home, please?

As if he needed to ask such a question.  I nearly kick the door open as Misty turns toward us, just staring.  This is the exact moment that I realize he is not just a rebellious teenager.  He wasn't calling me a bad father because I wouldn't let him hang out with his troublemaking friends.  He was calling me a bad father because... I was a bad father.  That bullshit ends right this fucking second.  I set him down on the couch as I rush to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and a bag of pills sitting on the kitchen counter.  I tear open the bag to remove a pill bottle emergency rushed from Tim's doctor.  I crack open the bottle and pour a couple tiny white pills into the lid.  All while I hear Tim wailing from the living room couch.  Eden wipes at her eyes, weary from the broken night of sleep she had gotten.  I give her a pat on the head as she sighs and follows me.  Once we are in the living room, Tommy has Kit in his arms, and Vixen has Bijou.  Uncle Erik and Jamie are standing next to Misty, trying hard not to crowd Tim as he looks around, shaking and blinking, speechless.

Eden:  Did Timmy see the Boogeyman?

Tim:  Oh yes, Eden!  I've seen the Boogeyman, and he's real.  Ohhhh is he real!

Eden:  He's... real?!

Eden cries out as she looks to me. I shake my head softly, but my eyes are locked firmly on hers.  My family has always been able to communicate with a stare, so she quickly calms down.  However, the thought still lingers in her mind.  I've seen some crazy get ups with wrestlers over the years, but this Brother Grimm has got to be one of the craziest.  That's something coming from me.

Misty:  Timmy, honey, can I get you something?

Misty is about as clueless as the rest of us on what to do right now other than to let him go into a Xanax induced "I Don't Give A Fuck" coma.  I hand the pills over to Tim, and he wastes no time in gathering them up and gobbling them down without water even.  He gets up from the couch and immediately hugs onto me tightly.  I hug him back, not wanting to let go.  He reaches out his hand to Misty as he tries his best not to tremble.  After a moment of all the eyes resting on him, he looks toward the kitchen, a cold sweat dripping down his face.

Tim:  Dad?  Can I have a minute uh... alone with you?

Everyone gives a nod as I try to put on my strong face.  I pull away from the hug slightly, forcing a warm smile onto my face as I give an affirmative nod.

Me:  Yeah, son.  Do you want something to eat?

He just shakes his head as he tugs on my arm, taking me toward the kitchen.  As we enter, I walk over to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of orange juice.  I bring it to the island, and retrieve two cups from the nearby cabinet.  Pouring a glass for Tim first, I then pour one for myself.  Tim takes a sip as he just stares at me.  I can tell he's confused, and unsure of what to say here, so I try to break the ice.

Me:  No matter what's happened in the past, son... I'm very proud of you.  You did something that not even I've been able to do in winning the tag titles.

He just nods his head, though his mind is clearly not on the topic of the tag belts.  He rubs the back of his head, the beginning effects of the medication coming into play.

Tim:  Dad, I'm sorry I punched you on the cruise ship.  I was so mad that you brought Roxanne on the cruise ship, but that's no excuse for...

I shouldn't, but I don't want him feeling worse than he already had been feeling, so I shush him gently, shaking my head.  He purses his lips as I cut him off from this course of action.

Me:  That is in the past, kiddo.  What's important is here, and now.  You're back home where you belong.  Where you are loved and respected.  Where you are safe...

He laughs.  I admit I wasn't expecting that, though I should have, given the predicaments I've left my son in through the years, but I'm completely shocked.  There is almost a gleeful, sinister, crazy gleam in his eye as he looks up at me.  Most wouldn't understand this stare, but I know it all too well.  He inherited it directly from me, but I must have kept him safe and sane enough up until now, because it's the first time I've seen it in his eyes.

Tim:  Am I?  Am I really?

Me:  Yes!  There are some pretty sick people out there who don't just endure getting beaten up for a living, but rather, they enjoy it.  That's all this sicko is.  He's a man in face paint who drugged you and kidnapped you, and...

I can't even imagine it as I slam my fist angrily on the island counter top.  It causes my glass of orange juice to splash back at me a bit, and I can feel a rage coming over me.

Me:  That fucker messed with your head.  You can't let him win.

Tim tears up a bit again, as his voice squeaks out.

Tim:  You... weren't... there, dad... You... you don't know that...

He places his hands on the sides of his head as he begins pacing back and forth along the island.

Tim:  Celeste's mom said...

I rub at my temples, and my temper is starting to boil over with the situation.  This time, I slam both fists down on the counter as I look over at Tim, shaking my head from side to side.  I am not going to listen to this bullshit.

Me:  Celeste's mom is a whack job.  Where do you think Celeste got that from?  Push that all out of your head, and we'll get you worked out, okay?  I made an appointment with Dr. Liddell.

Tim:  Dr. Liddell can't help me, not with this.  You weren't there, dad.  You didn't see the things I saw.

His voice starts to squeak as tears form in his eyes again.  I just nod my head, but he knows I don't believe it to be what he does.  Ramblings of a mad man, and some old woman who probably put all of that nonsense into his head to begin with.  Either way, now is not the time to try to talk sense into Tim.  Now, he needs the father he's been without for four months... well, longer than that apparently.

Me:  The best thing to do is to push this all out of your head.  Dwelling on it isn't going to do you any good.  Just relax, and let the medicine do it's work.  I won't leave your side until you feel ready, okay?

Tim just nods his head as he takes another small sip of his orange juice.  He wipes all signs of tears from his eyes, leaving only a hot, red stain around his eyes.  There is nothing but a redness, bloodshot eyes, and not even from the medication.  No light in the eyes, and no sign that it was ever there.  I have half a mind to show up at the Gold Coast Casino on Sunday and knock the ever living fuck out of this Brother Grimm, old school Spike Staggs style.  Tim yawns as he looks over at the clock, reading a quarter past 9 in the morning.  Without having to say a word, I nod my head.  Tim exits the kitchen, but instead of going to his room for peace and quiet, he passes the staircase, and walks straight to the living room.  I follow, a bit confused, but he walks right over to the fireplace, and curls up in front of it.  The murmur in the room goes completely silent, save for my childhood blinking Santa lights on the tree that chime in with "Little Drummer Boy".  Tim closes his eyes, and I grab a blanket from the back of the chair, and I cover him up.  Eden brings a couple decorative pillows from the couch and props his head up, but he's too far gone to notice.  She kisses him on his forehead, and then looks to Misty.

Eden:  Is Timmy going to be alright?

Misty:  Yes, honey.  He's got so, so many people who love and care about him, and we won't let anything bad happen to him.

Everyone in the room nods their heads, but me.  It goes without being said.  I've failed him too many times in the past, and I'll be fucking damned if I'm going to do it again...

[Fade]



<img src=http://www.netanimations.net/Animated_santa_reindeer_flying.gif>



Santa Claus Is Coming?
#NP "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" by Frank Sinatra
Locale: Staggs Family Home; Las Vegas, Nevada (Yes, again...)



Eden, Vixen, dad, and the twins are all bundled up as they stand by the door.  They look at me as if I must be crazy.  I know that's exactly what they are thinking, but honestly I can't blame them.  I sit with a mug of white hot chocolate in my hand, and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.  Bad Santa is playing on TV, and I'm actually doing okay.  Though, the last thing I feel like doing is going to the theater to watch a scary-ish movie.  I've had enough of that in my nightmares the last few days.

Dad:  Are you sure you don't want to come with us?  You've been dying to see this movie.

Me:  I think I'll wait for the Blu Ray, but thanks.  Besides, I need a break from you guys.

Eden  Hey!

Me:  Except you, Eden...

She smiles all smug like as she looks at the rest of the family as if she were the only exception.  I give a smile so that everyone knows I'm just kidding.

Vixen:  You could always come and see The Good Dinosaur with us, right petit?

Vixen looks down to Eden who smiles and nods her head.  I hope they didn't see me roll my eyes at that one, but I'd really rather not.

Me:  Thanks for the invite, but I feel like sitting in alone tonight.

Eden:  Your loss!

Snappy that one is.  I snicker as she spins on the heels of her favorite snow boots to take my father's hand.  Dad uses his free hand to pull his phone out of his pocket, making sure the volume is turned up, though a funny look comes over his face.  He stares at me for a moment until I wave him off.

Me:  Go!  Have fun.  Just don't spoil it for me when you get home.

Dad:  I should just to spite you... but if you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me.  I'll answer no matter what.

Me:  And ignore the commercial at the beginning that threatens to ban you from the theater for life if you don't silence your phone?  I'll be fine.

He keeps looking at me, so I turn back to the television just in time to hear Billy Bob Thorton say "My fuck stick!"  Ha!  Classic...  The front door opens, and they make their exit.  I appreciate everything they've done for me over the last few days, but I feel like I could use a few hours of peace and quiet.  There is a loud thump, and I swear it sounds like it's coming from the roof, but it was probably just the car door slamming.  I shrug my shoulders as I continue watching the movie.  I reach over to the table and grab a white chocolate cranberry cookie from the tray, and I snap off a piece between my teeth.  Buttery and crispy, just the way I like them.  I hear another rustling noise outside, as a little bit of soot falls in the fire.  Okay, that's a little weird, right?  Nah, it's probably just a squirrel.  I slowly turn away when my phone goes off with a loud text alert that makes me jump, spilling a bit of hot chocolate on my foot.  Gah!

I get up and do a dance as I mutter partial curse words under my breath and I walk over to grab a tissue to wipe up the mess.  As I'm doing so, I grab my phone and unlock it to see a text from Celeste.

"Hey, are you there?"


I respond with...

"Yes...?  You made me spill hot chocolate everywhere, C! LOL \'tongue.gif\'"


I go to lock my phone and slide it into the pocket of my skully pajama bottoms, but as soon as I let go of it, I get a very fast response.  I blink a couple times before slowly pulling it back out.  I unlock my phone and then read her text.

"I'm coming over.  Be safe xoxo"


Uhhh... What?

"What?  Stay in bed and heal yourself.  I'll be fine."


This time, I stare at the phone for a minute, waiting for some kind of response.  After a minute, there is still nothing, so I lock my phone and get ready to slide it in my pocket.  I hesitate, because I know she's going to text me back.  I hold it there for a second, but nothing.  I drop it into my pocket and settle back in the couch.  I pick up my mug of what's left of the white chocolate drink, taking a slow sip as I feel it warm me up from the inside out.  Ahhh... Wait, what's that?

I stare over to the fireplace to see a rusty hook on a tow chain, with a teddy bear hanging from it.  What... the... fuck...?  I pause the movie as I walk over to the fireplace.  Of course, I'm not stupid enough to touch the bear, but I just watch the fur gently singing at the bottom of it's feet.  I bet this is some sort of attempt by Despy to cheer me up.

Me:  Despy!  Angel's feet are burning!  But hey, I appreciate the thought!

There is a loud bang as the power flickers in and out for a moment before finally staying off.  The fire crackles as a freezing cold gust of wind comes from the fireplace, nearly sweeping the fire out.

Me:  I don't know how you're doing that, but uhhh... yeah, that's not helping, man...

I hear a high pitched giggle coming from inside the chimney that makes me jump.  So damn demented...  This kid has good intentions, but there's no way I could deal with this twenty-four seven.  I slowly lean over the burning embers that are barely putting off heat.  I look up the chimney to see a fucking goat head at the top!!!  I knock my head as I jump back.

"Yoo-hoooooo... Hehehehehe!"

The teddy bear starts moving, trying to free itself from the chain as five gingerbread men slide down the chain.  I know I took a Xanax earlier, but I don't recall tripping acid!  I fall flat on my butt and I scoot backward as they walk menacingly toward me.  The teddy bear frees himself from the chain and joins in on the pursuit.  The teddy bear grabs a fire poker and the gingerbread men grab a letter opener, a broken shard of an ornament, a leaded looking gift from under the tree, and a pillow?  They laugh as they rally around me.  I jump up to my feet and I open up the front door as a gust of cold air comes charging in at me, along with a shit ton of snow?!  I look out across the street to see that there is no snow outside of the perimeters of my yard.  The neighbors are looking at us, some clapping their hands, while others just shake their head.

Me:  HELP!  HELLLLLLLPPPP!!!

Ted, the neighbor:  Hey, hey!  Your dad went all out this year, eh?

Chatrice, the other neighbor:  Show offs!

Chatrice slams her door as she thinks its some sort of elaborate Christmas display.  I charge out into the yard barefoot, but I don't care.  I trip over something as I stare at the gawkers, hooping and hollering about the show they're seeing.  As I scream louder, so do they.

Ted:  Yeah!  YEAH!  Gotta love the animatronic snowman!

WHAT?!  I look over to my left to see a snowman headed in my direction ever so slowly.  This is a nightmare... a real living nightmare!  I pick up a snowball and throw it at him like I am some sort of retarded B-rated horror movie soon-to-be victim, and of course it only laughs a sinister laugh.

Me:  HELP!  THIS ISN'T A SHOW!  IT'S REAL!!!

Ken, Ted's Boyfriend:  This is just amazing, Teddy.  He's really committing to his role.

I have to get out of here, because their stupidity is just pissing me off now.  I run back toward the house, feeling like I'm near the point of hypothermia.  The gingerbread men cheer in this high pitched voice that makes me cringe as the teddy bear cocks a pellet gun.  He starts shooting at me, and just barely missing.  That's it.  I am not about to get my ass kicked by a bunch of cookies and a stuffed animal.  I jump over the barrel of the gun and punt the teddy bear's head right off of him, causing the gingerbread men to look a little concerned.  I make a run for the kitchen.  There's knives, there's pans, there's a blender.  I'm bound to find something that will help me out here.  The gingerbread men jump over the teddy bear head.

Gingerbread Men:  GET HIM!

The only clear thing they've said so far, and it's a threat on my life.  Great.  I skid into the mess of a kitchen, and immediately over to the knife drawer.  I pull it open to see nothing but butter knives.  The gingerbread men giggle as they whistle to get my attention.  I turn over toward them and apparently they have decided to hoard the knives for a throwing contest, and I'm the lucky target.  The first one misses, but the second one catches me with a flesh wound across my cheek.  A small trickle of blood comes out of it, but it's not deep at all.  This only serves to piss me off.  I look at the blender, just in time to see that it is cracked, and the blades are mangled beyond recognition.  I grab a pan from the rack and I'm able to deflect one knife, despite another digs right into my shin.

Me:  HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT!!!

Gingerbread Men:  WOOHOO TEN POINTS HAHAHA!

That's it.  I might be near a code brown moment right now, but that doesn't stop me from getting a bit crazy.  I run over to the refrigerator, and I grab both gallons of milk.  I shake them up , and look over at them, doing my best Bruce Campbell impression.

Tim:  This... is my boomstick!  Hail to the king, baby.

I unscrew the caps to both gallons of two percent, and I charge over at them.  I swear it's in slow motion, because that's how these actions scenes always play out, but the process probably took all of eight seconds.  I miss with the first splash, but thanks to the small spout on the gallon, I still have plenty on reserve.  I swing my other arm and splash one of them, sending him into a soggy mess against the wall.  I swing my arms rapidly, but I miss both times.  However, with my next attempt, I catch three of them, and they get the same treatment of becoming nothing but a splat against the stove and counters.  I think I got them all, so I drop the gallons of milk and quickly pull the knife from my shin.

Me:  SWEEEEEEET baby Jesus!  FUCK!

I grab a kitchen towel and wrap it tightly around my leg, before going for another.  However, I'm hit in the back of the head with my frying pan, and that hurts every bit as bad as you would expect it to from the movies.  I fall down to one knee as another Gingerbread man waves at me before grabbing at his crotch.  My vision goes a bit blurry as he raises the pan for one last swing.  However, good old Dero, our family black cat, jumps up on the counter and tackles this curious toy.  He play bites at it's face as it squirms and screams.  This only serves to make the play more intense as he begins taking bites out of the cookie man.  Finally, it stops moving, and the cat kicks it aside, bored now, as he looks up at me with an innocent "Meow?"

Me:  Groovy...

I reach down and pat Dero on the head as I lean down to whisper a secret for just the two of us, while watching the gingerbread man bleed frosting from all of the bite marks.

Me:  Thanks for saving my life.  I won't tell on you for jumping on the counter.

I wink at him as he cocks his head to the side with another "Meow", though this time the inflection proves to be less of a question, and more of a statement.  He jumps down and licks at the milk and cookie mess on the floor.  The draft from the front door lets me know I never did shut the front door.  I walk into the living room and stare at the snowmen, keeping a safe distance from the heat of the house, flipping them off before slamming the door shut.  I go to lock the door, when I hear this creepy sounding croaking noise.  I turn around in time to see the... creepiest freaking things I've ever seen in my life.  They look like charred, supersized Jigsaw dolls in tattered green cloaks and elf hats.  Their big, black, empty eyes rest on me as I slowly back up against the door.  Code brown?  Not quite, but we definitely have a code gold situation as my socks slowly become soaked.  I gulp as I fidget with the door handle, but for the life of me, I can't get the damn thing open.  It doesn't matter as the three elves quickly snatch me up and tie me up with Christmas lights, so tight I stand no chance of getting loose.

Me:  No?  Please don't do this.  I... I don't even know what you want!  Tell me, and I'll... I'll make it happen.

They look to one another like prison guards, and two of them lift me up over their shoulders.  I wiggle as fast as I can, but its no use.  Their grip is extremely tight around me.  I just give up, because after everything I've been through this week, it's of no use to fight it.  I'm toast.  The third one attaches the lights to the hook and tugs on the tow chain.  He drops me on top of the burning embers of wood in the fireplace, but it's so minimal that it will be lucky to leave a small blister.  I stare at them as the chain slowly starts to raise, toying with me.  I've seen this somewhere.  I'm fully expecting to see some sort of goat beast in a santa cloak, from the old German tales uncle Erik used to tell me.  I guess after the stuff I pulled earlier this year, I deserve a visit from Krampus.  But, as soon as the blizzard hits me, I see a nicely pressed santa suit under a matching bright red cloak, and a horned helmet atop the head of Brother Grimm!  Code brown is officially under way as I shake in pure and utter fear.

Brother Grimm:  

He dumps me over the edge of the roof, letting me dangle as he prepares to... I don't know, skin me alive?  Killing me is definitely on his mind.  That is, until I hear a raspy shout coming over the harsh winds that slowly start dying down.

Crystalline North:  Blessed be, shithead...

Through the clearing snow, I can see Crystalline and Celeste North with leather bound books in their hands, and satchels over their shoulders.  Celeste is still bandaged pretty much in every visible part of her body, but that doesn't stop her as she walks right next to her mom, pointing at Grimm as they chant.

North Girls:  If spirits threaten in this place, fight water by water and fire by fire! Banish their souls into nothingness, and remove their powers until the last trace!  Let these evil beings flee, through time and space!

Celeste waves some sort of ball thing, smoke of incents coming from it?  Kinda like at Easter mass.  Crystalline splashes some sort of water in front of her, melting the snow immediately.  I must really be tripping, because with the snap of her fingers, the snowmen disappear into nothing but a small gust of snowy wind.  

Crystalline:  I summon the power of Athena, Goddess of War and Wisdom, for guidance against this creature of the darkest depths.  Watch over this young boy and give him protection from the pure essence of fear.  This orgonite and black tourmaline pendant, I present to him to help ward off this evil.

She hangs it on my half frozen foot.  Um, untie me instead of giving me a gemstone!  But, whatever it is, I see a blue sphere surround me, and Grimm doesn't look very pleased.  Celeste begins throwing salt in our direction as she chants more.

North Girls:  Any unwanted spirits and entities, please leave now.  Any evil or negative energies of presences, please leave this space.  You don't belong here.  I am sending you home.  Go back whence you came.  Please leave NOW!  Only light and healing energy is allowed on these grounds.  Thank you.

Please and thank you?!  Really?  If I knew that would work, I would have said it to begin with... oh wait, I did...  But, Grimm seems hesitant still.

North Girls:  Any unwanted spirits and entities, please leave now.  Any evil or negative energies of presences, please leave this space.  You don't belong here.  I am sending you home.  Go back whence you came.  Please leave NOW!  Only light and healing energy is allowed on these grounds.  Thank you.

After repeating this again, Grimm seems to feel threatened enough to fight this.  However, he simply vanishes into thin air.  Along with him, the snow quickly begins to melt as I'm a mess.  I'm hanging from the roof still, and I want to ask them to let me down, but instead, my teeth just chatter.  My dad pulls up in the driveway and jumps out of the car as he charges forward.  Celeste's mom stops him, and I can hear him raising his voice, pointing at me and the house as she talks calmly to him.

Dad:  The neighbor called me and asked me why there was a man in red on my roof!  Of course I'm going to rush home, only to see you two casting spells on my son, hanging from the fucking roof?!

Celeste looks back at the commotion as the neighbors rush over.  Yeah, now that it's over, they know how fucked up that entire thing actually was!  Go figure.  Celeste looks genuinely concerned as she turns back to me, untangling the lights slowly.

Celeste:  Unlike certain girls you keep company with, I actually care.

Me:  How...?

Celeste:  We were in our circle when mom showed me a vision.  At first, I was like "Um, that's Krampus, bitch."  But then, I'm like "Wait, when did Tim get a role in Krampus?"  And we came from our suite at the Gold Coast Casino to save your ass.  You know?  It was almost too easy.  Punk ass Brother Grimm...

One final knot undone, and I come crashing down four feet to the wet ground, splashing in a puddle of melted snow.  Celeste pulls the pendant from my foot and hangs it around my neck.  My dad looks like he finally believes me when I said Brother Grimm will stop at nothing to get to me and devour my soul.

Celeste:  Don't ever take this necklace off.  Ev...

Something catches her eye as she walks up the porch.  She looks at the wreath hanging on the door, and she gently touches it, before leaning in to smell it.  She looks over to her mom and my dad as she holds the wreath up.

Celeste:  Meadowsweet!  Fucking meadowsweet, mom!

Crystalline:  Oh, Goddess, no...  Never keep meadowsweet anywhere near your home, Spike...  That's a great way to lead any evil to you.  Luckily you have us, now.

Celeste throws the wreath out into the street as she walks over to her mom and my dad, staring back at me with concern in her eyes as I sit there shivering in the puddle, rocking back and forth in the filth of the earth as well as my own filth.

[FADE]



Voice of the Voiceless Vlog
#NP "Thoughtless" by Korn
Locale: The Intrawebz



Hello...hello...ello...llo...

Can anybody hear me?  No?  Figures...

See, even since winning the SCW WORLD Tag Team Championships... yes, a World sanctioned title... nobody gives a crap about The Nobodies.  Three championship belts in our possession, and the only one who gets any kind of recognition is Alexis Edwards, and that's only because she plays nice with Mikah.  Hey, who am I to judge?  Whatever works, right?

Well, Tim Staggs is a man of conviction.  He does not play up to the type of person we are fighting to rid this company of.  I don't stick on Twitter all day, every day, playing nice to the biggest threat to this sport, people such as Drake Green... or literally almost any name on the SCW roster.  The Nobodies will be the next generation of stars in Sin City Wrestling.  We are not a new breed, but an original breed.  We're going to bring this sport back to it roots, at any and all costs.  We don't care who we piss off.

I've already made waves with several names, because that is the first stage of the plan.  We are the low card, and it would be silly to jump in and attack the big dogs, right?  We need to take out those who are at our level, and earn the respect of the bosses and the fans, one step at a time.  It's a onder to me how we are so hated for simply trying to do things the proper way.

Ah, yes, there is a point.  You see, one of the people I've pissed off in all of this, so happens to be my opponent for this week.  Steve Ramone, a virtual Nobody, who acts as if he is a Somebody, didn't like the fact that I started with him and his former tag team partner, Joshua Acquin.  He didn't like the fact that we bloodied him up.  But, what absolutely crawled up his asshole like a thorny cactus, is the fact that we said what nobody has had the balls to tell him.  He's a Nobody.  Who cares about Steve Ramone?  Do the bosses?  Nope.  Do the fans?  Fuck no.  Do his fellow stars?  Hahahaha, no...

You see, Steve Ramone subscribes to a certain kind of thinking.  Instead of admitting he is just like Connor, Alexis, and Celeste... he fights to prove he's the exact opposite.  I've gone past hating Steve, and being angry with him, because I realize that he's in the greatest form of denial.  He doesn't want to admit that he could use some improvement, and in a matter of months, could be challenging the best in the company, which is actually pretty laughable at the moment.  No, instead of seeing things the way Connor did, and he is a champion now.

Steve, I'd be more than happy to defeat you on Sunday.  I'd be happy to show you the error of your ways, and give you yet another chance to join our ranks.  I'll even give a hood to each of your goons, despite them doing their best to help you fend off the inevitable loss for just a few moments longer.  And, as an added bonus, I will forego the intiation ass kicking, and count the ass kicking I give you in the middle of that ring as your welcome into our ranks.  This is your last chance, because these days, black hoods are selling fast, and quantities are limited.  Pick yours up today!

If you think I'm joking, Steve, I am not.  You are a perfect example of the type of person we would welcome into our ranks... except with a much shittier win to loss ratio.  It would actually be perfect, though, because when you look better by the company you keep, people will attribute that to The Nobodies, and we will be on our way to becoming Somebodies.

Either way, Steve, your ass will be handed to you on Sunday.  You can choose to make something of it, or you can let the pain and suffering be all for naught.  It's your choice.  I'll see you in 3 days, on my home turf...

Peace!

17
Supercard Archives / Guns For Hire © Vs The Nobodies (Tim and Connor)
« on: December 05, 2015, 04:50:27 PM »
 
<img src=http://www.bluesuedeheaven.com/files/7713/5284/2465/lights2.gif>



Tis the Season
#NP "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" by Frank Sinatra
Locale: All Around Ottawa, Ontario



The sound of Frank Sinatra's signature voice rings through the earbuds as Tim Staggs walks up and down the streets of downtown Ottawa as the cool winds blow through.  He is bundled up tightly in a faux fur lined jacket and his signature black hooded jacket, with the hood pulled tightly over his ginger hair.  He looks around at the storefront windows, and all of the holiday lights and displays within.  For the first time in a long time, his eyes are lit up with joy.  A warm smile spreads across his face.  He sticks his hands in his pockets as he looks along the tops of the buildings, the multi colored bulbs gently flashing.  It is clear that the spirit of the holidays has settled in with the rather Grinch-like SCW Superstar.  He walks by a man in a santa suit, ringing a bell next to a bucket.  He pulls out a few wadded up bills, and places them in the bucket without hesitation.  The man hands him a candy cane as he billows out heartily.

Santa:  Ho, ho, ho!  Merrrrrrry Christmas young lady!

Tim pauses awkwardly for a moment before he decides to let it go, walking off without acknowledgment.  He twirls the candy cane around in his bare hand as the wind flicks icy air at it.  He slowly unwraps the long end of the candy cane and places it between his lips before replacing his hand in his pocket.  He turns the corner as something catches his eye.  A small corner store with a sign that reads "Decorations Available Within!"  He stops and turns into the store, pulling the door open as the bells jingle.  He steps inside of what is clearly a mom and pop convenience store.  He picks up a hand basket as an older woman gently greets him.  He smirks and nods back at her as he walks along the first aisle.  Ahead of him is an aisle of decoration, but a rumble in his stomach causes him to notice the loaf of bread to his right.  He picks it up and places it in his basket as he walks along, spotting a small, cheap can of soup.  Behind him in the cooler, he spots a package of luncheon meat, and he places it in the basket.  Now, on to what drew his attention in the first place; Christmas decorations.

He walks past the center lane and on to the lights display.  Immediately, he is hit in the face with nodes of pine, cinnamon, peppermint, and ginger.  A redness enters his cheeks as he finally begins to warm up.  He lifts his hood back, revealing a slight mess of red hair.  He inspects the rows of cheap dollar trinkets of santa, gingerbread men, and baby Jesus.  His eyes wander over to a small prelit tree, one that makes Charlie Brown's tree look bountiful and beautiful.  He places it in his basket with a small garland wrap.  He looks at the rest of the  decorations before turning and walking toward the register.  In a show of respect, he pulls one earbud out as he approaches the register.  The young man at the register is donning elf ears and a matching hat over his stylish sandy blonde hair.  His pierced lip gives him an alternative sort of feel, along with his black framed glasses.  Tim places the basket on the counter as he begins removing his items.  The man smiles as he begins ringing up the items.

Man:  I never thought anyone would buy that ugly tree...

He chuckles, but Tim keeps a straight face, in a way, almost seeming offended by the comment.  He looks down to read the name tag in front of him, that reads "Dominic".  The woman who had greeted him smacks him upside the head as she passes buy with boxes of cigarettes.  He looks back at her and rolls his eyes before returning to the task at hand.

Tim:  I have a penchant for collecting things nobody wants.  It's sort of my deal.

This brings an intrigued smile to the man's face as he picks up the garland, ringing it into the register, with pieces of tinsel falling out of the pathetic strand.

Dominic:  It would seem so...  Your accent?  You're not from around here.

Tim:  Nope.  I'm a cornfed, midwest American.  Unremarkable in every way.

Dominic:  What brings you to the Great White North?

Tim shrugs his shoulders.  This guy wouldn't believe him if he told him, so he diverts his eyes so not to give away any possibility that he's lying, or hiding the truth in a simply vague answer.

Tim:  Business.

Dominic:  You don't look like the business type, but we see all kinds around here.  It's why I moved to Ottawa.  And trust me, you don't look anything like your profile.

Tim raises an eyebrow as he looks back to the grinning man who continues to ring up the products on the counter.  However, their conversation, and the dead nature of the business this close to closing time gives him no need to hurry the transaction.

Dominic:  I meant... you don't look unremarkable at all.  Sorry, that was my attempt at being a smart ass.

Tim:  Pretty fucking poor, if you ask me.

Tim gives an instant laugh that lets him know he's joking.  The man joins in as he leans over the counter to get a closer look at Tim.  The closeness makes Tim a bit uncomfortable as he takes a step back, pretending to look at the overpriced candy in front of the register.

Dominic:  Ottawa might seem boring to someone like you, but there's actually a lot of trouble to be had around here.  I'm off in half an hour if you want a tour?

Tim doesn't know how to respond to this as he reaches back, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably.  He tries to come up with an excuse that lets this guy down easily, but the rather perceptive man snorts as if scoffing at this silent assertion.

Dominic:  Not like that, man.  I'm not coming on to you, I just...

Tim:  I didn't say you were, but...

Dominic:  But you were thinking it.  I guess being nice is a crime in America.

Tim:  Okay.

Tim says this abruptly, cutting the man off from continuing his rant.  Tim smiles politely as he reaches his fist out for a bump.  The man seems a little shocked as his mood reverts to the cheerful one he was previously in.  He bumps fists with Tim before turning toward the register.

Dominic:  Twenty-three sixty-seven is your total.

Tim:  And I'm staying at the Ottawa Jail Hostel.  I have to drop this stuff off first.

Tim goes to pull his wallet out as the woman comes walking by, whispering something to the younger man.  He nods his head and looks back to Tim as he steps out of the way of the register for the woman to take over.

Dominic:  I have to go lock the delivery door, but I'll meet you outside of the hostel in about an hour?

Tim:  Sounds... good...

The man disappears as Tim opens his wallet.  He pulls out a few Canadian bills, counting them to find he only has twelve dollars, and no jingles in his pockets whatsoever.  The woman is not as gentle as she was when she greeted him as she sighs and looks at the crisp, clear bills.

Woman:  What am I taking off then?

She aggravatedly pulls out a slip of paper from a drawer under the register and clicks a pen as her blue eyes lock onto his.  He bites at his bottom lip as he studies the items on the counter.  The woman rolls her eyes as she picks the tree up and starts to set it to the side.  Tim holds his hand up desperately.

Tim:  Wait?

The woman looks relieved, as if Tim were able to pull money out of thin air.  He looks down at the items once more, and he pushes the food out of the way.  He nods to her as she sighs, and begins voiding items off.  She picks the money up, feeling a bit bad about her attitude, though she doesnt verbalize it.  She places the items back in the basket as she looks at Tim.

Woman:  The tree and garland will be eight seventy-four.

Tim places the bills in her hand, and she quickly gathers his change and hands it back to him.  He places it in his pocket as he snatches up his tree and garland.  Before she can even ask if he wants a bag, he is at the door, pushing it open as the bells jingle above his head.  He disappears into the cold night, on the way back toward the hostel, just a few miles away.  The hunger threatening to tear at his stomach makes him question whether he made the right call or not.  He doesn't give in and clutch his stomach as he fights the cold to get back to the hostel.  He makes it to the front steps and walks under the white arch held up by columns.  He walks through the hallways, and to the second floor where he pulls a key from his pocket and opens up what looks like a jail cell... because it once was.  The room is furnished with a lumpy mattress for two, a bedside table with a single desk lamp, as well as a desk, and a picture of the Ottawa skyline.  He places the tree down on the desk, and fumbles with the cord for the lights before plugging them in to outlet behind the desk.  He looks at the flickering white lights for a moment, and the hungry feeling in his stomach seems to fade away a bit in his mind.  He gently unwraps the garland and begins stringing it up until it covers the tree adequately.  He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small red box, opening it to show off a baby blue rocking horse with a brown teddy bear riding it, and a red ribbon tied around the top.  In faded white lettering, it reads "Tim's First Christmas" and 1998 below it.  He places it on the strongest branch he can see before taking a step back to admire it.

Still not enough, Tim looks around the room.  He grabs a white towel from the edge of the bed, and he wraps it around the bottom.  He reaches into his bag, fumbling through until he finds a red t-shirt.  He looks at it for a second, and he tears at a small hole around the bottom.  He rips it as evenly as possible until he reaches the seam, where it all tears apart to make a long red strip.  He fashions it at his best until it looks somewhat like a decent red bow.  He hands it up at the top of the tree, and now it meets his approval for his means.  A warm hearted smile comes over his face as he reaches into the bag one last time to pull out a small box wrapped in silver paper with blue snowflake print on it.  Delicate in nature, and dainty in size, it contains something very special and meaningful to him.  He sets it down under the tree as the lights flicker above it, reflecting off of its surface.  He closes his eyes for a moment before placing the loose earbud back into his ear, replaying the classic Christmas tune as he watches the tree.  He picks up his bag and a used towel as he walks toward the door, looking back at the tree, and the gift underneath it.  He exits the room to get ready for a night on the town.  Before we fade out, curiosity gets the better of us as we turn to get a close up on the gift.  The tag reads "To: Alexis, From: Tim, with love..."


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Some Holiday Beer, er Cheer!
#NP "Merry Christmas (I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight)" by The Ramones
Locale: Heart and Crown; Ottawa, Ontario, Canada



Laughter rings through the somewhat desolate streets at the wee hours of the night.  We pan around to find Tim Staggs and his new buddy walking down the street, approaching the Heart and Crown bar, each with a bottle in their hand as they joke around as young, immature drunks do.  They stumble upon the Irish pub, close to last call, and they decide to go inside.  The man, affectionately known as Dominic turns to Tim as they enter, and their voices are almost drown out by the upbeat Celtic music, as well as the tame fight between two drunkards at the other end of the bar.

Dominic:  The Irish pubs never card you, and the drink prices are dirt cheap... Just follow my lead.

Dominic walks up to the bar and leans in, saying something to the barmaid.  She nods and pulls out three shot glasses, slamming them down on the bar top, followed by a clear bottle of Irish whiskey.  She quickly pours the three shots, sliding one to Dominic and one to Tim.  She keeps one for herself, and slams it with Tim and Dominic.  Dominic hands her a few bills and then mutters something else to her.

Dominic:  Ordering the house special makes them think you're a regular, and buying a shot for the barmaid erases any extra questions she may have.  Concrete plan.

Tim:  Maybe not concrete...

Tim holds up the next shot that is sent down his way.  He smirks in a manner that lets us know that he is wasted.  He clinks glasses with Dominic, each spilling a couple of drops before they send the drinks down the hatch.  They simultaneously slam the shot glasses down on the counter as the barmaid quickly refills them, this time, leaving the bottle sit on the counter for the two young men.  Tim wastes no time in downing his drink, and pouring another one.

Tim:  Are you shhh.. *hiccup* sure you don't mind buying?

Dominic:  Nah, it's the least I can do since my mom made you put back your food at the shop.  She's paying for tonight, I promise you.

Tim shrugs his shoulders as Dominic takes another drink.  He pours himself another shot as the two begin to sink in their chairs a bit, getting to the point of being sloppy.  The celtic music playing in the pub is almost too elevated for their mood as Tim pours half of the remaining bottle into his glass, then the rest into Dominic's.  He leans forward, his eyes almost swimming in his head as he grins, letting out a goofy giggle.

Dominic:  I could go all night here.

Tim:  Then why don't we?  Can you jig?

Dominic:  That seems kinda derogatory, brother.

Tim rolls his sleeve up, showing off what appears to be two family crests, broken, but fit together perfectly.  On one side, the tattoo is very German in nature, a deer's head and eagle seen lightly against a black, red, and gold shield.  The other side is green, white, and orange, with a celtic knot tied around a four leaf clover.  Tim forcefully points to the left side, giggling again.

Tim:  Not when you're mostly Irish yourself.

A hoarse chuckle is heard from behind Tim, which causes him to turn around slowly to stare at the burly brunette with green eyes, wearing a black derby hat, loose black over shirt, and a white muscle shirt.  His worker boots and faded jeans give the impression that he's not exactly in the working class, yet all ten white gold rings give off the impression that he's not hurting for money either.  Tim's eyes flutter a bit before he looks the man up and down, blowing hot air to make his lips flap.

Man:  Mostly Irish, me pearly white arse.  Don't insult the Irish like that, bowsie.  Now turn back to yer fella...

A roar comes over the pub as Tim looks around, taking a minute to catch what he was referring to.  Tim rolls his eyes, before placing his hand on the bar to lift himself up.

Man:  I wouldn't do that.  Yer pretty fecking locked, snapper.

Tim:  I could only look more Irish if I was Lucky the Leprechaun.  You?  You're diluted.  I don't know what half the shit you just said was, but you can't say "us" when you look more a mutt than an Irishman.

The man laughs, pointing to Tim, as if he were admiring the spunk.  Tim nods his head as he looks back to Dominic, who closes one eye, squinting the other one.  Tim goes to question it, but as he turns around, he receives a right cross that makes him loopy.  He stumbles on to Dominic.  However, he surprises his friend, and the entire bar by cracking him back with a left handed uppercut, followed by a right hook that sends the man face first into the bar.  Tim howls out as he looks around at the rather silent bar.  Dominic respond with a hearty laugh as he points at the man, joining Tim in his celebration.  However, it is short lived as he tries to pull Tim toward the door.

Dominic:  Come on, Timbo.  This doesn't look like the place you'd want to stick around after something like that.

Tim:  I'm a motherfuckin' wrest*hiccup*ler and I'll take on anyone who has a problem with what I just said.  Anybody?  Hmm?  Anyone at all?

Tim cracks his jaw back in to place as if it was nothing.  He drops his jacket and takes his shirt off, showing off his rather ripped physique, surprising many people who were tempted to take him up on his offer, making them back up again.

Tim:  That's what I thought.  Now quit gawking so we can go back to having a good time in this establishment for the... twenty minutes we've got left.

Dominic:  Tim!  Look out!

He goes to pull Tim out of the way, as the man is up behind him, a switchblade in his hand as he rushes up behind Tim.  The man shoves Dominic to the ground and then grabs onto the collar of Tim's shirt, holding the blade against his throat.  Tim is feeling fearless in this state of mind as he simply laughs.  The man doesn't have a chance to do much more as a hand reaches around with a bottle and smacks him upside the head, shattering it.  Tim looks over to his left to see Connor Murphy standing there with a broken bottle in his hand and Tessa staring with a bit of a smirk on her face.

Tessa:  Good 'un Con.

Tim rolls his eyes, smirking as he helps Dominic to his feet, patting Connor on the shoulder.

Tim:  Thanks, Connor, but I didn't need your help.  I would have kicked his bitch ass all around this bar if I had to.

Connor:  Like feck you would have!  He had a blade to your throat, me boyo.

Tim:  I had it under control!

Tim snaps his fingers at the barmaid for another drink, but Connor runs his fingers swiftly across his throat, signalling that she'd better not.  He looks over to Dominic.

Connor:  Up the yard, sonny.  Timbo and I need to have us a little chat here.

Tim:  Yeah, yeah... teenage drinking is really bad. Pot. Kettle. Black.  Thanks for the after school special, brother.

Tim tries to get another drink, but the barmaid refuses, stepping away toward another patron.  Dominic looks to Tim, and then to Connor, and back to Tim.

Dominic:  I'm going to run.  Text me sometime before you leave.

Connor:  He won't.  Run along home to ma.

Tim:  No, stay.  We're all here for a good time, right?  That's all we ever wanna do around here, right?  Have drinks with our friends so we have things to brag about on Twitter while we're popping hangover pills?  Cause trouble so that people pay attention to us, even just a little bit?  We're living the fucking dream, Connor, and you know just as well as I do that we go back to being irrelevant and invisible as soon as the bottles stop pouring.  But until then, we're kings.  We're gods.  So hit me with another, lovely.

Dominic feels moved by this, but one rotten glare from Connor sends him packing quickly.  Tim exhales loudly as he prepares to sit back down.  Connor looks to Tessa, and they both grab one of his arms, dragging him toward the exit, still shirtless.  He doesn't feel the cold air hitting his body, as he still feels invincible.  Tessa drapes his coat around his body, pulling it together to zip it up, all while leaning in to whisper.

Tessa:  I didn't say this, but that was proper class, mate.

She smiles, but doesn't let Connor see it as she steps back to the side, giving the two men their space.  Connor tries to check his anger now that they are outside of the bar, and clearer heads can prevail.  He grabs onto Tim's shoulders and gives him a firm shake.

Connor:  What the hell is going on with you lately?  This isn't the kid who gave me a mask, and a bit of hope for a future.  I don't recognize this kid.

Tim:  Are you afraid I'm going to mess up our title shot?  Believe me, it was a lot easier than it looked to take down Landon Axel.  If you really want those worthless pieces of tinas some form of pathetic validation, then *belch* it won't be that hard...

Connor takes a hand and slaps it across Tim's face.  Not just once, but a second time to make sure that Tim's drunk ass understands exactly what he's about to say.  He stares into Tim's nearly vacant eyes, but he sees so much more than the outward hostility written on his face.

Connor:  I'm not cracking shits over those belts, Timmy boy.  I said it before, and I'll say it again.  Those belts are meaningless to me.  They are some sort of weak consolation prize.  I care about you.  You.  Vix cracked me good for letting you figure things out on your own, and...

Tim:  No offense, but you, and Vixen, need to mind your own fucking business.

Tim shoves Connor away with a roar that catches Tessa's attention.  She starts to walk over when Connor holds a hand out, letting her know that it's okay.  Tim is wobbling on his feet now as he turns to walk away.  Connor spins him back around and stares him right in the eyes once more, refusing to let him walk off without hearing him out.

Connor:  I did that for months on end, boyo, and you still continue to make... the wrong choices.  Not just the wrong choices, but the worst possible ones.  What you do, affects me too.  When you unmasked Johnny before me, and now he's off acting like he's a Somebody when he's done shit all.  I'm still here, fighting the fight with you.  If you won't tell me what's going on in that thick skull of yours, that's fine.  But don't go off getting stabbed by some fucking idiot in a crappy bar, and costing me a little brother.  Not a teammate, not a friend, but a brother.

Tim has his guard up, but he can't help letting a few tears fall down his cheek.  He refuses to acknowledge them, but Connor does as he takes a step back.  There is no break in Tim's hard expression, or in his voice as he responds.

Tim:  I'm fine.  I'm just having a little fun, is all.  I kind of need it right now.

Connor:  Have your fun, but don't leave your head at home.  You're a smart kid, so stop making such stupid decisions.

Tim holds his hand out to Connor, something he doesn't ever do to just anybody.  Connor accepts it without hesitation, but pulls Tim in for a hug.  Tim finally lets go of his control as he begins sobbing into his friend's shoulder.  Tessa comes over and wraps an arm around him as well as they start walking down the street.  Tim continues to sob as they walk, talking incoherently.

Connor: Let's go get your stuff.  I think I know a place you can go for a while if you need it.  Somewhere you won't be alone.

Tim slowly nods his head as they continue down the street, disappearing into the cold night air.


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Voice of the Voiceless
#NP "The Fighter" by In This Moment
Locale: Blogspot; Internet



Look mom, no hands!

Are you proud of me?  I've got the biggest opportunity of my life ahead of me right now.  You are reading the ramblings of one half of the future Tag Team Champions, Tim Staggs.  Yes, I went out and created a blogspot, because I didn't feel like giving Guns For Hire the effort of putting out a real shoot.  They aren't worth wasting a single breath on, and even though I am a wrestling purist at heart, this will have to do.

Where are you guys?  Landon?  You there?  Hellllloooooo?  We haven't heard from you in weeks.  For that matter, we haven't heard from your tag team partner either.  I hear that running a bar around Christmas is one of the most hectic and lucrative times of year.  Maybe he's gotten held up with that.  Or, maybe he's lost in his stash.  You were always the one who had your shit together, so it was really surprising to have not heard at least a small piece from you last week.  Has your mentor led you down the same path?  Or, is the automotive repair business just booming right now?  All of that snow and wintery weather you get in Texas must be hell on an engine.

Wake up, Guns For Hire... WAKE... UP!

I tell you what, if I were Drake Green, I'd be filing a complaint with the Better Business Bureau right now, or demanding my money back, because that's an even worse investment than hiring Casey Williams to be your bodyguard.  Now, I will give him credit, because on paper, you both look like a worthwhile investment.  You defeated The Monstimals.  I would go on to say that you won a four team battle, but those teams would only hurt your case, and I don't want to weaken you too badly.  When Connor and I walk into December 2 Dismember III, and effortlessly take your titles off of you, I want to at least kind of feel like we earned them.

As I said last week, we don't want these belts.  They are a consolation prize, meant to bribe us into being quiet.  The powers that be want us to stop pointing out the obvious flaws in the system, so they are throwing the single most dispensable belts at us.  The belts that literally only one person cares about, Simon Jones.  These belts have been practically meaningless since their inception.  I can count on one hand, the actual teams that have held those belts.  For the most part, it has been a Lethal Lottery Wonderland.  My uncle Jamie and Rage.  Raging Dicks as they were affectionately known off the record... were the inaugural champions, because even back then, nobody gave a shit about the belts.  Sean Williams and Wyatt Peterson, Ace Baldwin and Kevin Carter, Brother Grimm and Goth, J2H and Giani Di Luca, Despayre and his replacable compadres... I mean, the list goes on and on... and on.  No one cares, and that is why it is insulting to Connor and I that you want to pin these belts on us, essentially holding us down, because one cannot chase more than one title at a time.  If we were fucking idiots, then maybe we wouldn't see what you guys were doing, but we do.  Eyes are wide open motherfuckers...

My point is that, you have two people who openly don't give a damn about the titles, and two people who only care about the titles because they are leather straps with gold plates that say their names.  Yet, they don't care enough to do their promo work.  Losing this match will be difficult, because who wants to lose to a pair of lazy losers who really only have these belts because Drake Green paid them to keep Monstimals away from them?  I'd rather be weighed down by ten pounds of leather and gold with a tacky nameplate than carry around the knowledge that I was beat by Landon Axel and Ethan Brody.  I can only imagine that Connor feels the same way.

This match is not about titles.  Hell, Connor and I might throw the belts in the trash on the way out of the building.  This match is about pride.  It's about making a fucking point.  We are the Nobodies, but that doesn't mean that we are going to stay that way forever.  One day, we are going to be Somebodies.  Even if it is not next week, when we defeat Guns For Hire and bring home two more championships to The Nobodies.  Even if it is not next month when we defend the titles for the first time.  Even if it's not six months or a year from now.  The eyes of Sin City Wrestling will be open, and people will see that we aren't so crazy after all.  When one of us is holding a title that actually matters, you will be forced to hear us.  But, until then, I guess those belts sitting around Landon's and Ethan's waists will have to do...

December 2 Dismember is just eight days away, boys.  Get ready to tap... again...

18
Climax Control Archives / Absence Makes the Heart Grow Bitter
« on: November 27, 2015, 04:44:57 PM »
 Absence Makes the Heart Grow Bitter
#NP "Terrible Lie" by Nine Inch Nails
LOCALE: Las Vegas, Nevada (November 22nd, 2015)




It has been quite a while since we've seen the youngest Staggs family member to grace a Sin City Wrestling ring.  The last time we saw the fiery redhead, Tim Staggs, he and Connor Murphy had defeated Sebastian and Jeremiah Hardin, collectively known as R.O.A.R.  This was no easy feat, though the spry Staggs saw this as a repetition of history.  It was something akin to a "given" that he and Connor would walk out of that match as the victors.  What Tim did not foresee was not seeing the inside of a wrestling ring for the better part of the road to December 2 Dismember.  After a week, Tim was ready to weasel his way into the heads of the crowd, perhaps point out some different form of corruption within the infrastructure of SCW.  Yet, another week had gone by without a call from booker, Christian Underwood.  This was another week that Tim would sit in his smoky hotel room.  It was another week that Tim would be forced to watch the same old shit replaying on his laptop.  It was another week where he would have to see ungrateful competitors who act like they are doing the sport a favor by being there, when, in fact, it is the sport allowing such people to run amuck, trampling any sense of honor that his grandfather and great uncle Erik had given to the business.  Never mind the fact that his father and uncle helped to pave the way for the current generation of SCW Stars and Bombshells.  There was a point where Tim thought he was about to vomit, simply by seeing Drake Green's face on his computer screen.  It was likely from the whiskey that refused to settle in his stomach, but the timing was almost too convenient.

Finally, after Climax Control on November 22nd, Tim received that call.  A call that entailed some very interesting news.  A call that did not come from Christian Underwood, but Tim's great uncle, and Head of Talent Relations, Erik Staggs.

We pan inside of the dingy motel "suite" somewhere on the outskirts of Las Vegas.  Tim is staring at his cell phone screen, almost in disbelief.  Climax Control was barely to Celeste's match, one that Tim almost didn't want to watch, because of the most obviously expected outcome.  He lets out a loud sigh through his nostrils as he finally slides his finger over the green circle, answering his uncle's call, all while acting much more disinterested than he actually is.

Tim:  *Yawn* Hello?

Erik:  Timmy?  It's your uncle Erik.  How are you doing?

Tim:  Thinking about grabbing a ginger ale from the ethnic liquor store, but I might want to get my shots updated, what with the chicken who shits all over the store...

There is a light pause on Erik's end.  He is heard gasping in surprise and worry.

Erik:  Oh no.  Is everything alright?

Tim:  The real answer doesn't even matter, I'm sure.  Say, why did Christian even book a match between a rookie and a Hall of Fame worthy wrestler?  When Mercedes beats Celeste, I'm going to have to hear about it for weeks, and I have to agree.  It's bullshit.

Erik:  I stand by Christian's booking.  Despite her piss poor attitude, Celeste trains very hard.  She stands a decent chance.

Celeste would have killed him had she heard this, but Tim lets out a very nasally snort of a laugh as his eyes roll.  Despite the evidence being pretty clear on screen, he doesn't see it because of his own perceptions of how SCW works.

Tim:  There is no decent chance.  There's no chance at all.  It's just another way to keep The Nobodies down and boost someone who is starting to lose their place in the sun.  Mercedes isn't moving as much merchandise, the same as the Seven Deadly Sins when Kris, Johnny, and I were fed to them, not standing a chance, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fucking idiot.

Erik:  Did you ever stop to think that having such an attitude could very well be why you three lost?

Again, there is a laugh.  However, this time, there is no attempt to cover it up.  Annoyance is very clearly present in his laugh as he turns his attention away from the laptop for a moment as he sits up on the white sheets, the only clean part of this entire hotel room.

Tim:  The Nobodies are SCW's biggest joke.  I know you've never seen Invader Zim, but I feel like Dib.  I sit there, pointing out the blindingly obvious to everyone, while they look at me like I'm an idiot, or a conspiracy theorist.  SCW is broken.  It's fucked up beyond all repair.  There is no way that it can be fixed at this point.  I feel like I might as well turn this shit off and go watch General Hospital.  Yet, the more I say it, the more people argue that it's at its best right now.  People who work their asses off get ignored.  People who go off and make shitty Clive Owen style movies can come back and win the World Championship in a matter of weeks.  What do I have to do to get any kind of notoriety around here?  Do I have to piss in "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward's beer bottle?  Do I have to sprinkle cayanne pepper on Christian Underwood's butt plugs?  Do I have to blow someone?

There is a silence on the other end of the line that makes Tim growl in frustration.  He smashes his fist against the end table by his bed as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket, searching around for a lighter in the mess of candy wrappers and liquor bottles.

Tim:  SCW is trapped in an endless cycle of assholes with over inflated egos coming in and destroying menial competition and acting like they deserve something for it.  They don't want to fight.  They just want glory.  It's not about the glory though.  It's about the fight, and anyone who thinks differently needs to get the fuck out of this sport!  I'm sick and tired of it, and honestly, if I don't get booked for the remainder of my contract, it would be a fucking blessing.  I'm tired of repeating myself to a bunch of mentally incompetant jerk offs who get up to stuff their diabetically fat fucking faces with nachos and hot dogs.

Erik:  I wouldn't give up so quickly.  You've been booked this Sunday, Timbo.

Tim:  Oh?

Despite the curious nature of his response, his tone lets us all know that he is entirely underwhelmed.  He finds the lighter he'd been looking for, and he strikes it up quickly, lighting the end of it.  He puffs out a few times, sending a plume of smoke and fiery embers flying outward.

Erik:  Are you ready to eat those words?

Tim nods his head while rolling his eyes.  Knowing his uncle can't see either, he remains silent as he awaits an answer.

Erik:  You will be facing Landon Axel on Sunday, with Connor Murphy at your side, while Ethan Brody stands in Landon's corner.

Tim:  Hooooray... You are further proving my point.  You are feeding us to the tag champions so that they look good going into their next defense against... let me guess... Surf Boys?

Erik:  No...

Tim rubs his chin, feigning deep thought, while letting out a low toned "Hmmm..." as he tries to figure out who the challengers could be.

Tim:  R.O.A.R. ...

Erik:  Not even close, kiddo.

Tim:  The idiotic sounding Monstimals again?  That would be typical SCW logic.

Erik lets out a groan that lets Tim know that he is wrong again.

Tim:  Let me guess... one of Christian's brilliant Lethal Lottery pairings?  It figures, because championship opportunities are handed out so freely around here.

Erik:  Nobody...

Tim:  That makes sense, considering nobody actually wants those belts.  Why are they even still sanctioned belts?  Let me guess again... they are propping them up so that Gabriel can return with Despayre and have something shiny to make people think they're important, and to take away from the obvious fact that he lacks committment?

Erik:  Nobody, as in... The Nobodies?  You and Connor will be facing off against Guns For Hire at December 2 Dismember.

Tim chuckles, this time he is seriously tickled by what he perceives to be a joke by his uncle.  His extended laugh is eventually cut off as he takes another quick drag from his cigarette, inhaling it deeply before exhaling.

Erik:  No, I'm not kidding.  Connor Murphy and Tim Staggs will be facing the tag champions at D2D with the belts on the line.

Tim:  Really?  Why?

Erik:  You both defeated former tag team champions, and then you defeated Sebastian just a few weeks ago.  We felt that you earned it.

Tim's expression changes as he tries to absorb the information that he's just received.  He has to think it over for a second while he takes another hard drag from his cigarette, his eyebrows furled as he slowly exhales once more.

Tim:  So... because we beat R.O.A.R. once, a few months ago, and because I beat half of the former *air quotes* champions a few weeks ago... with no opportunity to build any heat... no notice of any kind... Connor and I are being given a title shot?

Erik:  I'd like to look at it in a different light, but...

Tim:  But nothing!  There is no other light to look at it in, uncle Erik!  Connor and I have been sparcely booked the last three months.  We haven't earned this shot.  There are only two possible reasons for us getting this title shot, and neither of them are good!  It's either blatant nepetism, or it's a way to buy us off because we're starting to cause too many waves.  If you had anything to do with this, I'll personally kick your nards so hard, they will pop out of your mouth like a couple of Nerf balls.

Erk:  I swear, I had nothing to do with it.  I was as surprised as you are, honestly.

Tim shakes his head as his uncles words resonate in his mind.

Tim:  Yeah, meaning even you know that I don't deserve a title shot.  But, of course, you didn't argue it.  You really are one of them now, because the uncle Erik I knew would have fought to make me earn it.  You would have fought to get me booked more with Connor, so that we could earn a shot at the tag titles.  You would have argued that winning a fucking singles match is NOT grounds for receiving a tag team championship opportunity.  He would have...

The sound of "Sex Metal Barbie" playing over the speakers of his laptop catches him off guard as he turns to look at the screen, expecting to see some after effect of Celeste being a sore loser and attacking Mercedes with a pipe or something.  However, he is met with seeing her arm raised in victory.  This completely wrecks his train of thought.

Erik:  I told you that she stood a chance, and she did it all on her own.

Tim:  Yeah, so maybe you should give her and Alexis a shot at the Bombshell Tag Team Championships, huh?  She beat one half of a team that held those titles.

Erik:  That's ridiculous.

Tim:  Right?  Now you're seeing my logic.  I'm going to level with you.  I don't give a single speck of fuck about this match on Sunday.  I don't care about Landon Axel or Ethan Brody.  They are just a couple of fairweather compettitors who wouldn't know what committment was if it bit them on the ass and then introduced itself.  They only got shots because they are associated with Drake Green, and because nobody actually cares about tag team wrestling, except for Christian Underwood.  Nobody wants the tag team titles unless they believe in the myth that there's a direct link between them and the World Heavyweight Championship.  It is a stepping stone belt, because every team that holds them is a stepping stone.  Those belts change hands more often than any other belt, and it's because no one cares.  No one wants them.  They kill careers.  Look at Delia Darling.  Top Bombshell, top wrestler for the longest time.  She was unstoppable.  She wins the tag titles, and she instantly falls off the radar without so much as a word.  If those belts can destroy someone who rightfully should have been Wrestler or Woman of the Year for the 2015 ceremony, then what will they do to a real Nobody?  I can't speak for Connor, and if Connor wants to pursue the belts, then I'll go along with it, but I think this whole situation is bullshit.

There is another long pause from Erik, as he tries to think up a way to talk his nephew into taking this opportunity seriously.  However, his extended silence costs him this opportunity.

Tim:  You know it too.  I'll show up and collect my paycheck so that I can afford to buy a Hungry Man TV dinner for Thanksgiving, but I want you to know that I'm sickened by this, and if I have it my way, you'll have to find a way to push the dead weight of Guns For Hire another six weeks for some other team to challenge them.  And tell Christian, thanks but no thanks.  Maybe next time you guys decide to pull a random title opportunity out of your asses to give to any of us, make sure it's early enough that we can actually make something of what is actually a turd.

Before Erik has a chance to respond to this, Tim hangs up his phone.  He immediately shuts it off and throws it across the room, slamming his laptop shut before putting his cigarette out on the back of the screen.  He shakes his head as he walks over to a chair and grabs his jacket.  He pulls it over his white t-shirt and slides his shoes on, heading over toward the door where he grabs his keys and duffel bag.  Out the door he goes as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

19
Climax Control Archives / Mommy's Little Monster
« on: November 06, 2015, 12:19:18 PM »
 
<img src=https://31.media.tumblr.com/d24a563a711f5b1bac6c0372f3c55551/tumblr_inline_npg1375vuR1rerlyv_500.gif>


Mommy's Little Monsters
#NP "Mommy's Little Monster" by Social Distortion
Locale: Dive Bar in San Juan, PR (Three weeks ago)




If he wanted an experience, he was about to get one.  We pan inside of a local dive bar somewhere in San Juan.  It is rather Americanized in its decor, meant to appeal to tourists, despite the dilapidated state the bar is in.  We go around the bar to see men dressed in a variety of styles, dancing with girls that appear to be more showgirls than anything.  Sequins and feathers aplenty, and gold dripping from all over their bodies, their hair done up beauty queen style, and make up that makes them equal to Helen of Troy.  Dare I say even surpassing the beauty.  There are the wallflowers who are nursing their beers, watching the action, yet too afraid to participate in the freestyle salsa dancing going on in the center of the bar.  One of said wallflowers is Tim Staggs.  However, he is nursing a virgin drink under the guise of a mixed drink.  The red cocktail has fruit around the rim, and even a decorative umbrella in it.  Tim doesn't see how effeminate this appears to others, and he'd be better off nursing a soft drink, so he lightly bobs his head to the music.  One of the most beautiful women walks by the line of wallflowers, her fiery Latina eyes sizing up her next victim.  The spider pendant resting neatly on her ample bosom gives away her moniker, La Viuda Negra, The Black Widow.  The men standing by suddenly get excited in hopes of attracting the attention of this lovely lady of the night.  Naivity settles in with Tim as this flies over his head.  As La Viuda Negra walks down the line, Tim's fruity drink, and his ginger hair, seem to attract her immediately.  She walks over to him, taking his drink from his hand, and she wraps her arms around his neck, swaying to the latin beat.

La Viuda Negra:  Muy caliente, papi.  You must dance with me.

Without waiting for an answer, she drags Tim onto the dance floor where she demands the attention of every patron within the bar.  To call her a show stealer is a true understatement.  She is the center of attention, whether you want her to be or not.  Her hips sway as she shimmies around Tim, captivating the youngster as she threatens to seduce him.  Her hands rest around his neck as her eyes demand him to place his hands on her hips.  Without hesitation, he does.  He almost doesn't know how to handle having all eyes near him, as he's used to being ignored by his peers.  The dance goes on for several more minutes, and it appears to be a game of cat and mouse.  The more naive Tim seems, the more La Viuda Negra wants him for herself.  She kneels down slightly as she shimmies up his body slowly.  She presses her lips against his, leading the inexperienced Tim into her web.  At this point, the war is won, and the song ends.  La Viuda Negra smiles and winks at Tim before leading him off of the floor.  She looks from side to side before walking to a table at the very back of the bar.  Despite it's location, it is quite lush.  A black wrought iron spider with a ruby red hourglass symbol on its back rests on the wall above the booth.  As she walks with Tim, Tim insists she enter the booth first.  She winks and blushes, gingerly sitting down as she lifts the bottom of her evening gown just enough to comfortably move in the form fitting dress.  Tim sits next to her, and she sinks into him, taking a small sniff of his essense, moaning in a pleased tone as she unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt.  She reaches in and runs her fingers over his smooth, and surprisingly toned chest.  With her free hand, she snaps her fingers three times, pointing down at the table with annoyance.

Tim:  That was a great dance.  It's the first time I've ever felt noticed by such a lovely lady...

La Viuda Negra:  Awww, that ees so sweet of you, Rojo.

A few seconds of awkward silence passes before the gritty bartender whose entire body, from the neck down at least, appears to be a demented childrens coloring book page.  The amber liquid splashes all over the place, causing La Viuda Negra to begin spouting off in Spanish at him.

La Viuda Negra:  Oh mi dios que puto idiota! Cuidado con la forma de manejar su negocio mientras este chico dama maneja el suyo, hijo de puta!  Thank you!

La Viuda Negra's snappy, angry tone quickly changes as she looks back up into Tim's icy blue eyes, cooling her down as she melts back into his arms.  She takes the shot glass and tosses it back in a precise gulp.  She goes to hand the half empty one to Tim.  As she does, Tim contemplates taking it.  When he figures he's got nothing to lose, he places the glass to his lips when a bejeweled hand, with black manicured nails slaps it clear from his hand, causing the glass to break against the wall.  La Viuda Negra looks highly offended as she brushes a piece of hair from out of her face.  She stands up at the table and speaks very pointedly to the person standing in front of their table.

La Viuda Negra:  Ex-CUSE me, puta?  I dun know who you think you are, chica, but...

"I am his mother... puta..."

The camera turns to see Tim's biological mother, Roxanne, standing in front of him.  She is wearing a black leather dress fashioned to look like a mixture of a fetish garment and an evening gown.  She glares at La Viuda Negra, causing her to laugh in Roxanne's face.

La Vuida Negra:  You might be old enough to be 'ees mother, but don't be mad cause he upgraded.

Roxanne:  Don't mistake me, bitch, because I will bust you open and smear you all over this shitty fucking bar.  If you don't believe me, I'd be happy to prove how very fucking serious I am right now...

La Viuda Negra looks at Tim, who is both embarrassed and angry as he looks down at the table as if he can't believe this is happening to him.  La Viuda Negra rolls her eyes and holds a hand up in Roxanne's face as she exits the booth.

La Viuda Negra:  I seriously doubt it, mami, but I didn't spend good money on a manicure to get slut cuts in my nail beds.  Sorry Rojo...

She walks off as Roxanne bends over, resting her elbows on the table, glaring right at Tim.  However, she is surprised to see him staring right back at her with the same intensity.  He pounds the table in frustration as he literally screams at her.

Tim:  YOU FUCKING COCK BLOCKER!!!  I told you I didn't want to ever see you again!  Why are you even here?!

Roxanne:  You will NOT talk to your mother that way!

Tim:  Damn right I will not, but you gave up that right when you signed custody over to Misty eleven years ago to go play Amanda Cortez.  Now, if you will excuse me, lady, I'm about to lose my virginity.

Roxanne shudders at the thought, almost unsure of how to respond to that, for many reasons.  She takes a deep breath, and takes a seat at the table.  She grabs onto Tim's hands gently, in a manner that begs him to sit and hear her out.  However. Tim rips his arms free and stands up, leaning down into his mother's face.

Tim:  Don't you dare touch me, bitch.

Without a warning, Roxanne slaps Tim across the face as hard as she can, taking him by surprise.  She then shoves him down into the booth, turning the tides on him as she is now hovering over him as he holds his reddening cheek tenderly.

Roxanne:  Don't you dare talk to an elder like that.  Your father might have accepted that type of language, but I won't.  Nobody calls me "bitch", are we crystal?

Tim doesn't respond as he simply stares into Roxanne's eyes.  She waits to make sure he fully understands.  When he doesn't move much, she slowly sits back down in her seat, crossing her legs as she pulls a black clove cigarette out of her handbag.  She lights it up, sucking in softly and almost seductively before she exhales the plume of fragrant smoke.

Roxanne:  This isn't you, Timmy.  You were always a respectful boy.  You minded your manners everywhere.  You know, no matter how fucked up Spike and I were, we always heard compliments on your behavior.  Well-mannered.  Courteous.  An angel...  I'm not asking you to tell me what changed, because you've made it abundantly clear that I don't reserve that right.  I'm okay with that.  But, as a concerned citizen, I think you should go back home to your father.

Tim:  As far as I'm concerned, I'm an orphan right now.  Misty has her son, dad has his second chances with the twins.  There is nobody for me, and I'm finally used to it.  Everyone passes me off as a fucking problem, and I'm done giving a shit about it.  That well behaved boy disappeared when you tried to butt back into my life six weeks ago.  He disappeared the second my fucking fist met Spike's face.  It was that moment where he proved he doesn't really care about me.  Not even a little.  If he cared, he would know that, no matter what the circumstances were, you are the last person I would ever want to see.  Comprende?

Tim leans his elbows on the table, staring with an almost familiar sadistic glare in his ice blue eyes.  He locks on to Roxanne's, and the look in his eyes is almost enough to scare her, even.  She does her best to put up a fight, but the emotion of the moment gets the best of her as she breaks the stare.  Tim leans back in the booth, tucking his hands behind his head as he watches Roxanne smooth out her skirt before standing up.  She picks up her purse and slings it over her shoulders as she turns and looks back to Tim.

Roxanne:  I just hope that you know that the road you are going down is not an untravelled one.  It isn't you being rebellious.  It makes you a chip off of the old block.  You can still stop yourself before you turn into your father.

Tim:  Sometimes you have to be what you hate, to beat what you hate.

Roxanne gives a friendly, yet highly passive-aggressive, smirk as she adjusts the strap on her black leather handbag.  She studies Tim for a moment, trying to disguise the tears welling up in her eyes with a light chuckle.

Roxanne:  That isn't beating, boy.  That is replacing.  You are replacing the monster with an even darer one.

Tim:  I... don't... care...

Tim picks up a glass on the table, holding it up to his nose as he takes in a deep breath of the cocktail.  He brings the rim of the glass to his lips, taking in a light sip, before guzzling it all down, while watching his biological mother sour in disgust before she turns and walks away.  Tim picks a piece of ice out of the glass and places it between his teeth, grinning at his mother as La Viuda Negra walks back up.  He wraps his lips around the cube as she takes a seat next to him.  He brings his lips to her bust line, kissing up to her neck, sending chills down her spine as she gasps, moaning and holding onto his head, as if asking for mercy that she doesn't truly want.  Tim glares at Roxanne as she walks out of the door, and he chuckles as La Viuda Negra crawls onto his lap and the scene fades out.



Taking It In Stride
#NP "Edge of Seventeen" by Stevie Nicks
LOCALE: Las Vegas, Nevada



The sun is burning brightly as we get a close up on Tim walking down a run down street in Las Vegas.  Not exactly a tourist attraction spot.  He has his headphones in as he whistles along to the music playing through his headphones.  Despite a bandage on the side of his head, he looks to be in a very good mood, even with the events of the last few weeks.  He has a bit of a swagger in his step as he rounds the corner, facing Staggs Dungeon's entrance.  He looks down at his iPod, taking note of the early hour of 6:30am before he places a key into the lock of the door.  He raises a cigarette to his lips, taking a final drag before flicking it down the street and opening the door up.  It is dimly lit inside, as he removes his black hooded jacket and tosses it to the ground.  He takes a deep breath as he walks deeper within the gym.  He flips the light on, ready to get in a work out before the gym opened to the students.  However, what greets him comes as a bit of a surprise.  Connor Murphy is standing in the middle of the ring, and he is not alone.  Spike and Vixen Staggs are standing on either side of him.  Spike seems rather uninterested, though it is clearly a facade, while Connor has a guilty expression.  Tim's face sours as he looks to be on the verge of a meltdown.  However, he quickly silences the boiling anger, and simply scoffs as he shakes his head.  He locks eyes with Connor as if having a silent conversation with him for a moment before making a verbal response.

Tim:  I honestly can't believe you did this, Connor...  That's pretty fucked up, man.

Tim leans down to pick up his jacket from the ground when Connor exits the ring.  He approaches Tim, who is pulling his jacket over his arms in a flustered hurry.  He grunts in displeasure as Connor walks toward him, placing a hand on Tim's shoulder.  Tim shrugs it off, only to have Connor assert himself as he leans in, pulling a cigarette from Tim's chest pocket, along with a lighter.  He takes a long drag as Connor exhales next to Tim's ear before speaking.

Connor:  You got to man up eventually, me boyo.

He gives a few hard pats of encouragement to Tim before making a sour face.

Connor:  Menthols, really?

Connor opens the door, hanging outside of it as he continues to smoke.  Tim couldn't look any more displeased until he forces a similar look of disinterest onto his face as his father is sporting.  He just stands there, staring at the couple inside of the ring.  Spike remains silent as if waiting for some sort of an apology, which is clearly not coming.  Tim shakes his head as he once again sheds his jacket.  He thinks to himself that he's not going to waste a perfectly good opportunity to work out before he has to catch his plane.  He walks over to the punching bag where he unbuttons his flannel shirt and tosses it to the ground, showing off his impressive physique as he begins to casually bat the bag, causing it to fly up and knock against the ceiling.  Spike watches for a moment before he becomes sickened, shaking his head as he looks to Vixen.

Spike:  I don't have time for this right now.  If he's not going to talk, then I've got paperwork to go through in my office.

Vixen looks disappointed in Spike's attitude, but does not object to his exit.  Spike looks over at Tim, however, with no one else looking, a pained, almost guilty expression comes over his face before he walks to his office, closing the door.  Vixen takes a few steps over toward the ropes, watching Tim and his technique.  Tim takes no notice as he places both headphones into his ears, boxing along to the beat of the song.  His eyes are focused, and only focused on the bag.  He seems to go into a trance that lasts several minutes, but seems only like mere seconds.  His concentration is broken as he feels a hand on his shoulder.  He turns around, in the zone, and raises his fist to swing, until he sees Vixen standing there.  He lowers his arm out of respect, though he clearly does not want her near him right now.  Without removing his headphones, he addresses her.

Tim:  I'm really not in the mood to hear you defend my father to me right now, especially when you don't even...

Vixen:  ... know the full story?  Maybe not, but I know enough.

Tim shakes his head.  He'd never had a single bad feeling toward his step mother, but right now, he was really getting pissed off, and he needs to turn away.  He goes back to boxing the bag so not to let any actual disrespect show.

Tim:  You don't know shit.  Sorry, but you don't.

Vixen:  I do know "shit", such as... if you really want to improve your boxing technique, you might want to...

Vixen steps in and begins to box the bag just as quickly as Tim, but in a manner that seems to be much easier, making it seem easy as pie.  Tim watches the bag bounce rhythmically for a moment as Vixen slows down just a bit to let Tim absorb the technique.

Vixen:  It's all about posture, and the proper extension of the arms.  Making it look easy is the tricky part.

Vixen turns her head to face Tim as she keeps the proper rhythm going.  Tim can't help but crack a bit of a smile, chuckling under his breath, which brings Vixen to smirk in satisfaction.  She brings the bag to a stop and then holds it still before stepping out of the way, allowing Tim to try it once again.  He might not have it down as flawlessly as the SCW Hall of Famer, but it looks much more polished than it had before.  Tim sits there in silence as he boxes the bag, still unsure about having this conversation.

Tim:  I'm sure listening to my father's holier than thou rants probably has you thinking I turned into a big problem child, but he deserved that punch to the face after everything he's done to me.

Vixen:  He did...

Tim misses a punch that throws his rhythm off, causing him to trip up just a little.  He turns to Vixen with a bit of a surprised look on his face.  Vixen nods her head, offering an apologetic glance toward Spike's office, but she shrugs her shoulders as she turns back to Tim.

Vixen:  Some circumstances might be a little different, but our lives are not much different.  What you are going through now, I went through also.  I joined the military when I was not much older than you, and it helped me, but I was just like you.  I held a hatred deep inside of me, that ran my life.

Tim almost rolls his eyes, but out of respect, he stops himself.  However, the sarcasm that follows, he might as well have rolled them

Tim:  And let me guess, you found wrestling to be an outlet, and you were finally able to let that hatred go?  It sounds pretty fucking cliche, considering wrestling has only intensified my hatred.

Vixen:  I never did let that hatred go, but I put on a pretty good act, do I not?

Vixen gives an almost cheeky grin as she sticks her point.  Tim turns to see it, and just as he does, the bag comes back and smacks him hard against the side of the head.  It dazes him for a second as Vixen lets out a small chuckle.  It is clear that this is about a geniune concern that does not come from a parental place as she doesn't so much as offer a gasp of surprise and worry for Tim.  Somehow, this is the exact response needed, as Tim blushes, rubbing the side of his head in embarrassment.  He lends a laugh at himself as he walks over to the pull up bars against the wall.

Tim:  Things have just been so tough for me, and nobody seems to get that.  Everyone says that because of my last name, I have the world in front of me.  But, it's just not true.  I have to fight harder because of it, and every time I fall short, people rub it in my face and call me a slacker.

Vixen:  To a degree, they are right, Timmy.  The whole world is in front of you, ready for the taking.  Some of it does have to do with your pedigree, four world champions having parented you, but not all of it.  When they say you rely on your name, it is a lazy insult that only makes them seem lazy in return.  Just think of it as Mean Girls mentality, and then maybe you can laugh it off as I did for most of the time that Paris trash was trying to torture this family.  Just take it all in stride.

Tim:  ...

Tim is ready to respond, when Vixen's words seem to resonate with him.  Such a simple mantra, but one that would certainly get to the attention seekers and keyboard trolls hiding behind smartphones and computers.  Instead, he nods his head, smiling a bit.  He doesn't waste any more time before jumping up and wrapping his fingers around the bar.  His feet dangle for a second before he starts lifting himself up, listening as Vixen continues talking with Tim, and we fade out.




#NP "The Resistance" by Anberlin
Locale: Kingston, Jamaica



We pan in to the campus for the University of the West Indies, the site of the next edition of Sin City Wrestling's Climax Control.  The campus is buzzing in anticipation for the show as Stars and Bombshells can be found in various spots, selling merchandise, signing autgraphs, and mingling with the fans.  However, in one spot of the campus, we can see various people passing by in black hooded jackets, all walking over to a table with a white banner with crudely written red lettering reading "Nobodies".  The hooded figures approach the table with blank pieces of paper in hand.  Like machines, the hooded figures at the table accept the piece of paper, and scribble "Nobody" on the paper, before handing it back.  Next to the table, is a lackadaisical photographer, in a hooded jacket.  In front of the camera, is another hooded figure.  Other hooded figures approach, and pose as the camera snaps.  The hooded "fans" shake hands with the hooded poser before moving along for the next person to get their picture taken.  They then approach a table with hooded jackets hanging up.  They point to one, and hand money to a hooded cashier who then hands them the jacket.  They place the jacket over their current jacket before moving along.  This process goes on for what seems like forever, until the pattern is broken by the brightly dressed blonde drag queen interviewer, Mz. Holly Wood.  Her hair is done in stylish dreads, and a Jamaican flag printed sequin dress.  She has a microphone in hand, but as she tries to approach the table, a masked bouncer shakes his head and points to the back of the line.  Holly is about to protest when the bouncer steps closer, asserting his size.

Holly:  Okay, okay... no need to get rough...  Who am I kidding?  I like it rough.

Her joke isn't appreciated as the bouncer continues to shake his head and point.  Holly walks back, behind roughly sixteen people, standing in line.  She taps her foot impatiently as she moves slowly through the mechanical line.  Once she finally makes it to the table, she raises the microphone to her lips.

Holly:  Tim, I...

The hooded figure at the table shakes his head slowly.

Holly:  Damn, is that all y'all know how to do?  Damn...  Where can I find Tim Staggs?

The hooded figure reaches his hand out for the blank piece of paper, which Holly clearly doesn't have.  She stands there, waiting for an answer that just won't come.  She scoffs and turns around, ripping a piece of paper from the person behind her's hand, and slaps it down on the table.  The masked figure signs it "Nobody" and hands it back, gently shaking Holly's hand.

Holly:  I go from a stable where bitches don't shut the hell up to interviewing stables that don't say a word.  I can't win, gurl...

Holly shakes her head as she walks over to the posing masked Nobody, and she stands next to it.  Just as the camera is about to flash, she grabs a handful of his crotch, causing the quiet person to yelp in surprise and confusion simultaneously.  This causes a bit of a chuckle to come from Holly, who takes her Polaroid picture, fanning her face with it as she slowly walks to the hooded jacket table, looking back at the masked Nobody and signals for him to call her.  She turns around and holds her hand out, signalling that she is quite impressed with his large member.  She slaps a bill down on the table, but retracts it slowly as the masked cashier goes to accept it.

Holly:  You got any of them in chatreuse?  Burgandy?

The masked cashier signals to the extensive collection of plain black hoodies for her to choose from.  Holly picks one and pulls it over her head.  She flings her dreads freely before she ties it in the most stylish and feminine way one can possibly wear a big, bulky black hooded jacket.  Just as she's met her fill of the game, she sucks in a deep breath as she prepares to get a little hood.

Tim:  Mz. Wood, because we're nasty... I'd like to say it's a pleasure, but I've never been a good liar.

Holly:  Who are all of these...

Tim:  Why ask when you know I won't tell you?  I hope you've enjoyed being part of my demonstation of pointless consumerism that drives economies the world over.

Holly:  I didn't understand half of that, but I assure you, I only enjoyed grabbing a handful of that dude...

Holly points back at the posing Nobody, who one would imagine is blushing pridefully.  Holly turns back to Tim, collecting herself with a shallow breath, exhaling loudly.  She brings the microphone to her lips as she prepares to do what she's come to do.

Holly:  Now that I got ya here, can I ask you a couple question?

Tim:  You can ask whatever you want, but whether I'll answer them is something entirely different.

Holly:  The first question I have is about the mixed tag team match at High Stakes V.  What are your thoughts on the outcome?

Tim stares with an almost wicked smile on his face.  Holly waits for an answer that doesn't come.  She mouths "ohhhhkay" as she looks back to the camera, she tries to hide her annoyance as she continues along.

Holly:  Fine.  What are your thoughts on the attack by Kris Halich?  Do you have any plans of revenge?

Tim:  I have no real thoughts on that sad excuse of an attack by K-Halc other than it was a desperate attempt at regaining some kind of notoriety after high tailing it out of this company because he couldn't handle the pressure of being a true Nobody.  I refuse to react one way or another.

Holly:  That sounds like a punk bitch response to me.

Tim:  Call it what you will, but I refuse to indulge him, or anybody who wants to prove some sort of point by attacking me, or my crew.  Especially a backstabbing, trecherous coward like Kris Halich or Johnny Tsunami.  I just won't do it.  My reaction is simple.

Tim turns to his left slightly, raising his hand to point at his cheek to signal turning the other cheek.  Holly nods her head, though she is clearly underwhelmed by the response.

Holly:  What are your thoughts on the outcome of Celeste North and Alexis Edw...

Tim:  Look, this isn't 60 Minutes.  This isn't the Presidential Debate.  There is only one thing that is pertainant to the moment.  The one thing you should be asking me about is my match in two days.  Doesn't anybody care about the heart of the sport, the WRESTLING?!  We aren't a soap opera, and I get so fucking sick of this business getting treated as such.  That's what's wrong with this business, is that the focus is on all of the wrong things.  It sickens me, quite honestly.  You would rather know who is sleeping with who, and who is teaming with who.  You reporters and fans don't focus on what is important.  The sport itself.  The athleticism involved in wrestling is so unimportant, that is makes my grandfather turn in his grave.  It is disgusting, so unless you want to ask me about my MATCH... then this interview is over.

Holly looks almost shocked by Tim's outburst.  He seems to calm himself down with the reptition on the line of masked figures moving through a slow, dull production line, his nostrils returning to their normal size as he relaxes a bit, turning back to Holly.  Holly actually sees where Tim is coming from, and she nods her head before proceeding.

Holly:  This match has been talked about since it was ann...

Tim:  Don't lie.  Nobody cares about this match but... well, The Nobodies.  Not even "Dark Tiger" Sebastian Hardin cares.  Do you know why?  Because he's one of only a handful of people who knows I'm going to kick his ass.  People are calling this a David Versus Goliath match.  How much more accurate could that possibly be?  David slayed Goliath, and who is everyone calling David?  It surely isn't Seven Foot Sebastian.  Will it be easy?

Holly:  No?

Tim:  Yes.

Holly nods, but a look of confusion comes over her face.

Holly:  Yes, as in no?  Or yes, as in yes?

Tim:  No... Wait, now you're confusing me!  Yes, as in yes.  And do you know why?

Holly:  I'm not sure I do.

Tim:  Because, I took him, along with his nephew, out already, and I did it on my own.  I had exactly no help from anyone, so when I meet up with the big useless sack of shit inside of the ring, one on one, it will be like a fucking breeze.  And that's if he even decides to show, because, as we know, the Hardin's are known for phoning it in.  I'm not even remotely concerned, because I've been training hard for weeks, thinking I might have some sort of a challenging opponent. And then I get the card, and see I'm opening up against "Dark Tiger" Sebastian Hardin.  It's almost insulting, but you have to play the cards you are dealt.  And, as usual, I was dealt the shitty cards this round, because I'm screwed one way of the other.  If I beat him, it doesn't do anything for me.  I've already done it, so I stay at the same level I am at anyway.  But, if I lose, I am the laughing stock of the company, and considering the fact that I'm clearly on the bottom rung with opening this show, that's still a long, hard fall.  I can't lose.  I won't lose.  Sebastian had better...

Holly:  How do you feel about the distractions of the group in recent weeks?

Tim is ready to continue, when he stops, his jaw hanging open as he just stares at Holly.  He scoffs at her and throws his arms up in surrender.  He shakes his head as he walks off, leaving Holly amidst the crowd of masked Nobodies that seems to flood the immediate area.  She just sighs, and signals for the camera to cut off.  After a moment, the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

20
Supercard Archives / THE NOBODIES vs STEVE RAMONE and JESSIE SALCO
« on: October 07, 2015, 05:55:41 AM »
 
<img src=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/3d/20/b8/3d20b8af4203a63971be644c3c39256c.gif>


One, Two, Nobodies Coming For You...
Locale: El Garaje; Santa Marta, Columbia
#NP "Jump the Gun" by Adore Delano



Outside of the large structure that looks mostly made out of tropical leaves and branches, is a large beach.  Nothing special, but a moonlit beach nonetheless.  The waves crash against the wet sand softly.  As we walk down the beach, we see couples enjoying the romantic night, some by makeshift bonfires using spare brush, while others simply look up at the stars in the sky.  The further away from the "club" we get, the lower the reggaeton music seems to pulse, and is instead replaced by blatant pulsating of young, frisky couples getting dirty.  A true testament to the area we are in.  The camera pans back a bit to see the masked female Nobody walking along as if it were nothing, while Tim Staggs, in his hooded jacket and tattered black jeans, can't help but stare like a teenage boy watching pornography.  His body moves, but his eyes do not leave the sights we are fortunately spared of seeing.  As they pass the fourth couple, Tim pats his stable mate on the shoulder, though he is clearly speechless.  Instead of saying anything, he points, moving his lips, only for gasps and squeaks to escape.

Nobody:  Jesus, you act like you're a virgin or something, Tim...

Tim:  Uhhhh...?

As Tim's eyes finally leave the surrounding erotic view, only to looks down at the sand of the beach.  This quickly prompts the masked female Nobody to turn on her heels as if she'd just heard the most shocking thing ever revealed to man.  She looks at Tim whose cheeks redden.

Nobody:  That... is...

Tim:  Lame?  I know...

Nobody: ... So hot!  I'm not even kidding.  I figured you and Alexis would have...

Tim doesn't verbally object, but his tensed body language, and completely and utterly shocked expression does enough defending to make a believer out of anyone.  The masked female still doesn't even know how to respond to this as she simply continues to walk down the beach with Tim close by.  The crowd thins out drastically as the music is only a minor note in the background to the crashing waves.  She takes a seat on the sand as Tim does the same.  He grabs onto his knees as he looks out across the water.  The masked female raises her arm a bit, letting something fall from the sleeve of her jacket.  However, instead of a weapon, it is a bottle of tequila, half full with the amber liquid.  She unscrews the cap and lifts her mask back slightly so that she can press the bottle to her lips.  She tilts her head back, taking a straight shot.  As she retracts the bottle, her lips pinch together tightly, making a bit of a face as she passes the bottle over to Tim, letting out a bit of a disgusted sigh, shaking her head from side to side before toughening up and taking it.  Tim holds the bottle, looking down to it for a moment as he contemplates.

Tim:  I'm not sure that's the best idea.  I mean, if someone finds out about it, I could get fired, you could get in trouble too... It just wouldn't be good.

Nobody:  Haha... riiiiiiiiiighhhhhht... Like they pay attention to us enough to notice you took a couple sips of tequila.  You could be juggling flaming batons in the center of the bosses office while singing "Feliz Navidad" and chugging tequila, and they wouldn't notice.  Haven't you figured that out yet?  We are The Nobodies, and there's a fucking reason, man.  No matter what we do, no one realizes we're even here.  It's not just a cool Manson song, it's a fucking lifestyle, Timmy.

She shakes her head as she watches Tim continue to contemplate.  Without trying to peer pressure him, she slowly turns away, while thinking to herself that he needs to loosen up.  Tim tilts the bottle back and takes a much bigger chug than he should have.  The masked female tries to stop him, but it's too late as he swallows it.  She sighs and shakes her head, waiting for the inevitable vomitting.

Nobody:  Just chuck it to the side, I really don't feel like looking at that right now.

Tim:  No... No, I'm going to be alright.  I've made a habit of holding back vomit since joining SCW, with the smell of bullshit wafting through the backstage area.  All of the ass eating for title opportunities, all the brown noses walking around.  It's enough to turn anyone's stomach, so I think I'll be...

Tim gags a bit as he sucks in and puffs his cheeks out a bit.  The masked female chuckles some at the face he's making, but he waves her off.  He moves around to control it as his friend takes the bottle from his hand, throwing back another shots worth.  Tim places his hand to his chest as his cheeks slowly deflate.  He celebrates as the masked female chuckles.

Nobody:  Like a champ... almost.  But you're right.  Just thinking about all the backstage bullshit makes me wanna puke too.  It's all a bunch of bullshit politics to keep us back.  I mean, do we need to star in porn videos, or model stupid fucking clothes just to get noticed?  Or maybe we should just not give a shit about anything, and then they'll promote the shit out of us.  I mean, how fucking backwards is that?

The masked female takes the bottle to her lips once more, settling it into the sand, upright.  She is surprised that Tim takes it up quickly, though cautiously only takes a small sip.  He nurses it again before settling it down in the designated spot once more.

Tim:  This whole place is backwards.  I mean, who do you see most on camera?  People who work their asses off, only to get shoved to the side.  People like Mikah and Drake Green show up whenever they have a free moment, and when they're here, they're only half with it.  Yet, I'd be willing to bet that they are the highest paid stars in SCW.  But, the real blame doesn't lie with management.  They want to make a buck, and so they deliver what the people want.  The fans are the ones to blame.

Nobody:  Ugh, fuck the fans...

Tim shakes his head from side to side.  This catches his stable mate off guard for a minute as she leans back on her arms, staring at him.  Tim organizes his thoughts for a second, which seems to be harder to do than he'd have thought, given the state of inebriation settling in.

Tim:  They can't help that they're ignorant and moronic.  It is encouraged to be dumber than a rock these days.  Brawn over brain.  Ignorance is in right now, and they're all wearing it, just like Bieber's Vanilla Ice rip off 90's hair style.  People don't question things until the idea to do so is planted in their brain.  We've tried forcing them to pay attention to us, and it hasn't exactly gone well.  Maybe we need to make them look at the big picture instead, so that they can see how screwed up this business has become.  Once they see what we see, they will have to start questioning how they spend their money.

Nobody:  That's what I like about you T-Bone.  You're so smart.  You're always five steps ahead.

Tim:  You aren't as dumb as you try to lead on with your lackadasical attitude.  I never would have thought to keep you masked to prove your loyalty.  You get to go out there in two weeks and catch everyone by surprise.  Jessie Salco won't see it coming, and neither will the fans.

The masked female Nobody's lip curls up into a half smile as she lifts the bottle of tequila to her lips, letting the warmth fill her mouth and throat with that delightful burn.  She swallows the amber liquid and turns back to face Tim.

Nobody:  I have my bright ideas from time to time.  Unfortunately, Jessie Salco... like Steve Ramone... is too idiotic to take either of us seriously.  That's going to be a huge mistake on their part.  They wanted us locked in a cage with them.  If they knew anything about either of us, they would know that's the worst idea they could have possibly come up with.  You are the son of a psychopath, and you've proven you have a vicious streak a mile long.

Tim:  That's why I was so eager to agree to this match.  It's the perfect opportunity for me to prove myself as a real badass in this company, while shutting up the idiotic babblings of Steve Ramone and Jessie Salco.  Just imagine if I were to "accidentally" crash Jessie Salco into the cage wall.  She's used to getting knocked around by five foot nothing, one hundred and twenty pound bimbos, but this is a whole new level, and I plan to take advantage of the situation at any given chance.

Nobody:  Didn't your father tell you not to hit women?  Isn't that his number one rule?

Tim:  Fuck my father... if you haven't already.

An audible gasp is heard as such an assertion escapse Tim's lips.  The masked female turns away from Tim, placing a hand in his face.  Tim smirks wickedly as he stares at his tag team partner.

Nobody:  I don't screw married men, even if he's got that sexy, crazy stare in his eyes.  Some things are sacred to me, believe it or not.  But I can appreciate you projecting your half cocked Christmas and Easter Catholic upbringing unto me with sexual shaming.  It's very classy and Republican of you.

Tim:  I have my moments... But, that's not my point.  My point is that my father taught me that I shouldn't hit women, but Jessie Salco is not a woman.  She's a scared little girl who tries to act tough.  She wants so badly to be a Mean Girl with the way she insults people.  Someone as fucked up looking as her has no right making fun of someone else's appearance.  At least I don't smell like I rolled over into dog shit two weeks ago like she does.

Nobody:  That's what that smell is!  I couldn't put my finger on it...

Tim:  There is nothing lady-like about Jessie Salco.  So, I don't know why I should feel bad if I were to say... accidentally clothesline her should Steve Ramone duck.  Or, should I collide with her extra hard if I were Irish Whipped toward the cage wall, and you accidentally push her in the way.  My father has plenty of other reasons not to want anything to do with me than "accidentally" hitting a supposed woman.

His stable mate smirks at such an assertion.  Tim proudly takes up the bottle of tequila and places it to his lips.  He takes a liberal chug before wiping at his lips.  His actions have become more animated than usual, as the sloppiness starts to settle in.  He leans into his tag team partner's shoulder as he starts to sink to the ground.  However, half way there, he lifts his heavy head and holds a finger up as if to convey he's not quite finished yet.

Tim:  Steve Ramone!  How can I forget about Steve Ramone?  I guess everyone does, so it shouldn't be THAT big of a surprise, righhhh?  I mean, he hasn't really done anything.  He won tag belts, but even J2H knew how to take a pony ride on a stronger person's back while convincing himself he was pulling his own weight.  It was even more obvious with Ramone and Acquin.  Unfortunately, Acquin didn't have the strength to carry himself, let alone Steve.  Their first real challenge, and they lost the belts.  After that, they lost to me and Kris Halich, who barely phoned in his performance that night.  Steve can blame it all on Acquin, but it takes two to tag.  When we beat them at High Stakes V, is he going to blame Jessie?  The KING of excuses will have run all out, and he'll have to admit that he got beat by a couple of Nobod...

Tim loses his train of thought as he fall into his tag team partner, and they both giggle loudly in a drunken stupor, Tim more than his partner.  She laughs with him as he rests his head on her chest comfortably.  He doesn't pass out, but instead finds a strange comfort in the bosom of his new friend.  She holds his head close as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!

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