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Supercard Roleplays / What is a Queen?

« Last post by Victoria Lyons on Today at 07:47:53 PM »

Her boots carried her down the hall of the Lyons Den with deliberate angry steps, the Bombshell Internet Championship still rested on her shoulder like it belonged there, because it did. It was that insolent cousin of hers that had soured her mood.

She looked back and she could still see him sitting on that bench he was texting somebody now, probably Cleo.

Zayvion Lyons.

There was a part of her mind that dared her to turn around and finish the argument, remind him that he has no right to speak to her like he did, but she just scoffed and continued on her way. Kids always thought they knew everything anyway.

Besides, she had more important things to worry about.

Alexandra Calaway.

That was the problem she needed to solve. A problem she had solved before, but also one that got more difficult every time. It was like when Darian completed one of his video games, and then tried it again on a higher difficulty. Every time she fought Alexandra the difficulty was raised.

Speaking of Darian..

“There you are babe.” she heard him say as she saw him approach. “I was looking all over for you.”

“Sorry.” she said, “Family business.”

Darian kept quiet, he knew how to read his fiancee well and she had that kind of tension on her shoulders where the smartest things to do were measure your words or keep your mouth shut.

“Zayvion…” she continued. “The kid’s getting arrogant. He doesn't understand what his last name means, and he thinks that everything that built this place was just handed to us.”

Darian nodded, letting her continue.

“As if I haven't had to work hard.” she said “He doesn't understand what I have to live up to. He's just one of my uncle's bastards. There's no expectations from any of them, but me? Eddie? Vincent? There's higher expectations of us, having grown up here means we're expected to meet those expectations. We are held to a higher standard than they are.”

She started walking towards the exit with Darian following.

“Zayvion needs to understand that the name is not a burden.“ she continued, “It's a responsibility and he's ignoring that responsibility.”

They had made their way to the parking lot heading towards the car.

“But I can't keep worrying about his insolence…” she said “I need to stay focused on Alexandra Calaway, because the second she finds me distracted she will capitalize and she will win my championship. “

She exhales softly as they stopped next to the car, Darian leaned against the hood as he continued to listen.

“She's not like the rest of them.” Victoria said “She never has been. There's just something about her…”

“Almost sounds like you like her in a way…” said Darian.

“I didn't say that.” Victoria retorted almost immediately

“Sorry…” said Darian

“It's fine.” Victoria continued “The thing about her is she's smart, and every time you beat her she learns. Now that she has victories over me, that's going to raise her confidence more and only make her tougher. This might be my toughest encounter with her yet.”

“I think the same could be said for her.” Darian noted. “You become a different animal when you're defending a championship and you need to rebound off a major loss. She needs to understand what she's really walking into.”

“And the truth is she probably does.” said Victoria. “We've faced each other enough to know exactly what each other do and are capable of. Sure each of us may have a few hidden tricks up our sleeve but for the most part we know each other very well.”

“You still hold the better record between you.” Darian reminded her “Don't forget that.”

“I haven't..” she said “But she had a lot to say 9about me calling myself a queen and our history and just how I choose to present myself.”

“You are a queen.” said Darian

“I know.” she said “And maybe I simply need to remind Alexandra Calaway exactly what that really means.”

“That sounds like my fiancee.” Darian grinned.

Victoria smiled back at him and got into the car.

“Let's go. We have a flight to catch ” she said “Also, I want to stop by Eddie's when we get to Vegas.”

“Let's roll.” said Darian.

Darian hopped in the driver's side and started the car up as they pulled out the parking lot. Victoria felt herself growing more ready and focused on her match with Alexandra. Whatever Zayvion's problem was was something she couldn't concern herself with now. She would still have to keep an eye on that kid though. Without Eddie around, and without Vincent around, she was the leader of the Lyon's Den, and she had to make sure all the cubs stayed in line.

__________

Victoria sat on the couch in Eddie's home with Darian lounging in a nearby chair. She had hoped to see the baby but Sabrina had taken the baby to an appointment and Eddie had stayed home to rest his injured ACL.

“So you ready for your big title defense?” Eddie asked from one of the chairs.

"I'm always ready." Victoria continued "This time though I really need to teach Alexandra Calaway a lesson.”

“Oh?” asked Eddie.

“She talked about how I believe my own hype too much.” she said “That I let the queen for a day crown get to my head."

“Well you kind of did..” Eddie reminded her.

“Did.” Victoria repeated “I haven't worn a crown since they took it from me, and maybe I like to still call myself a queen but it's more of a confidence thing. She acts like she's the only one that has people in her life keeping her grounded. Like you haven't been doing the same for me.”

“Well in her defense..” Eddie's said “You haven't shown them that side of you. The one you show when Jordan's around.”

“Well when I'm out there competing..” Victoria replied “I can't show them weakness. I need to be bold, confident and strong.”

Eddie nodded and looked at her before continuing.

“There's nothing wrong with being confident.” Eddie said “But there is a difference between confidence and arrogance, and sometimes you like to act like you're the only person in the room.”

“I don't do that.” Victoria said.

Both Eddie and Darian shot her the same look.

“Okay…maybe a little..” she admitted “But I'm just proud of my accomplishments. I'm proud of the things I won. I don't think it makes you an egomaniac because you're proud of your accomplishments. I'm not going to walk around and pretend that my accomplishments didn't happen.”

“Nobody's asking you.” Eddie said.

“That's how Calaway makes it sound though…” Victoria said “Like, just because someone acknowledges their success they're some unbearable maniac.”

“That's not what she said…” Eddie replied

“It's what she meant.” Victoria replied back.

“Is it?” asked Eddie

“Of course it is.” Victoria replied “But if my confidence bothers her, that's her problem because I worked too hard to get here to start second guessing myself. I'm just going to have to remind her why I'm so confident. Maybe it'll even get that cousin of ours to listen.”

“Zayvion?” asked Eddie “What did he do?”

“He didn't do anything…” Victoria said “And that's the problem. He won't listen to me and he continues to be defiant against the family name.”

“He's a good kid…” Eddie said “Just give him a break let him do his thing.”

“I just want him to have more respect and understand what his last name means now that he's a part of the Lyon's Den.” she said.

“He gives it his all every time…” said Eddie “He almost beat Alex Jones, he just might be bringing us another championship. I would say he's representing the Lyons Den well. Maybe you should look at the Zayvion part, and not the Lyons part of his name.”

“But his last name is important.” Victoria insisted.

“To us." Eddie replied “But you have to remember, Zayvion, Alexander and all the rest of them, they didn't come up in it like you, me and Vincent did. So they're going to see it differently. It's just the way it is.”

“They didn't grow up in the same way…” Victoria replied “But that doesn't change what the name represents.”

“It doesn't change what it represents to us.” Eddie reaffirmed. “The three of us grew up inside this place. We had all the expectations and constant reminders of who we were supposed to be. Our fathers constantly reminding us that we carry the name but the name doesn't carry us. We had all that drilled into us from the start, Zayvion and his Lyons siblings didn't.”

“But they still have the name.” Victoria said. “I just want them to represent it properly.”

“Vincent represented it properly?” said Eddie bluntly.

That actually got her quiet for a moment.

“Exactly.” said Eddie “Vincent grew up with the same expectations as we did, and he chose his own path just as Zayvion is. I know you care about the Den and it's legacy, so do I. It's what we know, but you can't force someone else to feel what you feel. I know what Cleo has been putting him through, he's working his ass off, and at the end of the day hard work is what the Lyon's Den has always been about.”

Victoria sighed, maybe Eddie was right. Zayvion was starting to make waves and he was doing it rather quickly as many Lyons Den talent did. Perhaps in due time he would come around.

For the conversation got any further they heard the door open and Sabrina's voice carried through the house.

“Eddie? We're home.”

Victoria's eyes brightened and in that moment she forgot about Zayvion, Alexandra, Vincent, even SCW, because there one thing she wanted at that moment.”

“Joooordaaaaaan.” she squealed. “Where's my little lioness?”

She nearly tripped has she jumped from the couch to meet Sabrina at the door.

__________

The cameras open on Victoria Lyons as she stands in front of a pegboard that has the word Queens spelled out on top of it with photos posted on it of Madonna, Beyonce, Aretha Franklin, Elizabeth Taylor and Selena Quintanilla. Right in the middle alongside them is a picture of Victoria herself.

“What is a queen?” Victoria begins, "Is it a crown and a throne? I used to think so and it seems my opponent still feels that that's all I think a queen is. But in my time as a queen I've learned so much more about what being a queen really is, it's more than just a crown and a throne.”

She looks at pictures of the women on the board behind her.

“These women on this board have all been referred to as queen in some form or another.” she said “Yet only one of them is ridiculed for it. Everybody looks at me like I'm not supposed to be proud to be a strong independent woman, a real queen.”

She pauses shortly.

“You know Alexandra..” she continued “Maybe for a time I let that all go to my head. I wore the crown, I sat on a throne. I truly acted like I was royalty but now when I call myself a queen it means something so much different. It's a representation of what I've done. It represents me being a strong woman which I suppose in that regard, that would make you a queen outside of the whole Queen for a Day since as well.”

She lets those words hang for a moment.

“Look at the women on this board behind me.” she said “These are women who built legacies and commanded rooms the moment they walked into them. They worked hard and fought and clawed their way to the top of their respective industries. Some of them are no longer with us and some of them are still out there being the queens that they are.”

She paused shortly.

“They weren't giving crowns.” she continued “They earned the right for people to call them queens, and none of them got there pretending they weren't great. None of them got there by shrinking themselves so other people would feel comfortable, and that's the part you seem to misunderstand about me Alexandra.”

She paused shortly again.

“What you see as arrogance.” she continued “I see as acknowledgment. You see a crown that went to my head and I see years of fighting to earn the right to stand here. You of all people should understand that, you fought just as hard and you've taken losses, come back stronger and proven people wrong. That's why at the end of the day, yes I do have respect for you but that doesn't mean I'm going to step aside and let you walk all over me. That doesn't mean I'm going to stop considering myself a queen so I can feel confident and proud of everything that I've done in my life.”

She shifted the championship on her shoulder.

“So yes I'm going to continue to call myself a Queen.” she said "Because that's exactly what I am. I am an inspiration so when young ladies look at me they say yaaaaas queen.”

She raises up her hand in the air and shakes it slightly.

“But what you really should be doing is thanking me.” said Victoria “Because I did something for you that you were unable to do yourself. I rid this company of my brother Vincent Lyons Jr.”

Her familiar smirk grows on her face.

“He became quite the thorn in your side didn't he? Made life living hell for you and the Kasey's?" she said “You kept coming out there and getting in between him and whatever Kasey's ass he was trying to kick that week. A valiant effort but it was never going to be enough. Someone more powerful needed to take action and that person was me. Now my brother sits in some white padded room in upstate North Carolina somewhere. He is no longer a problem for you thanks to me. You're welcome.”

She laughs to herself almost like she takes delight in the idea of her brother being committed.

“That's why you just fight battles.” she said “I'm out there ending wars. That's why I'm always one step ahead of you. You want to talk down to me because I haven't been the Bombshell World champion? Neither have you and you haven't even won the Bombshell Internet Championship that I carry on my shoulder. You won't be taking it from me on Sunday either.”

She looks down at her championship with pride in her eyes.

“The funny thing is..” she said “If you do somehow take this from me, that's not going to push me back it's going to push me up because you know damn well I'd be next in line for a bombshell World Championship opportunity. Even more beautiful is when I do become the Bombshell World champion one day, then I've done it all. Won every championship in this company, making my win a grand slam. But it's okay, you'll catch up to me someday. I believe in you.”

She smirks again.

“We have a lot of history.” said Victoria “And history has a funny way of repeating itself. Which means the most likely outcome is me still walking out the Bombshell Internet Champion and what will no doubt be one of my biggest wars to date. Just remember crown or no crown you're still facing a queen. I may not be the queen of pop, or soul, or the Silver Screen, or Tejano music. I may not be a multiplatinum selling artist that inspires young girls around the world. But I am the queen of Sin City Wrestling, and at Blaze of Glory, I'm going to remind you exactly what that means.”

She grows a confident and slightly arrogant smile on her face and the camera slowly fades to black.

Supercard Roleplays / Re: LJ KSEY v BRANDON HENDRIX - TEXAS STREETFIGHT

« Last post by brandonhendrix on Today at 07:15:47 PM »

[On Camera]

Angelo Caito: “Foolish intentions lead brave men to their demise. LJ Kasey, you are the bravest man I've met in a long time. You are, because you're letting this overtake you to your demise. The time for games is over, LJ. This is the moment that you've been chasing since it was revealed that Miles Kasey's dumbass half brother was revealed to the world and wanted to do everything it took to be anything close to the man he is. But that's where myself and Brandon do not respect you. That's why he attacked you. The real reason he attacked you, because he does not respect you. I tried protecting you by telling you it was all business and to not retaliate but you refuse to listen like your bone headed brother. This is the predicament you do not want to be in because a match where there are no rules, Brandon has faced and destroyed the best.

Texas Street Fight because SCW management refused to let this man have home country advantage, but they still gave him home field advantage. You see, the Hendrix Compound is located in the heart of San Antonio, Texas. Brandon Hendrix main evented in the AT&T Stadium to over one hundred thousand fans with the largest reaction to ever come from that stadium. Brandon Hendrix co main evented one company's biggest event of the year in a Death Match that stole the show. Have you ever been in a fifty seven minute war for a World Championship, have your heart stopped in the middle of the ring, have your heart restarted, and get up and win the Championship? Have you ever when your health was at its worst, go into the main event, wrestle another sixty minutes and lose because his heart stopped once again? To be left in a cryogenic chamber and only be revived from the coma he was placed in was from a lightning strike sent from the heavens above? No, but that's this man's story..”

[Off Camera- Flashback to the past]

[Two weeks in the hospital… two. The first week, Brandon had given up on life. He was tired of having tubes stuffed down his throat in order to breathe. At this point, he rather not be breathing at all. The second week, things got better. He was taken off the tubes, but was monitored heavily, to make sure he doesn't need any machines or surgery. When he was finally discharged, he needed to still be on watch so he was staying with his mother until further notice. The car ride was silent on the way to the house, and when they arrived at the house, Brandon sits on the couch, looking down at his hands. His mother sits beside him and places a hand on his shoulder.]

Mom: "It's never good to hold in your thoughts and feelings, my figlio. Let it out."

(Brandon looks up at her, tears rolling down his cheeks.)

Brandon: "It's not fair! I finally had everything going my way! I just got signed to my first massive contract, I am about to have my debut match, and this fucking happens!?!"

Mom: "Anthony! I know you're upset, but still watch your language-"

Brandon: "NO THIS IS BULLSHIT! I'M NOT A KID ANY MORE MOM! I'M A TWENTY THREE YEAR OLD WALKING DEADMAN! I'M GOING TO DIE AND YOU CARE ABOUT MY FUCKING LANGUAGE!?!?!?!?!"

Mom: "Of course I care! But you can't think like that!"

(She lifts Brandon's face up.)

Mom: "You give up, and you'll never forgive yourself, and you know that."

Brandon: ".....what should I do?"

Mom: "Do the unthinkable. Everybody wants to write you off, make them write you back into conversation. Don't quit on your dreams son, because if you fight for your dreams…. You'll be shocked how much they fight for you."

(Brandon looks at him mom and nods.)

Brandon: "Thanks mom…. I needed that."

Mom: "What a mother does. But promise me that no matter what happens, you do not quit."

Brandon: "Yes ma'am."

[Both embrace into a hug, and just like that, Brandon wasn't written off as retired before his career got started. No, he was going to make it despite the seventy five percent chance of dying now.]

[On Camera]

Brandon Hendrix: “Yeah, that's my life story, LJ. I'm the guy that gave his life to the ring and to the people. And in return, I become the villain in the story. I came from nothing, a poor little contadino in the worst part of Italy, where people died on the daily. You think I fear you or the possibility? I'm the man who went on a twelve day drinking bender and lost my best friend at the age of fifteen all because he wanted to get me a can of soup from the local market and got shot in a robbery. I fear the pain that you can cause for what I caused you? I don't fear death because I nearly brought it to myself ten years ago. Yeah, I popped ten pills and put the knife to my wrist, praying that God can forgive me for what I was about to do, hoping I get into heaven so I can be with my brother again. But I got stopped and thankfully I did because I wouldn't have my little girl right now. On my calf is a tattoo that says Reasons To Live Gives Reasons To Die. She is my reason to live and die. That means I'm surviving the war we will have in Texas, LJ. That means I'm winning the war. What are your reasons, LJ? Is it your girl? Your special girl there, what was her name again?

Ah yes.

Alexandra.

I see she lives in fairytale land. Like all the stories of David vs Goliath where David defeats the big monster….. but this isn't fairytales….

And you still think LJ has a chance?

Against the true Goliath?

[Brandon chuckles some before continuing to speak.]

Brandon Hendrix: “I can appreciate the fact that you say out loud that you believe in your man, but I think deep down inside your heart of hearts, you know that your soon to be husband is not going to be making your wedding alive. You see, it's hard for me to be motivated in the world of professional wrestling when I cannot do more. Rules bounding me to being less when I want to bring misery to those who step into my way makes me want to not even show up. But, this match…. Oh you got my full attention now. When there are no rules, nothing stopping me from ending your life, I hit GOD mode and I am on another level that only one person beside me has touched, and that person is my brother in arms, Michael Bishop.

I'm on a different playing field when I get this motivated. I'm going to destroy you. No no….. I'm going to fucking bury you in the desert of Texas. Let the rattlesnakes and black widows bite at your deceased corpse, let the maggots and worms feast on your flesh and retrieve your skeleton and donate it to a school for science tests. You're stepping to me like you're trying to be somebody. You're talking big like you can be somebody. When I leave you for dead in Texas, I'ma make you a nobody.

But you can't let that happen, right?

Not LJ Kasey.

Because you're built different, SÌ?

No, you're built like a twink that wants to play heavyweight against the best heavyweight in the world today. And it's only a matter of days when I swat you down like the fruit fly you are.”

[Off Camera: Another Blast From The Past]

Brandon's Thoughts And Dreams:

[This should be the biggest win my career. I can say I was Elena DeDraca's, a TWO TIME World Champion and one of the best in the company all time, fifth loss in Project Honor, fourth in a one versus one environment! This should be an absolutely HUGE deal for me…. But why does it feel…. Wrong? Why does it feel like I didn't win at all, but merely got through because of an injury? I make my way from the stage, passing the ramp, getting applause all around from different higher ups, referees, backstage workers, wrestlers, and so on and so on. But… I can't hear any of it. I can see the clapping of hands in my peripheral vision, but nothing is audible to me. Why am I being this way?! I just beat Elena Fucking DeDraca! I should be happy! Jumping around like a little kid! But I'm walking to the locker room like I'm the loser of this match. I open the locker room door before grabbing the end piece of my wrist tape and peels it back, removing the tape around my sweaty wrists before tossing them into a nearby trash can. I sat down on the folding chair that I had set in front of my locker from earlier in the night when I was preparing for my match up. I started unlacing my boots, but that was as far as I go. I sat back in the chair, looking down at my hands as everything comes back at once: my father's suicide, my attempt at suicide, and the meeting with Brian and his mother. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I just need some shut eye… for one minute. My eyes closed, but everything felt different after a few moments. I felt…. Comfortable… I hear the birds chirping…. Feel the sun rays shining on me.]

"Anthony! Get up! Time to go to school!". [My eyes open, and I sit up looking around my bedroom. I spin my body around and set my feet on the ground as I exit my room, and my nostril is hit with the amazing smell of food from the kitchen down the hall. I hungrily sit down at the kitchen table as a plate is placed in front of me by my mother. I look down at my plate and see eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast with a glass of Orange Juice on the side. Excitedly, I began to dig into my food, enjoying the meal my mother made me.] "I can't believe my big boy is almost done with the sixth grade! Don't forget when you get home to do your homework so that way I can bring you to your aunt's house."

"Yes mom I will.". [I happily said as I finished my meal. I quickly put my plate in the sink and ran to my room to grab my backpack. After making sure all my homework is inside my folders and all my pencils and pens are in my front pouch, I'm good to go. I leave my room and hug my mother goodbye, and I can feel the kiss she placed on my forehead. I leave the house, close the door behind me, backpack straps over each shoulder, and thus I begin my five minute walk up a short hill to the end of the street, where the school bus picks me up to bring me to school and drop me back off to walk home. Other students started appearing at the end of the street, including her, someone who I had grown feelings for…. Lots of feelings. She was a month younger than me, brunette hair, eyes that sparkled like the stars at night, and her smile that warms my heart.] "Oh… hey Brianna.". [She looks over at me, her smiling shining bright.]

"Oh hey Anthony. How's your mom?"

"She's good. She is still working those two jobs. Hoping one day I can make the money so she never has to work again."

"That's sweet of you. She's lucky to have a son like you.". [I peek over her shoulder, and see…. Him. The biggest pain in the ass I have ever dealt with in my life. He was part of the football team, an absolute jockhead if there ever was one. His name is Devin. Dude always picks on me for no reason, and when I try to stand up, he gets his friends to back him up. What makes it worse, is he always tries to put the moves on Brianna. While she doesn't appeal to them, I always worry she would fall for him. I turn my head as I look at the ground while he walks up to Brianna and places an arm around her.]

"Hello beautiful. When will you finally agree to go out with me?"

"With your attitude? Never.". >She says brushing his arm off her. Obviously annoyed, he remains calm in tone.]

"I'm giving you the opportunity to be with the Q fucking B of the school team! You're not thinking correctly."

"Um… No, I'm thinking very correctly. I'm fine without experiencing that."

"No no. No you're not Bri-"

"How about leave her alone Devin?". [He stops talking and slowly turns his head to face me.]

"Are you talking to me nerd?". [He says as he slowly starts walking over to me. Nervous, I swallow my pride and stare at him.]

"Yeah… I am. Leave her alone you oversized pig.". [I say this as he gets in my face.]

"What are you going to do about it?". [He went to push me, but I moved faster and pushed him, watching him fall backwards to the ground. She's shocked. He's shocked. And I was definitely shocked. The bus pulls up, the swinging door opens as Brianna pulls my arm and we get onto the bus together. Pissed off, Devin gets off the road and onto the bus. For safety reasons, Brianna pushes me into a seat and sits beside me, keeping her between me and the walkway. Devin walked by, eyeing me as I stared at him back. He drags his thumb across his throat and mouths "you're a deadman" before heading to the back of the bus and sitting with the other popular kids on the bus. I watch him as he walks past us before I turn my attention back to Brianna.]

"I'm a deadman, aren't I?"

"No no. He won't do anything. All talk and no action.". [I nod slowly as the bus drives off.]

**Later That Day**

[I'm at my locker, getting ready to head to PE class as I place my books and folders into my locker. When I turn around, there stands Devin and his three tools of friends: Jacob, Tracey, and Kevin. I look at all four of them, and see what seems to be socks in their grasps, and when Devin wacks the locker with the sock, and the metallic sound rings off the locker, and I know not only were the socks loaded, but I'm a deadman walking. I push Devin back and sprints off down the hallway, and the four chase me down. Unfortunately, I'm not fast enough to make it up the stairs in time, so Jacob grabs me by the leg and starts dragging me down the stairs. Tracey joins in and grabs my other leg and both drag me behind the stairway… and this was one of the moments I wished I had died rather than to have suffered the pain I did. Wack after walk with the socks filled, whatever it was, well, until one of the socks broke and it was revealed to be a bunch of quarters and coins in each sock that connected with my head and torso. When that sock broke, the person resorted to kicking me, stomping on my arms and neck. Each blow I take, the closer I am to blacking out. By the time they finished with the beating, I couldn't move… I was bleeding badly…. I thought my life was over. Nobody could find me if they weren't trying to look, and nobody was. I was alone… But, I had images of me and my mom, walking around the park together, laughing and smiling running through my head. I had images of Brianna… and her beautiful smile that always made my day… and I knew I couldn't quit. With so much pain in my body, I rolled myself over onto my stomach, and slowly started crawling from behind the stairway to where I could be in view of people walking the hallways. It doesn't help as soon as I'd wish however. And each crawl I do, the closer I am to blacking out again. I tried my hardest to stay awake, but by the time I was getting past the stairway, I couldn't handle the pain and blacked out again. Fortunately for me, getting my head past the stairwell was enough for me to be noticed by a member of staff, who immediately called for the nurses and the principal. The rest after that, I'm unaware of. Next thing I knew, I was waking up inside of a hospital room at the local hospital ten miles from the school. I open my eyes, the pain surprisingly gone away as I look over and see my mom sitting in the chair right beside the bed. I can see the marks down her cheeks, like she's been crying this entire time. Her eyes are red, her hair is a mess.]

"..m…mom…?". [I can barely say, but loud enough for her to hear me. She quickly looks up and nearly starts crying again.]

"Oh my God Anthony?! Oh my God". [She says in a shaking voice. I've never seen her this sad… even when dad left. It hurt me seeing her like that, as she was normally the person who was bringing smiles to faces no matter what, so seeing this hurt me more than I thought. Suddenly, I hear a knock on the door and my attention goes to the door, and I see the reason I got my ass kicked standing in the doorway to my hospital room.]

"B..Brianna?". [I exclaim out as she walks into the room, her jacket placed under her arm as she approaches the bed.]

"I'd thought you'd like to know they found out it was Devin and his friends and they were arrested on counts of assault. And I'm sorry I'm the cause of this Anthony."

"No… No, no need to apologize. He was treating you wrong. Someone had to stand up to him."

"Thank you for doing so.". [She then walks over and gives me a kiss on the cheek]. "I'll see you soon.". [She says before leaving the room. I place my hand on my cheek before looking at my mom, a little flustered from the kiss from my crush.]

"Someone's in love". [She says in a mocking tone. I try to hide my face from her.]

"Shut up.". [Suddenly, I feel something shaking me. And when I uncover my eyes, they're opening up as I look and see a member of Project Honor shaking me.]

"God bless. I've been trying to wake you up for thirty minutes."

"Sorry sorry. I've been… very tired lately."

"We're closing up, need you to go."

"Yeah yeah of course. My apologies.". [I stand up and grab a t-shirt from my open duffle bag, tossing it on before grabbing my bag and leaving the locker room. I make my way down the hallway before getting to the garage where my rental car I have got from the airport is. I open the trunk to the car and put my bag in the back before closing the trunk and getting into the driver seat. I take my phone out from the center console and pull up the Project Honor YouTube where they made an announcement about next week's card.[

"On Proving Ground next week it will be the man who's absolutely on fire in Brandon Hendrix going against Johnny Levy, and get this? It's inside a steel cage. If Brandon doesn't win this match, should Project Honor really make a stand with him as their future?"

[He dropped the phone on the passenger seat, and he turned the car on. He gripped the steering wheel, my eyes focused as he was more focused than he has ever been in my entire life.]

[On Camera]

Brandon Hendrix: “LJ, let me tell you something about myself. I go somewhere, talk stupid shit about how I'm going to be the man of the place, and disappoint early on. I.. I'm so sick and fucking tired of it dawg."

(Brandon chuckles as he rubs his eyes with his right hand before letting out a defeated sigh.)

"Why continue to hype myself up only to be a loser? Why hype myself to the point I'm sending myself bat shit fucking crazy that people are saying that I should lose my daughter before anything happens to her? Fucking hell am I that crazy to you all? Huh? I'm I'm THAT FUCKING INSANE TO ALL OF YOU HUH?!? And to top it off…. It's the people I trust the most saying this. Let me tell you guys a story. And trigger warning, it's not for the faint of heart. It was um.. five years ago that I was told that my… My mother passed away. She was my number one fan in the entire world, especially when nobody knew who I was. She was my motivation to stick to wrestling and do my best to become the best damn professional wrestler in the world. She almost got into a fight during a show IN JAPAN might I add. She flew to Japan to watch me wrestle. Anyway she almost got into a fight with someone in the crowd because they said I sucked…"

(Brandon chuckles a bit before wiping his face of the tears that start falling down his cheek.)

"And when I got the phone call from my father that she died… a part of me died too. That sent… my head into another universe. I have nightmares of that phone call to this day… the sound of his voice haunts me.. and I pictured in my head that… I had people around me for that shoulder to cry on… when in reality… I was all alone…..

Time started to move on, and I was slowly recovering mentally from her passing. So I was at a hotel after a show I was on, and I get a knock on my door. Of course, I open the door and there are two cops there, with looks of sorrow on their faces. That's when I find out that my da…"

(Brandon can't help himself. He puts his head down on his knees, and you can hear the muffled sounds of his cries. He cries into his knees for what feels like a century before lifting his head up, his eyes splashed with red and his cheeks stained from the years he shed.)

"I found out my dad killed himself… and there I was.. a twenty four year old orphan pretty much. That's… that's when I became.. crazy. I can still feel… the metal from the blade running across my wrists… as I sat there, wanting it to be my end… only to become the biggest coward in the world. When I couldn't make one fucking slice…. I went for my nine, and I put the barrel to my head. The echoes of me pulling the hammer of the gun runs through my head on a constant and it scares me sometimes. The sound it made puts fear in my heart. I wanted to pull that trigger… I wanted to END IT ALL!!

….. but I couldn't. I dropped that gun and cried. I went to the morgue he was brought to, and I felt… anger. I wanted everyone else to suffer like I did…. I still do. I mean… this is bullshit man. My friends get to have happier lives. Married, happy families…. Like any of the care that I have nothing….

Or I thought I didn't. Soon later, I get a call from an ex of mine, saying meet at a Cafe. So I did, but she did not show. Suddenly, this small child walks up to me with a note. The bitch couldn't even tell me that I was a dad to this amazing little girl."

(Brandon reaches up to his shirt and lifts up his necklace. It's one of those ones that have a picture on it and it's a picture of his daughter, Raelynn. He looks down at the picture, and for the first time, a slight smile appears on his face.)

"This….. is my motivation. But there's comes a point when everything becomes too much. I loved these fans. I fought through injuries for them. I did everything in that ring for them. But to chant "DIE Brandon DIE", "Go Away"... to verbally attack me in public when I have my daughter with me… to tell a five year old that her dad is a fucking loser… that's when you all turned me to the man I am today. I had to change from that kid to The Don. Now, I've become one of the most respected wrestlers in the world today. Like I said… I'm going to die sooner than anyone else here will. My heart…. Is not okay. Given a maximum of… hell a year at point…. I've made it my vow in this ring to kill each and every single person that gets put in front of me. You want to stand in my way, you have to pay the price of the judge, pray to the jury, and fear the executioner.

I'm the brute I am because of my life, kid. Nothing good ever came from it, so why continue acting it? You're the same way I was. Now you have learned. And at Blaze Of Glory… in the streets of Texas…. It's your final lesson…. And like my parents…. Your final breath. Tell them I say hi and that I love them. And when you're buried….

I'll remind Alexandra the same for you.”

Supercard Roleplays / Re: HEAVY METAL MANIA v WILDSIDE

« Last post by Metal Maniacs on Today at 06:32:37 PM »

The chain-link fence had long since given up pretending it could keep anyone out. Beyond it, the abandoned carnival lot sprawled out beneath the Texas night. Wind dragged scraps of paper and faded ticket stubs in lazy circles. The painted faces on the ruined booths had peeled and cracked until their smiles looked rotten.

Twisted Sister ducked through the opening first, arms spread wide as she rushed forward in manic, childlike glee.

Twisted Sister: Look at this place! Look at it! Nobody loves her anymore! They just left her out here to rot! Poor thing!

Iron Maiden came through the opening a few seconds later, not in any hurry. She straightened slowly once she was inside the grounds. She did not say anything at first. She only looked.

She looked at the old game booths with their warped counters and their rows of sun-bleached prizes still dangling from hooks. She looked at the skeleton frame of the carousel building. She looked at the ticket booth with shattered glass.

Twisted Sister was already several strides ahead, boots crunching broken glass.

Twisted Sister: Nobody should leave anything this pretty alone.

Iron Maiden reached out as she passed the nearest booth and dragged two fingers through the dust that coated the counter. She studied the gray line it left across her glove.

Iron Maiden: No.

That was all. One word, low and flat, and Twisted Sister grinned as if she had just heard a sermon.

Twisted Sister: Exactly!

She bounded forward toward a ring toss stand whose painted sign still clung to the front by two rusted bolts. "WIN A PRIZE", it promised in half-peeled letters. The rows of bottles were still there, cloudy with grime. A bucket of cracked plastic rings sat under the counter on its side, a few of them scattered.

Twisted dropped to a crouch and scooped one up.

Twisted Sister: We have contestants! We have prizes. We have a game. This is a very serious night!

She stood, threw the ring with wild overhand enthusiasm, and missed by an embarrassing margin. It struck the wood paneling beside the bottles and bounced away into the dark.

Twisted Sister: Robbed!

Iron Maiden had moved behind the booth without a word. She stood where the attendant would have once stood, staring out over the counter with the stillness of a wax figure. Behind her hung a motley little audience of forgotten stuffed animals, all faded fur and dead button eyes. A pink rabbit with one ear missing. A bear whose muzzle had gone gray with dust. A duck with a split seam under one wing.

Twisted Sister hurled another ring and this time it landed clean around a bottle neck.

She threw both arms up in triumph.

Twisted Sister: Yes! You saw that? Tell them you saw that!

Iron Maiden began removing the prizes from their hooks. Not quickly. Not randomly. One by one, she took them down, dust puffing softly around her hands. She arranged them across the back wall of the booth, propping some on the shelf, hanging others from ribbons or torn strings so that all of them faced outward. Their heads tilted toward the front. Their little stitched smiles and empty eyes seemed fixed on Twisted in mute adoration.

Twisted Sister, mid-victory lap, finally noticed and her face lit up.

Twisted Sister: Oh, that is perfect!

She climbed onto the booth counter and squatted there like some giddy gargoyle, looking over the assembled plush congregation.

Twisted Sister: Look! They love me!

Iron Maiden tilted her head.

Iron Maiden: They are watching.

Twisted’s grin widened slowly, stretched thin and delighted.

Twisted Sister: Good. Then let them watch.

Iron Maiden continued her rearranging. She set the rabbit atop a dusty cardboard display box like a queen on a throne. She hung the bear just off center. She smoothed one finger down the duck’s cracked beak. Every motion had the care of ritual.

Twisted Sister: We should take them with us.

Iron Maiden: Some.

Twisted Sister: Some?

Twisted hopped down from the counter and wandered behind the booth to inspect the collection at eye level.

Twisted Sister: Oh no. No, no, no. You cannot split up the congregation. They are a family now.

She picked up the rabbit, held it up by its one remaining ear, and looked into its face.

Twisted Sister: You hear that? You are a family now. Congratulations!

Iron Maiden watched her for a long moment, then took the rabbit gently from her and placed it back exactly where it had been.

Iron Maiden: Some stay.

They moved on, deeper into the lot. They wandered next to a prize booth larger than the others, one with faded signs promising giant bears and grand rewards. Most of the shelves had collapsed, but one oversized stuffed bear still sat slumped against the back wall, its fur gray with dust, one eye clouded and the other missing entirely.

Twisted saw it and gasped like a woman beholding true love.

Twisted Sister: Mine!

She climbed over the counter with no grace whatsoever, tripped on a broken shelf, recovered without dignity, and threw herself at the enormous bear. Dust exploded into the air. Coughing and laughing, she hauled it upright.

Twisted Sister: He is magnificent!

The bear was nearly as big as her torso, one arm half detached, red ribbon still clinging around its neck. Twisted Sister hauled it over her shoulder and staggered back toward the counter.

Twisted Sister: I have conquered the carnival!

Iron Maiden stood outside, watching. She stepped over a fallen sign and disappeared briefly into the booth’s shadows. When she emerged, she had something much smaller in her hand. A cracked clown doll with a porcelain face split clean across one cheek. Its painted grin was chipped. Its tiny costume had once been blue, now faded nearly white.

Iron Maiden held it out to her partner.

Iron Maiden: Second prize.

Twisted Sister's face lit up with such pure delight it almost made her look human. She tucked the giant bear under one arm and took the clown doll in the other, cradling both with absurd tenderness.

Twisted Sister: You hear that, big man? This is your little sister now!

She held the clown doll up to the bear’s face.

Twisted Sister: Be nice to him. He has seen things!

Twisted Sister hugged the giant bear to her chest and tipped her head back, laughing like a little girl who was just given a weekend at Disneyland. She hugged the giant teddy bear tightly as Iron Maiden absently reached over to adjust the bow on the doll's head as the night closed around them.

The dead carnival had gone quiet again.

Twisted Sister sat perched on the counter of an old prize booth with one boot planted on the wood and the other swinging lazily. Her grin was wide, wild, and full of bad intentions.

Iron Maiden stood beside the booth in the gloom, nearly motionless, one hand trailing along the edge of the counter. Her face pale and unreadable. The only thing alive in her expression was her stare.

Twisted Sister: You know what I like about places like this? Everybody leaves eventually. They leave when it gets ugly. They leave when the lights stop shining pretty. They leave when the paint starts peeling and the smiles start looking wrong.

She lifted the doll, making it bounce once in her hand.

Twisted Sister: But not us. Oh no. We do not run from ugly. We do not run from broken. We do not run from the part that makes normal people nervous. We make homes out of places everybody else is too scared to touch.

Her smile sharpened.

Twisted Sister: Seleana. Zenna. The Zdunich sisters. You two step into Blaze of Glory XV thinking this is just another match. Another night. Another pair of opponents to line up across from and test yourselves against.

She shook her head.

Twisted Sister: But that is the problem, my living dollies. You are walking in like wrestlers. We are walking in like nightmares.

Iron Maiden tilted her head, eyes fixed ahead.

Iron Maiden: They scare easy. Break even easier.

Twisted Sister’s grin widened.

Twisted Sister: See? She gets it.

She slid off the counter and stalked forward a step, dragging the stuffed bear by one arm behind her.

Twisted Sister: We are not coming to Blaze of Glory to prove we belong. We are coming to make a mess. We are coming to drag all that elegance and poise and family pride right down into the dirt and stomp around in it until there is nothing left that looks respectable.

She jabbed a finger into the dark, as if the Zdunich sisters were standing just beyond the fence.

Twisted Sister: You can be polished. You can be proud. You can be composed. That is adorable. But when that bell rings, you are trapped in there with two women who do not need control to survive. We do our best work when things stop making sense.

Iron Maiden stepped forward just enough for the low light to catch her face.

Iron Maiden: We break rhythm.

Twisted Sister laughed, almost gleeful.

Twisted Sister: Blaze of Glory XV is supposed to be grand, right? Spectacle. Spotlight. Big stage. Big moment. But all grand things rot. All pretty things crack.

She tossed the doll onto the booth counter behind her.

Twisted Sister: Seleana. Zenna. Bring all the grace you want. Bring all the teamwork you want. Bring all the confidence in the world. It is still not going to save you when the match stops being a match and starts becoming our kind of fun.

Iron Maiden’s lips curled, almost a smile.

Iron Maiden: We do not play fair.

Twisted Sister spread her arms to the ruined carnival around them.

Twisted Sister: Look around. This is what happens when the show goes on too long. This is what happens when people stop pretending everything is fine. This is what happens when the masks crack.

Her eyes glittered.

Twisted Sister: At Blaze of Glory, we are going to crack yours.

She bent, picked the stuffed bear back up, and slung it over her shoulder like a trophy. Iron Maiden took one slow step closer and delivered the final words like a verdict.

Iron Maiden: This ride ends badly.

Supercard Roleplays / Re: LOGAN HUNTER (c) v RYAN KEYS - ROULETTE TITLE

« Last post by RyanKeys on Today at 06:26:20 PM »

Built for the Spin

Ryan keeps the cart rolling smooth down the main aisle, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like a low-key arena hum. He veers left into the sports section without breaking stride, eyes scanning the shelves like he's already visualizing how everything could play out. The store's mostly quiet this time of day—couple shoppers milling around, faint beeps from the registers up front—but Ryan's got that focused energy now, the kind that's building without spiking, just layering on like steam in a shower.

He grabs a roll of athletic tape from a hook, unrolls a strip, and wraps it loosely around his wrist, testing the give. "This stuff's gold," he says, voice warm and easy, glancing over at Jessy. "Keeps the joints steady if it gets technical, or... you know, handy for other things if the wheel spins wild." He laughs mid-thought, shaking his head. "Not that I'm planning on taping anybody's mouth shut or anything. But options, man. Options are what keep you ahead without trying too hard."

Jessy trails a step behind, arms loose at his sides, ball cap still low. He picks up a pack of resistance bands from the endcap, stretches one between his hands until it snaps taut. "Ya thinkin' it's gonna be one of them hardcore spins? Ladders 'n' chairs kinda deal?"

Ryan shrugs lightly, dropping the tape into the cart and steering them toward the hardware aisle next—tools and gadgets lining the walls like potential spot setups. "Could be. Could be straight-up chain wrestling. Could be something goofy like a blindfold or a pillow fight for all I know." He grabs a small flashlight, clicks it on and off, the beam cutting through the dimmer corner of the store. "This? Good for checking shadows if it goes dark... or signaling if things get weird. But honestly? I like the surprise. Keeps me loose. Keeps Logan guessing too, because if he's prepping for his usual rhythm, a spin like that throws everything off balance just enough."

He circles back to his point without pausing, gesturing loose with one hand. "That's the beauty of roulette—you can't lock in. You gotta feel it out, adjust on the fly. And me? When I'm feeling like this, that's exactly where I shine. No overthinking, just moving with whatever the wheel lands on."

Jessy snorts softly, tossing the bands into the cart. "Ya sound like ya already won." He spots a display of knee pads and elbow guards, picks up a pair, flexes them. "These'd hold up if it turns physical. Keep ya from bruisin' too bad."

"Exactly," Ryan says, grinning wider, adding a couple pairs to the growing pile—tape, bands, flashlight, now pads. He nudges the cart forward again, wheels gliding easy. "Not about winning before it starts. About walking in comfortable, ready to build off whatever hits. If it's standard, great—I'll flow with his structure until I find the crack. If it's special rules? Even better. Turns the whole thing alive, you know? Like the crowd's in on the spin too."

They hit the supplement aisle next, Ryan scanning bottles of electrolytes and recovery shakes. He grabs a few, reads the labels absently. "Stuff like this keeps the tank full if it drags out. No crashing mid-match because the wheel decided on no-DQ marathon." He laughs again, bright and unbothered. "And if Brooke or Marissa try pulling focus from ringside? I'm not chasing that noise. I'm staying on Logan, letting their half-beats work against them."

Jessy raises a brow, deadpan as ever. "Ya trustin' that call wasn't settin' ya up?"

Ryan doesn't slow, just flashes that reflex grin over his shoulder. "Enough to lean into it. Enough to know I've got my own orbit too." He bumps Jessy's shoulder lightly again, the cart rolling toward the checkout now. "Not blindly. Just... aligned. And that feels real good right now." He keeps the details of the call close, that mystery hum still there under his words—no names, no specifics, just the quiet certainty that whatever was said on the other end shifted things in his favor without needing to spell it out.

He pauses at the end of the aisle, eyes flicking to a random display of multi-tools—compact, versatile, the kind with pliers and blades folded in. He picks one up, flips it open and closed. "This? Could come in handy if the wheel spins something chained or locked. Or just for cutting tape clean." He tosses it in, then looks back at Jessy. "What do you think—grab anything else, or call this stack good?"

Jessy studies the cart, then nods slow. "Looks like ya covered the bases without overdoin' it."

Ryan laughs under his breath, nudging the cart forward one last time. "That's the point. Let's check out and keep building."

Ryan slows the cart near the end of the sports aisle, eyes landing on a display of protective gear tucked in the corner—shin guards, mouthpieces, and yeah, those cups. He pauses, one hand on the handle, the other reaching out to snag one off the shelf. It's basic, black, no-frills, the kind that's more function than flash. He flips it over, reads the label absently, then laughs under his breath, shaking his head like he's remembering a string of bad luck.

"Man... can't forget this," he says, voice warm but with that edge of self-deprecating humor, tossing it into the cart with a light clatter. "You know how it is—low blows keep finding me like they've got my address. More than I'd like to admit." He rolls his shoulders once, testing the imaginary impact, his grin spreading easy and unbothered. "Last few matches? It's like the universe decided my family's future needs extra testing. If the wheel spins no-DQ or anything south of standard, I'm not walking out funny for a week."

Jessy glances at the cup in the cart, then back at Ryan, deadpan as ever but with a faint smirk tugging at the corner. "Ya mean like that time in Tulsa? Ref didn't see shit, but ya sang soprano the whole drive home."

"Exactly," Ryan admits, laughing brighter now, nudging the cart forward toward the hydration stuff. "And the one before that? Swear it's becoming a pattern. Logan's crew might not play that dirty, but with Brooke and Marissa ringside? Who knows what distraction leads to a 'accidental' knee." He grabs a bottle of electrolyte mix, shakes it once, and drops it in. "Better to gear up and laugh about it later than limp through the afterparty. Keeps me comfortable, keeps the flow going—no bracing, just adjusting."

He circles the idea without lingering, steering them past a row of energy gels. "That's the thing with roulette—you prep for the curveballs, but you don't obsess. This cup? It's insurance with a side of comedy. If it saves me once, worth every penny." He flashes Jessy that reflex grin again, eyes sparkling. "Plus, imagine the story if I actually need it. 'Ryan wins the title, credits his junk armor.' Crowd would eat it up."

Jessy snorts softly, grabbing a pack of compression shorts from a nearby rack and tossing them in too. "Ya plannin' on modelin' it or what?"

Ryan laughs mid-push, the cart picking up speed as they turn into another aisle lined with more protective odds and ends—eye shields, mouthguards, even some lightweight gloves. "Nah, man. But while we're here, might as well think about the other cheap shots that sneak in. Low blows are bad enough, but you know how it goes—eye rakes come out of nowhere when somebody's losing control. Ref turns his back for a second, and bam, fingers scraping like they're digging for treasure." He grabs a pair of clear safety goggles from the shelf, the kind meant for workouts or DIY projects, holds them up to his face like a mask. "These? Could slide 'em on if the wheel spins something extreme, or just keep 'em handy to counter that sting. No blurry vision mid-match because somebody got salty and went for the rake."

He tosses them in, then spots a mouthguard display, picks up a basic one and flexes it between his fingers. "And don't get me started on the real dirty ones—like shoving your ring gear down your throat or yanking it up for a wedgie that'd make a schoolyard bully proud. Happens more in those no-rules spins than people admit, especially if the crowd's egging it on." He laughs again, shaking his head at the absurdity, dropping the mouthguard in too. "This keeps the jaw locked if somebody tries choking you out with your own trunks or whatever nonsense pops up. Keeps me grinning through the chaos instead of spitting teeth."

Jessy eyes the growing pile, deadpan but amused. "Ya preppin' for a street fight or a wrestlin' match?"

Ryan shrugs lightly, circling the cart around to grab some anti-chafing balm from a nearby endcap—practical for long hauls or gear mishaps. "Both, maybe. Roulette's the wildcard—could be clean and technical, could turn into a barnyard brawl with every cheap shot in the book. Eye rakes, gear pulls, throat shoves... Logan's structured, but with his orbit around? Distractions open doors for that stuff. I'm not obsessing, just stacking comfort so I can flow right through it." He smears a bit of the balm on his arm, testing the feel, then adds the tube to the cart. "Keeps the skin from burning if somebody yanks or shoves—small thing, but it means I stay loose, no distractions pulling me off my game."

He nudges the cart forward one more time, the wheels whispering over the tile. "All this? It's not paranoia. It's just building options. Feeling good means prepping smart, laughing at the possibilities, and walking in ready to make whatever spin interesting." He glances back at Jessy, grin lit from the inside. "Grab those gels and let's roll—Blaze ain't waiting."

They weave through a couple more aisles, Ryan's eyes catching on a display of lightweight gloves—thin, flexible, the kind that protect without bulking up. He picks up a pair, slips one on, flexes his fingers. "These could cut down on those sneaky thumb-to-the-eye jabs or fishhooks if it gets grimy. You know, the ones where somebody's pretending to lock up but really just clawing for an edge." He laughs under his breath, adding them to the stack. "Not that I'm expecting Logan to go full heel like that—he's too deliberate for cheap stuff usually. But roulette changes the game. Spins extreme rules, and suddenly everybody's improvising, reaching for whatever's handy. Better to have the hands covered so I can grab back without shredding my palms."

Jessy nods slowly, grabbing a bottle of hand sanitizer from a nearby shelf and tossing it in. "For after, if it gets that messy. Ya don't wanna shake hands with the boys backstage carryin' who-knows-what."

"Good call," Ryan says, his voice flowing easy as they turn toward the pharmacy section, shelves lined with ointments and wraps. He grabs a tube of arnica gel, the kind for bruises, and reads the back. "This for the aftermath—if a rake leaves a mark or a gear shove turns into a scrape. Heals quick, keeps the swelling down so I'm not stiff tomorrow." He drops it in, then spots some saline eye drops, adds those too. "And these? Flush out the burn if an eye rake lands anyway. No rubbing, no panic—just rinse and reset. Keeps the vision clear, keeps me reacting instead of reeling."

He circles the thought, gesturing loose. "See, it's all about that comfort layer. Low blows, eye rakes, gear yanks, throat shoves—they're the little disruptions that throw off your rhythm if you're not ready. But me? I'm building in the buffers so I can laugh it off, adjust, and turn it back on 'em. Logan's got his structure, his certainty. I've got freedom—the kind that doesn't crack under the cheap stuff." He pauses by a rack of neck braces, chuckles, but passes them by. "Nah, not going that far. Don't wanna jinx it into a full-on hardcore mess. But if the wheel spins that way? I'm good. Real good."

Jessy studies him more carefully now, the cart nearly full—tape, bands, flashlight, pads, cup, shorts, goggles, mouthguard, balm, gloves, gel, drops, sanitizer. "That call musta been somethin', gettin' ya this dialed in without spillin' details."

Ryan flashes the grin, keeping the mystery wrapped tight—no hints about the new manager on the line, just that quiet spark from the conversation lingering in his energy. "It was enough to remind me I've got more room to move. Enough to build off without overexplaining." He laughs lightly, steering toward the self-checkout. "Timing's everything, man. Not today on the full story. But trust—it's aligning just right."

He scans the first item, the beep echoing soft. "Let's bag this up and head out. Blaze is calling, and I'm feeling ready to answer whatever it throws."

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The phone clicks off in Ryan's hand as he leans back against the headrest of the parked truck, late afternoon light slanting through the windshield and catching on the thin chain at his collarbone. Black joggers, fitted charcoal tee, hoodie unzipped like he's ready to move at a moment's notice. The cab smells faintly of fresh gear from the shopping bags piled in the back—tape, pads, that protective cup he grabbed with a laugh. He sets the phone on the dash, takes a slow breath, then reaches for the camera propped there, tapping record with a faint grin already forming, the kind that says he's holding something good behind his teeth but enjoying the timing.

He looks straight into the lens, voice warm and unhurried, flowing like he's thinking out loud while the world keeps spinning outside—the engine still ticking cool from the drive, distant traffic humming like a far-off crowd.

"Alright... just hung up with the guy who's gonna be in my corner at Blaze—the very man on that call. Contract's signed, sealed, and tucked away. Who is he? Nah, keeping that under wraps for now—timing makes the reveal hit like a finisher. But trust, he's the type who spots the tilt before it tips, keeps things aligned without shouting about it. With him backing me? I'm not rolling solo anymore. Got that extra orbit now, the kind that counters distractions smooth, lets me focus on the fun without the noise pulling me off track."

He laughs under his breath, rolling his shoulders once, testing the give like he's loosening up for a good time, the seat creaking softly under him as he shifts.

"Blaze of Glory. You and me, Logan. Been daydreaming about this rematch since I dusted off that dirt from our last dance—itching to see what the wheel coughs up. No DQ? Chairs swinging like party favors, tables waiting to crack—I'll snag one mid-chaos, use it as a shield while you're measuring your next spot, then flip it into a launch pad for something wild. Your deliberate game's solid in a clean ring, but when rules vanish? That's my sandbox, dodging the mess with a grin, turning your power moves into my quick counters."

A grin spreads wider, his eyes sparkling with that reflex mischief, like he's picturing the whole thing and already cracking up inside.

"Street fight? Oh man, that's pure energy—barricades bending, fans turning into part of the spot. You'd want to ground it, control the pace, but out there? I'm weaving through the crowd like it's a dance floor, grabbing a sign for an impromptu block, then slinging it back your way with a wink. Last street brawl I had, some fan handed me a foam finger mid-scramble—turned it into the dumbest weapon ever, poking the guy until he tripped laughing. If that's the spin, I'll make it memorable, keep the crowd roaring while your structure scrambles to catch up."

He nods slowly, wiping a hand across his jaw like shaking off a phantom hit, the light catching his chain again as he leans a bit closer to the camera.

"Bury your opponent again? Ha, you got me good last time—shoveling that dirt like you were planting a flag. But I popped out of that hole like a bad prank, brushing it off and thinking, 'Alright, lesson learned—next round, I bring my own shovel.' If the wheel lands there? I'll treat the grave like a timeout spot, bursting back before you pat it flat, flipping the momentum with a surprise dive. No grudge, just fun—because getting buried once? That's motivation. Twice? Not on my watch."

He chuckles mid-thought, shaking his head at the memory, the truck's AC kicking on with a soft whir that blends into his easy rhythm.

"Steel cage? That's the one I'm quietly rooting for—no doors, just walls rattling like thunder. You'd thrive in the grind, locking down position, but me? I'm climbing those links like a kid on monkey bars, springing off the top for a splash that echoes. Remember that cage spot I botched early on? Slipped halfway up, turned it into a comedy slide right into a roll-up—crowd ate it up. If that's the spin, it'll be pure, no escapes, just us trading until one rhythm gives. And with my corner guy calling from outside those bars? He'll spot the climb angles I miss, keep Brooke's apron games from turning the bars into her playground."

The grin turns playful now, his laugh brighter as he gestures loose with one hand, painting the air like he's sketching out the absurdity.

"Or if it's something ridiculous like a strip match? Come on, that's gold—us yanking gear mid-lockup, crowd chanting for every layer. I'd be dodging your grabs like a slippery game of keep-away, turning a fumbled boot pull into the goofiest suplex ever. Picture it: halfway through, I'm down to one sock, using it as a whip—laughing so hard the ref has to pause. Doesn't matter how silly; I'll own it, make it the talk of the night. That's my vibe—having a blast with the curveballs, keeping loose while your certainty wonders what hit it."

He pauses for a beat, the light shifting as a cloud passes, his expression settling into that warm swagger, confident but inviting like he's pulling Logan into the joke.

"Saw that Carter Miles match—Helluva Bottom brought Tempest to his corner, and she walled off Brooke and Marissa like a pro. Don't know her whole deal, but she shut down the distractions cold, let Carter stay in his zone without the extra chaos. Smart—turned their tilts into dead ends. Me? I'm hoping Jasmine St. John's refs ours—she's got that fair eye, calls it straight, lets the action breathe without favorites or fluff. Keeps the wheel honest, no sneaky thumbs tipping the scales."

He leans forward slightly, voice steady but laced with humor, like he's sharing a beer with the camera instead of cutting a promo.

"Defending the title, proving the reign, locking the crown down. Respect, man—it's earned. But me? I'm building light—freedom to swing a little wilder, to laugh off a miss and turn it into gold. With my new orbit, that guy from the call in my corner? Brooke's clever steps, Marissa's timing glitches—they become my setups, half-beats I dance around like puddles. I'll track you through the static, flow past the noise, maybe even toss a wink their way as I counter. Because distractions only bite if you bite back, and I'm too busy having fun to chase."

A small pause, his grin sharpening just a touch, eyes lit with that forward-moving spark as he thinks back to old tapes.

"I've been waiting for this—not pacing the floor or replaying losses on loop, just... simmering, letting the energy build natural. Like that indie loop years ago, wheel spun a pillow fight of all things—me and this big brute swinging feathers like they were kendo sticks. I kept slipping on the fluff, turned it into comedy rolls that had the crowd in stitches, pinned him with a pillow smother while laughing my ass off. That's the mindset: any spin, I make it mine, keep the joy in the grind. Your structure's tight, but when the wheel throws curve after curve? That's where repetition breaks—yours, not mine. I adjust fresh every time."

The laugh bubbles up again, bright and genuine, as he gestures wider, the cab feeling smaller with his building enthusiasm, bags rustling like they're cheering him on.

"That shopping run earlier? Stacked the cart with stuff that keeps me comfortable—tape for quick fixes on torn gear, pads to absorb the silly falls, cup for those 'oops' knees that find me like magnets. Eye rakes sneaking in? Flush with drops, laugh it off. Gear pulls turning into wedgie wars? Balm for the burn, mouthguard against a throat jab gone wrong. Low blows, throat shoves, all the cheap tricks—if the wheel goes dirty, I'm geared up with insurance and a punchline, keeping the fun rolling without a hitch. Logan's measured game meets my prep? Those distractions from his side turn into my setups, half-beats I flow around like water on glass."

A nod, slow and thoughtful, as the sun dips lower, casting longer shadows across the dash, the promo building like the evening ahead.

"Remember Carter's scrap? Tempest locked down the interference, let him breathe without the sideshow. My corner man's cut from that cloth—quiet, sharp, spotting Brooke's apron hops or Marissa's stumbles before they land, turning their heat into my fuel. Jasmine reffing? Gold—fair stripes, no bias, lets the wheel's whims play out clean. That's the vibe I thrive in: no heavy loads, just forward laughs, building stories that stick long after the three-count."

He leans back a bit, grin settling into something steadier, the warmth still threading through like a steady hum.

"You haul that title like it's your anchor, Logan—the cement, the certainty, all that deliberate weight. Me? I'm sails in the wind—risking the gust, shifting sails without snag, having a ball as the storm builds. I've waited patient, not grinding teeth over bury losses or cage slips, just letting the itch grow into this good feel. Any spin's a gift: I'm in it for the ride, the adjustments that feel fresh every beat, the laughs that echo louder than the slams."

The laugh returns, softer now, as he holds the lens a moment longer, the truck's shadows lengthening like the promo's close.

"So yeah, Blaze of Glory. With my guy in the corner, the orbit humming, the wheel itching to whirl—let's see what chaos we stir. No stress, just pure, aligned fun. Make it interesting."

Ryan taps stop, but the grin lingers, phone buzzing with a text he ignores for now. The mystery hums on as he turns the key, truck rumbling to life, rolling toward whatever's next—the bags rattling softly in the back, the light fading into evening, the energy building without rush.

Supercard Roleplays / Send in the ... CLOWNS!

« Last post by Metal Maniacs on Today at 05:35:38 PM »

The college classroom had rows of desks facing a poster on the wall that promised Conflict Resolution Through Communication. At the front of the class was a printed sign taped to the podium that read “ANGER MANAGEMENT CLASS, PLEASE WAIT FOR INSTRUCTOR.”

A dozen adults sat scattered across the room, all of them wearing the same bitter expression. Some were in work boots. Some in office clothes. One guy had a security uniform shirt half tucked. A woman in yoga pants kept checking her phone. A man near the back drummed his fingers against the desk.

A heavy sigh came from the front row.

Derrick: This is stupid.

Maya: This is court mandated.

Janice: I called three times to confirm. Nobody answers the phone. This place is run by clowns.

Karen sat with her arms crossed tightly. She had a crisp blouse, perfect hair, and a glare that scanned the room for someone to blame.

Karen: Some of us have jobs. Real jobs. Not whatever this is.

Maya: Lady, we all have jobs.

Karen: I did not address you.

The guy in the security shirt let out a quiet laugh and immediately regretted it when Karen’s eyes snapped to him.

Karen: And you think that is funny?

Security Guy: I think you’re a lot.

Karen: Excuse me!?

Then the door swung open with a crash that slammed the wall and bounced back with a heavy clatter. The sound jolted everyone upright. Phones disappeared. Backs went straight. A couple of people actually gasped.

Anthrax stood in the doorway, an ankle-length black coat over an Animaniacs T-shirt. His face was painted jagged, smeared white and black and chipped away. Black polish on his nails. Even Karen was speechless at the sight of this.. thing.

Anthrax entered the classroom and walked straight to the podium. He did not go in front of it. He went behind it, like he belonged there.

He grabbed the taped sign, crumpled it in one fist, and tossed it into the corner. Then he placed both hands on the edges of the podium, leaned forward, and smiled at the class.

Anthrax: Good! You’re all here!

Maya: Who are you?

Elliot: Where’s the instructor?

Karen: This is highly inappropriate. I demand to speak to whoever is in charge!

Anthrax: You are speaking to whoever is in charge.

Derrick: What is this, a prank?

Anthrax: No. A prank would be funny for everyone. This is funny for me.

Janice: I am not signed up for this. I am not consenting to this.

Anthrax: You showed up. That is consent in the adult world.

Maya: That is not how consent works.

Anthrax: Sure it is. It is how everything works. You do what they tell you, you sit where they put you, you keep your hands folded, you swallow your words, you pretend you are fine. And then they drag you into a room like this and tell you anger is the problem.

He stepped away from the podium and began to pace in front of the class, head slightly tilted, like he was studying specimens.

Anthrax: Look at you. You are full of resentment. All that pressure behind your eyes. All that heat in your heart. You are a shaken soda can just waiting to erupt!

Derrick: This is not helpful.

Anthrax: Helpful. That word tastes like surrender. Helpful is what people say when they want you soft.

Karen: I will be contacting the dean. The board. The police.

Anthrax: Call whoever you want. Tell them Anthrax is teaching class. Tell them the class is finally honest.

He stopped, planted his boots, and opened his arms like a preacher.

Anthrax: Anger is not a disease. Anger is a signal flare. Anger is the part of you that still believes you deserve better. It is your body screaming that something is wrong, and you keep trying to gag it with breathing exercises and polite language.

Maya: The breathing exercises are to keep you from punching someone.

Anthrax: Maybe someone needs punching.

A few people shifted, suddenly unsure if they were supposed to laugh or leave. Nobody moved. That was the worst part. They all stayed.

Anthrax: You ever watch a volcano in a documentary? They show it like it is a disaster. Like it is evil. The volcano is doing what it was built to do. It releases. It clears. It reshapes the land.

He tapped his chest once, hard, right over his heart.

Anthrax: That is you. That is me. You’re not here because you have anger. You’re here because you got caught having anger.

Security Guy: That is kind of true.

Karen: I did not get caught. I was provoked.

Anthrax: Everybody thinks they were provoked. Nobody thinks they are the problem. That is adorable.

He leaned closer to the front row, his painted face inches nearer, voice steady but hungry.

Anthrax: Here’s the lesson. Losing your temper is not failure. Losing your temper is release. It is honesty. It is the only moment some of you are real.

Elliot: That is not what the paperwork says.

Anthrax: The paperwork has never been punched in the mouth. The paperwork does not wake up at 3 a.m. with its jaw clenched so hard it feels like its teeth are fracturing.

Janice: Okay, but what if you lose your temper and you ruin your life?

Anthrax: You already hate your life. You are just doing it quietly.

Janice: I do not hate my life!

Anthrax: You’re in anger management in a college classroom on a weekday. Lie to someone else.

That got a couple snorts. Janice’s cheeks reddened. She looked like she wanted to argue but did not want to give him the satisfaction.

Anthrax clapped his hands once, sharp, loud.

Anthrax: Participation time! Three of you. You! You! You!

He pointed randomly. The first was Derrick, the guy who had already called it stupid. The second was Maya, who had spoken like she wanted control. The third was Karen, and Anthrax’s smile widened when he chose her.

Karen: Absolutely not! I will not be singled out!

Anthrax: You are always singled out. It is your brand.

Maya: Ask me. Fine.

Derrick: Whatever! Let’s get it over with!

Anthrax: Derrick first. What makes you angry? Not the polite answer. The real one.

Derrick: My boss. He talks to me like I’m a dog. I do all the work. He takes all the credit. Then he calls me into his office and tells me I need to improve my attitude. My attitude! Like I’m the problem! I want to slam his head into his desk!

Anthrax: See. Poetry. You feel that? That is life. That is your spine trying to stand up.

Maya: You’re encouraging violence.

Anthrax: I’m encouraging truth. Violence is just one of truth’s hobbies.

He turned to Maya.

Anthrax: Your turn. What makes you angry?

Maya’s jaw tightened. She tried to keep it composed, but her eyes went sharp.

Maya: My ex. He tells everyone I’m crazy. He pushes buttons until I snap, then he records me, shows people, says see what I deal with! And I have to be calm, I have to be reasonable, or I prove his point! That makes me furious!

Anthrax: Yes. Yes. That is a cage. That is someone trying to write your story for you. And you’re trying so hard not to be the villain they need you to be.

Maya: Exactly!

Then he pivoted, theatrical, and faced Karen like she was the finale.

Anthrax: Alright, Karen. Your anger. Let’s hear it.

Karen: I do not need to explain myself to you!

Anthrax: You do not need to explain yourself to anyone. So tell me, Karen, what makes you angry?

Karen: People! People are incompetent! They do not do their jobs! They do not follow simple instructions! I ask for something basic, and they act like I’ve requested a miracle! I should not have to raise my voice for people to respect me, but if I don’t, they ignore me! So yes, I get angry. Because I am surrounded by idiots!

A silence fell that felt heavy. The familiarity of the type was profound. Anthrax looked at the class like he was about to show them a magic trick.

Anthrax: How many of you have met her before?

Hands did not go up, but faces tightened. Someone coughed. Someone shifted like they wanted to be anywhere else.

Anthrax: Let’s do this differently. How many of you have avoided her type before?

That got a few reluctant nods. A couple people glanced away. The security guy raised his eyebrows like he could not help it.

Karen: That is ridiculous! You are all projecting!

Anthrax: No. They’re remembering.

Karen: I am not the problem! They are weak! They can’t handle direct communication!

Maya: You call people idiots for fun.

Karen: Because they behave like idiots!

Derrick: You ever consider you make people worse?

Karen: Excuse me?

Derrick: Like, you come in hot, you treat them like garbage, then you get mad they don’t roll out a red carpet.

Karen: I have standards!

Janice: You have a personality disorder!

Karen: Oh, that is rich coming from someone who is wearing leggings in public!

Janice: These are yoga pants!

Karen: Exactly!

The room crackled. Everyone started talking at once, voices rising like a kettle reaching boil.

Maya: You don’t get to police what people wear!

Karen: People should have dignity!

Derrick: You don’t have dignity, you have entitlement!

Karen: Do not speak to me that way!

Security Guy: You speak to everybody else that way!

Karen: I pay taxes! Your job exists because of people like me!

Elliot: Your taxes don’t make you queen!v

Karen: I did not say queen! I said contributor!

Janice: You said idiot like eight times!

Karen: Because it’s accurate!

Anthrax stepped back, arms folding, watching it build with delighted patience. He had the expression of someone watching a fire take to dry wood.

Derrick: You should be removed!

Karen: I will not be threatened!

Derrick: Nobody’s threatening you! We’re just finally saying what we think!

Karen: That is not allowed in civil society!

Janice: Civil society is why we’re all miserable!

Elliot: Can we not do this?

Security Guy: Too late!

Karen stood up so abruptly her chair scraped the tile with a shriek. She pointed at Derrick like she was calling down a lightning bolt.

Karen: You are aggressive! You are exactly why you’re in this class!

Derrick: And you are exactly why people fantasize about quitting customer service!

Karen: You are disgusting!

Maya: Sit down before you make this worse!

Karen: You cannot order me around.

Janice: Nobody’s ordering you! We’re begging!

Karen: Begging is appropriate for you!

Janice made a sound that was half laugh, half growl.

Janice: Oh my God!

Derrick: Say something else about her clothes! Do it. I dare you!

Karen: At least I present myself like an adult!

Janice: You present yourself like a complaint!

Security Guy: That’s funny!

Karen swung toward him, eyes wide, face flushing.

Karen: You will wipe that smug look off your face!

Security Guy: Or what?

Karen: Or I will make a call!

Security Guy: Lady, the only call you need is a therapist!

That was the match.

Karen lunged, not with a punch, but with a slap that came out of pure reflex. The security guy leaned back too late. Her palm caught his cheek with a sharp crack.

For a heartbeat, the room froze.

Then the security guy stood up so fast his chair toppled backward, and he shoved Karen, sending her toppling back over the desk, ass up in the air!

Janice grabbed Karen’s arm, not to help her up, but to pull her away from the security guy. Karen whipped around and yanked Janice’s hair. Janice screamed and swung blindly, catching Karen in the jaw!

Karen: Help! Assault!

Elliot: Everyone stop!

But nobody stopped. Two guys in the back began arguing about who should intervene, and that argument turned into shoving!

Maya tried to wedge herself between Karen and Janice, all the better to play peacemaker in separate them but Karen shoved her aside!

Maya: Don’t touch me!

Maya grabbed Karen’s wrist and twisted, not enough to break anything, but enough to control. Karen yelped and flailed, and her flailing elbow caught Derrick in the ribs!

Derrick: Ow, you crazy…!

Derrick grabbed Karen by the upper arm and hauled her backward. Karen’s heel caught on a chair leg and she stumbled into the security guy again. The security guy, furious now, shoved her away!

Karen hit a desk, knocked it sideways, and books and pens clattered to the floor!

Elliot backed away, hands up!

Elliot: This is insane! This is actually insane!

Karen: You people are animals!

Security Guy: You’re the one slapping people!

Karen: Because you provoked me!

Maya: Nobody provoked you into being cruel for fun!

Karen: I am not cruel!

Janice: You are a walking Yelp review!

Chairs toppled like dominoes! Somebody got shoved into the whiteboard and it squealed against the wall!

Through all of it, Anthrax did not move to stop anything. He kicked his legs, heel tapping the desk in a happy rhythm.

Anthrax: Class dismissed.

The classroom floor was a mess of overturned chairs, scattered notebooks, and twelve grown adults. Some groan, some blink like they just woke up in a different life, and one person is facedown on a laminated syllabus like it is a pillow. That one would be Karen.

Anthrax stood in the front like the only student who got an A. His eyes flicker across the wreckage with satisfaction that looks almost gentle.

Anthrax: Look at that. Twelve people dragged in here to learn how to swallow a scream and all it took was one little push for them to remember they’re alive. I should get a plaque!

He hopped off the desk and practically skipped to the chalkboard, moving with that wrong kind of joy that does not match the scene at all. He yanked the pull cord and the projector screen snapped down with a rattle.

On it was a pin-up image of Liam Davis.

Anthrax: Ohhh, Liam. Look at you. All that tough-guy posture and clenched jaw dressed up like it means you’re in control. You walk around SCW like you invented anger. You already know what happens when something like you gets pressured. They love calling it anger management. That’s the lie they sell, and you didn’t buy it because you think it works. You bought it because you’re terrified of what you are when you stop pretending.

He nodded toward the bodies littering the floor as if they’re evidence.

Anthrax: These people came in here with their teeth clenched and their hands polite, and then they let go. They went feral for ten minutes and now look at them, peaceful and empty and honest. That’s what anger is supposed to do, it comes out, it burns, and it leaves you clean. But you, Liam, you keep it in until it curdles. You keep it in until it becomes something that doesn’t just want to protect you, it wants to embarrass you. It wants to betray you.

He tapped the image of Liam with a knuckle, voice turning intimate and cruel.

Anthrax: That’s the disadvantage. Your anger isn’t a weapon, it’s a crack in the dam, and the more you stand there telling yourself you have control, the bigger that crack gets.

He straightened, eyes bright with that delighted madness that turned the class into a riot.

Anthrax: Now let’s talk about your other little problem, the one you hate admitting because it makes you feel small. Clowns. You hear the word and your skin crawls. You see the painted smile and your brain starts screaming that something is wrong, because it is wrong. A clown is proof the world can be cruel and cheerful at the same time.

He gestured at his own smeared paint, the jagged black and white that made his face look like a nightmare trying to be art.

Anthrax: You ever notice how easy it is to laugh at something you’re scared of? That’s why the circus works, that’s why the mask works, that’s why your hands shake but you still pretend you’re fine.

Anthrax snatched a marker from the tray and he drew a big exaggerated smile where Liam’s mouth was, dark triangles under the eyes, messy lines like clown hair. When he stepped back, he clapped once, pleased.

Anthrax: There! Now you can look at yourself! At Blaze of Glory XV, you’re not just wrestling me, you’re wrestling the moment where both of your little problems collide. Anger you can’t release, fear you can’t explain, and me standing right in the middle like the punchline to a joke you never wanted to hear.

You can’t win this with muscle. You can’t win this with technique. You can’t win this with the little script you recite to yourself in the mirror, because the opponent isn’t me. The opponent is the moment your control fails you, and control always fails. You’re going to stand across from me and you’re going to see the paint and hear the laughter, and your anger is going to surge because you hate being seen. Your fear is going to surge because you hate being laughed at. And for one perfect second you’re going to feel both at once, like a knot tightening, like a noose you tied yourself. Then you’ll make a choice. You’ll explode, or you’ll freeze, and either way I’m going to enjoy watching it happen.

He looked into the camera and giggled.

Anthrax: Class dismissed.

Supercard Roleplays / “Pleasure To Kill!”

« Last post by Logan Hunter on Today at 09:27:23 AM »

Blaze of Glory XV was almost here and Logan’s first Roulette Title Defence against Ryan Kays was drawing near, Logan was determined to make sure that his second defence but Ryan was not going to make things easy for the Aussie, can Logan continue his Supercard winning streak and, more importantly,, who will win the Fatal Four Way Ladder Match between Brayden Williams, Bill Barnhart, Ciaran Doyle and Zayvion Lyons?

Logan and Brooke’s Home Gym, Las Vegas, Nevada
Wednesday the 4th of Marach, 2026, 13:00pm

The time of my triumph is almost at hand.

I have been the Roulette Champion since Inception VI and I have waited patiently for my first title defence, now, my defence against Ryan Keys is days away and a match to determine my challenger after Ryan is happening the same night!

Frankly? I don’t care who wins between Bill, Zayvion, Ciaran or Brayden, they will all fall.

”There you are.” I commented as Brooke and Marissa came down the basement stairs, Marissa was accompanied by Sir Pursalot as the Maine Coon walked behind her did Aolfie, Brooke’s Irish Wolfhound, either way? The two beautiful women were soon with men in the gym, Marissa was on the phone with someone and not paying attention while Brooke was walking with a purpose. ”What took you so long?”

”I see you still haven’t lrearned how to greet your girlfriend.” Brooke commented as she rolled her eyes while Marissa sat down in her usual spot and was accompanied by the animals. ”Especially when my OnlyFans page is the main thing keeping this roof over our heads!”

”I don’t care.” I responded with a frown as I folded my arms and Marissa continued to chat on the phone. ”And if you’re recovered enough from Tempest’s attack to fil, that content then you are well enough to help me train for the matvj against Ryan.”

”We will discuss that later.” Brooke insisted as she shook her head and I frowned. ”We need to do something other than train Logan!”

”Like what?” I asked bluntly at which point Marissa finally finished her phone call. ”Because if you interrupted my training for something trivial……………”

”She was talking about a double date.” Marissa vut in as she leaned forward. ”Me and Zara and you and Brooke!”

”Are you serious?” I asked incredulously and the twins nodded. ”What is the point? Everyone knows that me and Brooke are dating, same goes for your lesbian relationship.”

”Just because those are known facts doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time.” Marissa insisted and I looked right at the older of the twins as she continued to stroke her cat. ”At least give it a chance Logan!”

”Maybe I would’ve if you had asked me first!” I grunted as I went back to training. ”I have a title match to train for, I do not have time for something as foolish as a double date!”

”Oh, that’s the deal breaker for you?” Brooke asked as she folded her arms and I glared at the redhead. ”You either do the double date or I won’t help you with your training full stop!”

I stared a hole right through both her and Marissa, the twins weren’t even old enough to drink yet, their birthday wasn’t for another three months, but they could be persuasive. ”What time?”

”Pleasure doing business with you Logan.” Brooke commented with a satisfied smirk as she looked at her fingernails. ”Marissa? Book the table for 17:30pm and make sure Zara knows of course!”

”Already on the phone with the restaurant, don’t wiorry Logan, we’ll pay.” Marissa responded as she waited for an answer from the restaurant. ”Who knows? Maybe Brooke will reward your co-operation in the bedroom later?”

”PUH-LEASE! Like that needs any incentive from his end.” Brooke added as she glanced towards me. ”If anything? It’ll be a bonus!”

”This had better be worth it.” I grunted in response to before i returned to my training and soon afterwards? Brooke joined me.

Such foolishness before the biggest match of my year so far, who do these women think they are?

Guy Savoy, Las Vegas, Nevada
Wednesday the 4th of March 2026, 17:30pm

I cannot believe they’ve talked me into this!

The fact that they picked one of the most expensive restaurants in Las Vegas does not help and yes, the twins are trust fund kids, it’s why they are able to afford the house in the first place, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.

But now I have been dragged along for the ride.

“Good evening madam.” The Maitre D’ greeted Marissa as she led the group into the restaurant alongside Zara. “Table for two?”

”Four actually.” Marissa responded as she motioned to me and Brooke. ”We’ve got a double date going on with my twin sister and her boyfriend.”

“Ah very good.” The maitre d’ nodded as he looked over at me and Brooke. “Do you have a reservation?”

”Marissa Shields.” Marissa responded and the maitre d’ checked the reservation list before nodding and leading us to the table. ”Well, we’re here.” Marissa commented as she sat down next to Zara and I sat across from them with Brooke. ”Let’s try not to make this too weird.”

“Weird? The guy who spends his SCW promos ranting and raving about thrones?” Zara snarked and I chose to ignore Marissa’s girlfriend. “Let’s get to the menu already, I’m starving!”

”Yes, let’s!” I responded before we picked uo the menu. ”Caviar, foie gras, black truffle? That would cost me my monthly pay check!”

”And we are paying for it, don’t worry!” Brooke responded as she looked at the menu and motioned between herself and Marissa. ”Anyway, I’ll have the colors of caviar, lobster and chocolate fondant.”

“Really stretching that trust fund Brooke? I’ll have the Tomato All Around, Iberico Pork and nuance of chocolate.” Zara decided as she looked at the menu. “What about you babe?”

”So many options but I’ll have the colours of caviar as well.” Marissa decided as she looked at the menu. ”The salmon and the coconut six ways, that just leaves you Logan!”

”I’m looking!” I responded as I considered my options. ”Artichoke and Black Truffle Soup, the surf and turf dish and the fondant.” I decided as I set the menu down and the three women gave me surprised looks. ”If the twins are paying or then I’m going all out! Simple as that.”

“Never knew a guy to order A5 Wagyu and Lobster out of spite.” Zara commented dryly and before long the maitre d’ returned to take our orders and from there? It was a matter of time before we got our starters. “So Brooke, how did you and Logan meet?”

”At the Go Gym on our first day of wrestling training.” Brooke responded as she brushed some of her dyed red hair over her shoulder. ”He hasn’t told me much about his life from before he came to America from Sydney but still.”

”And it shall remain that way.” I added as I folded my arms. ”Some secrets are best left buried.”

”And I still don’t know what my sister sees in you.” Marissa grumbled as she rolled her eyes and I just shook my head. ”As for me and Zara? We met at that party in the weeks leading up to Halloween.”

“Yep, and we started dating because you were tired of your crap luck when it came to dating guys.” Xara commented and Marissa gave her a look that screamed “please don’t talk about it” sp she quickly changed course. “How about we just worry about enjoying the meal?”

”Indeed.” I nodded in agreement before our starters arrived and the night continued uninterrupted.

It was the calm before the storm, and I was about to hit Ryan Keys with gale force winds.

Las Vegas Rooftop
Wednesday the 4th of March 2026, 19:00pm

*promo time*

The time is now.

”Las Vegas, the city of sin, the home turf of Sin City Wrestling and, of course, your home town Ryan.” I stated as I walked around the rooftop of one of the top hotels in Las Vegas with Brooke. ”And while our battle will be contested in Fort Worth, Texas, I wanted to show you Ryan one las shot of your home city before I did away with you.

After all, the men who dared to face me one on one on PPV before you have all met the same fate, they haven’t been seen in SCW since my match against them.” I added as I slung the Roulette Title over my shoulder. ”And if you were wise Ryan? You’d back out now before it was too late.”

Brooke stepped forward to get her word in.

”Oh Ryan, whatever have you gotten yourself into?” Brooke asked in a mockingly sweet tone with a smirk on her face. ”Because Logan is quickly becoming the most dangerous man in the SCW Locker Room and you are the one thy sent to face him in his first of many Roulette Title Defences?

PUH-LEASE!! Even Stevie Wonder sees this for what it really is: this wasn’t a case of you being granted a title match just because Ryan.” Brooke added as she looked at her nails. ”It was a case of the bosses sending a lamb to the slaughter and for the record? I like my lamb medium rare!”

I stepped forward again.

”This title match may have been a pleasure for you to receive Ryan but for me? It’ll be a Pleasure To Kill!” I stated as I made a slit throat motion with my thumb. ”They may as well call me the career killer at this point for I have ridden SCW of the likes of Caleb Storms, Justin Smith, a certain clown and Vincent Lyons Jr. and those bodies will only pile to the sky.

And when all is said and done?” I asked mockingly as I linked my hands together. ”Your loved ones shall have no one to blame but the powers that be when the inevitable occurs!”

Brooke chimed in again.

”And don’t think for a second that we’ve forgotten about the contenders match between Brayden, Zayvion, Ciaran and Bill that will immediately follow Logan’s defence this Sunday because trust me, we will be watching!” Brooke added as she smirked right at the camera. ”Ryan? What Logan does to you on Sunday night will serve as a warning to those four fools should they think they have any chance at claiming gold because spoiler alert?

They don’t and neither do you Ryan!” Brooke added as she flipped some hair over her shoulder. ”And the only thing better than Logan’s inevitable win? Is the post-match celebration that we will have!”

It’s that simple.

”Ryan, you are naught but a sacrificial lamb being brought to the altar of my brilliance for you will kneel before the lord of all that is golden!” I stated as I made a fist with my free hand. ”I was destined to be a champion from the moment I walked through those doors for the first time and I shall fulfil that prophecy no matter what it takes!”

And with that I decided to wrap things up.

”And the Roulette Championship is the crown jewel of my empire!” I added as I held up the SCW Roulette Title. ”And no party animal shall take it from me! Woe to the vanquished, for the lives of those seeking past glory shall never be mourned, Ryan? I COMMAND THEE KNEEL! YOU WILL NOT USURP THE THRONE FROM ME! And as you embrace oblivion? I shall reign eternal for it is the Divine Right of Kings!”

Marissa turned off the camera as the scene fades.

Supercard Roleplays / Re: HELLUVA BOTTOM CARTER (c) v ALEXANDER RAVEN - WORLD TITLE - 3 STAGES OF HELL

« Last post by Alexander Raven on Today at 05:52:56 AM »

“I remember now.”

Alex sat there at the end of that hallway once more, looking at the figure that wore his face. Not just his face, but the ghosts of his mind. The torturers of his soul. His warden, his jailor. His keeper. Staring at the door that held back that memory. The memory he knew in fragments. In sounds and reminders. Flashes of a smile, of unrepentant and unforgiving betrayal.

Resentment.

He’d spoken the words to her; they’d had their conversations. Yet it didn’t help. It didn’t slow things down. It didn’t end the nightmares and the moments of collapse. It continued as it always had, as it always would. He’d have to come to terms with it one day. Maybe the easier outcome was to just give in. To stop fighting, to lose himself to The Lost. He always hid from the difficult thoughts. The painful memories.

Forgiveness did not lend itself easily to him. It never had; it probably never would. He’d done his best in the past. Forgiven his father for the abuse and stood at his side. Forgiven Luna for the betrayal that existed at the end of that hallway. Forgiven his mother for leaving him. Forgiven Lauren for leaving him. It was a bitter, narcissistic thing to do. Anger at something he had no control over, anger at them for leaving him behind.

Grief took many forms; he just didn’t deal well with his. A by-product emotion that he had always found solace in. A by-product emotion that they kept saying he’d overcome if he looked inward. That if he simply accepted the things that he couldn’t control and focused on those he could. That things would get better. That he would be better. He wasn’t sure of that anymore. He wasn’t so sure of anything.

Torture of the mind was one worse than any other. It was more defeating than simply negative self-thought. No amount of mindfulness could cure the grief he refused to accept. No, refused was not the right word. He had accepted his grief; he had accepted the things he could not change. That did not mean he had to simply move past them. No, there was a constant bubble beneath the anger.

Resentment.

“Resentment is a bitter emotion, Alexander. One you know too well. One you are all too familiar with. Let me take you out of it all. Let me give you a life that you crave. A world in which none of it happened. A world in which you can be free of it all.” The Lost spoke in that whisper of a voice. One that crawled down the back of his eyes rather than in his ears.

Alex simply stared down the hallway, sitting there, knees up arms wrapped around them. He’d always found comfort in self-soothing. Of curling up into himself. To going back to being that small boy who’d be curled up into a ball under the covers with his mother. Cradled and supported, loved and cared for in the moment. A moment of safety.

“I’d be happy with you gone.” Alex said softly, burying his head in his legs, moving an arm around the back of his neck. Holding himself. It was less of a comfort now, and a reminder. A reminder of harder times. Sitting in the shower racking with sobs. Washing the pain of the day away. The soft and whimpering man that existed beneath it all. The one that tried to claw his own skin off when Lauren died.

Of shuddering and riding out bad nights on the gear. Too many drugs, too many memories and pains. Of nights where he held that rope and considered the same way out as his mother. Dark nights, dark memories. Dark moments he wasn’t keen to confront again. To go back to. He was healthier, even if his body hurt more than ever. He was stronger, even if his body seemed weaker than he could ever remember it being.

His mind, however, was a fractured shell of a creature. A shambling mess of nothingness. A collapse of psyche that trapped him.

“Alexander, open the door. Open the door and be free. Stop fighting me and come together. I promise it will all be better.” The Lost’s voice tore at the back of his consciousness. His skull shuddered under the icy fingers that clawed their way into his mind. Icy tendrils that lured him toward the door.

“I remember now.” Alex said and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, after what felt like an eternity, it all felt different. The world had changed; he wasn’t sitting there anymore. His hand was on that door handle. His fingers curled around the cold metal. He could hear the breathing on the other side. He could hear the sound of flesh on flesh. He knew the torture that existed beyond it. But today something was different. Today it was… today he would face it.

He had to face it.

Resentment.

He twisted the handle, turned it and pushed forward. Pushed the door inwards. The blinding light screamed into his mind. The room beyond wasn’t the one he expected. It was different to what he thought. It was different because it wasn’t the torture he expected. It wasn’t the image of Luna impaled upon Leon. It wasn’t the memory that he had so desperately wanted to be nothing but a bad dream.

It was everything.

True torture in that room.

“A wounded dog is a dangerous one. Afraid, defensive, backed into a corner. It’ll snap and bite and lash out anything that comes close. Anything that comes close to being a friend, a foe. It doesn’t matter. Approach the wounded dog wrong and it all goes poorly for you. Some might say, right now, Alexander Raven is little more than a dog on death’s door. Ready to be taken down once and for all. I know the pain of being backed into the corner.”

“But I’m no dog, I’m no failure of existence beckoned at the hands of the few. I am not a beast to be led to water in hopes of it cooling its wounds. I am not a man to be fucked with, Carter. You of all people should know this. That it always comes back to the simplicity of an idea. A seed planted. A mind left to wonder. Ideas, Carter. Ideas make the world go around.”

“Funny how it all comes back to this. An ideas man, that is what some would call me. An ideas man. I tend agree. Full of ideas, on how to hurt, on how to exact pain. I’m used to it, I’m sure to being the one with the ideas. Three stages of hell, not quite the way I envisioned it, but better than nothing, right?”

“First blood, Falls Count Anywhere and then a Steel Cage. I’m quite acquainted with these stipulations, a tactical choice if anything by Carter. Commendations where commendations belong, I like it. It isn’t quite as… violent as I wanted. But that’s no problem for me. No, I can make do with the cards I’m dealt. I can make do with anything I need to make do with.”

“Choices, Carter. That was what we had, choices. Choices in action, choices in reaction. Choices in what we decide is allowable and what isn’t. This ring, it is sacred. I may not be the most technical man alive, but I sure as hell know what it means to be in here. I may not be the most athletic man to grace the squared circle, but I’ve spilled enough blood to satisfy the Wrestling God time and time again. I am, what I am, and what I am? I am wrestler.”

“That’s the truth of it all. At the end of the day, I am a wrestler. I’ve tried my hand at many things. I was a good publican; I was a good bartender. Bar management had people loving me. I’m a decent husband, I’d like to think. I am decent man, to those who deserve my decency. I wasn’t a very good son, but I did my best. Did my best to respect my mother, to avoid angering my irrationally angry father. I am not a unique story; I am simply a man of my scars. My traumas, my shortcomings.”

“So I need you to understand something. I am not a bad man, Carter. I saw someone cross the boundary that separates the sacred from the worshippers. I didn’t stop him for your sake, although it was not the person you seem so afeared of. No, I stopped him for one simple reason, because it was proof of everything I’ve been saying.”

“You are not the good guy, Carter. You are not the one that should be lauded. You are not the champion of the championless, the holder of integrity. You are a bitter, self-loving bastard who gets enjoyment out of the chastising of others. You hide it behind this idea of being sassy, and endearing. The truth however is beginning to dawn on people. In your own private world someone has taken umbrage towards you. In your professional world, fans themselves are so aggravated by who you are they are crossing the boundaries to hurt you.”

“Think about that for just a minute here, Carter. For all the things I’m accused of, for all the things that I say. The truths, the brutalities, the insults. The mocking and belittling of people, for I do that in spades too. I won’t pretend I don’t. For it all, I am the truth. People have opened their ears and their eyes. They’ve listened, and they’ve looked. They’re finally turning on you, because now. Now it is obvious that you are not a good person.”

“You are a truly evil person, and they are making themselves heard. They are making themselves known. You were attacked, Carter. Not me. The proof of everything I’ve said, right there. The proof of it all, slapping you in the face and it cannot be denied. It cannot be avoided. And at the end of the night, when I lift the Sin City Worlds Heavyweight Championship in the sky and hold it above my head before I throw it into the sea itself. They will cheer for me, Carter. They will cheer, because they know.”

“They know the man with the truth, and the ideas will be their champion. That you have been exposed. You will have to seek redemption, and I do not think you have the strength for it. You are absorbed by self, and that. That is a torturous road to break from. One that I do not think you are ready for. Poisoned by your own actions.”

“I’ve never pretended to be more than that, despite the claims of self-aggrandisement about me. I am what I am. An ideas man, who will give the world the ideas that they want. That they need. That they strive for. I claimed that you were a narcissist. A man with the blinders on, who is a bitter sycophant. That in a world where you are seen as the saviour and I am the one that need be torn down.”

“I gave you an idea, Carter, and you ran with it. You ran and you chose First Blood, Falls Count Anywhere and a Steel fucking Cage. I like the way you think.”

“But let’s look at it on an individual level, shall we? First Blood, I have my gripes with. A tactical choice, truly. I’m a mid-30’s man with the skin of a ninety-year-old. A stiff breeze is enough to cut me open on the best of days. Scarred flesh left too weak and thin from years and years of torture. But steeled enough to know how to stay fresh. Just long enough to outlast a fresh body. I have a bit of bitter past with this particular stipulation. Maybe the blinders were off for you just long enough for you to know that, hey Carter?”

“When I came back last year, and I was denied my opportunity at the meddling hands of James Huntington-Hawkes and Kevin Carter, men I once considered… friends. When I stood across the ring from them, and Kevin Carter put his Internet Championship on the line. First Blood was the stipulation. A weak and flagrant little match type, if there ever was one. An excuse to get out when the going gets good. When the taste of blood flares up the adrenaline. When the blood starts pumping and your face becomes a crimson fucking mask of life essence itself.”

“Kevin got lucky. Unfortunately for you really, Carter. Kevin got fucking lucky. A quick relook at the footage and oh, what’s that? He bled first. Screwed out of my win, but that’s okay. I can take my licks where they come. But it has made me bitter. See I don’t like First Blood normally, but in this case? I can make do. I can make do, Carter, because I’m not afraid to bleed, and I am definitely not afraid of cutting you open. So where does that leave us?”

“Falls Count Anywhere, right? Now this, this I like. Nothing to hold us in, nothing to stop us from taking it all the way to the street. Nothing to bring us to heel except for our imagination. See this is the kind of thing I truly enjoy. Freedom of imagination, freedom to do as I wish. Freedom to explore and enjoy. That’s my kind of game, Carter. See I have no problem dragging you from pillar to literal post. Maybe I’ll even prepare something special for us Carter. See I’m an ideas man. I told you that I was an ideas man.”

“But maybe just the idea of a plan is enough, who knows? I like to leave a little bit of uncertainty in most things. Uncertainty is a quality in life that leads to joy. To understanding of one’s own desires and ambitions. Uncertainty is what leads a weak man to think of destiny and fate. So Falls Count Anywhere, it is a world full of uncertainty. A taste, but possibly one that favours you as well. For in control that is the true danger. Maybe you’ll set a trap for me. Set yourself a little hole to supplant me in. To take away the strengths of what I possess.”

“But lucky last, that’s my favourite. That is the one that if we reach it, and… as unseeming as it would be to bet against myself. I think we will, for that is the way of the world with these things. The Steel Cage is my favourite little domain. Now, you didn’t take the full idea there, and that disappoints me. It disappoints me because it gives you a squirrelling chance of victory. To run away from it all, to escape the cage. Disappointing, but… not surprising.”

“See I like the Steel Cage, and I want you to think back. Think back to the moment that people thought my inevitable demise would come. When I bit and barked and pulled at the attention of Austin James Mercer. King James, I called him. King James for that is what he is seen as here. The King. The figure of devastation. Of fear, of chaos. A man ready to break and tear down any who he sees a need to do so with. To finish off our little soiree, King James and I were locked inside a Steel Cage.”

“The savage beast and the wounded dog. The Internet Champion’s final defence is what everyone thought. Then I won. I walked out looking far more dominant than they expected. I earned King James’ respect; I earned the right to be the one who called the shots. I earned that fucking right, and I did it in a Steel Cage. No running, no escaping. I dropped him on the back of his head on a steel chain and I won. I walked out the champion. If there is anything I can be certain of, if there is anything in this world that I know. The Steel Cage? That’s my domain, Carter.”

“The Steel Cage is my home, the kingdom of Alexander Raven. The home of Alexander Raven. My temple of carnage. My temple of exacting agony, of tearing flesh from the fucking bone. That is my kingdom, Carter. No escape from me, no escape from any of it. No distractions, no outside influence. You and me, in a place of pain. Of blood. Of unforgiving steel and unrelenting metal. The Steel Cage, that is where it will all be decided, Carter. The Steel Cage of your end.”

“Come Blaze of Glory, I am confident in myself. I am confident that I am no wounded dog. I am not simply an ideas man. I am going to be the next Sin City Worlds Champion. I’m tired of waiting, I’m tired of being just short. I am tired of being overlooked, second guessed and thought to be nothing but a challenger. A runner up. A man designed to have his own designs ignored in place of a greater man over me. There is no greater men, for there is no lesser one than you. You, Carter. Evil, sycophantic and manipulative.”

“This is the end for you. I hope you can understand that. I hope you can understand that this all is because you refuse to be truthful. That you keep your kindness locked away behind this mask that you wear. This façade of lies and betrayal. The mask that is slipping but not for the goodness of it. The mask is slipping because the truth is illuminating. You are Lost, just like I have always been.”

“The Lost will guide us home, Carter.”

“Have you listened? Words fall on deaf ears, I fear. That’s okay. This is the end, Carter. Our last dance. With it all on the line, one more time.”

“And then?”

“Nothing.”

His head screamed as he barrelled through it all. Every memory he’d suppressed, every little bit of grief he’d fought to fight off. Memories he didn’t want to acknowledge. Pain he’d fought every day to try and hide. The anger burned through his soul, his soul screaming in pain. The laughter, the blows of pain, the mocking.

Every memory was there in his mind.

His mind had snapped when he looked into The Void, the endless nothingness. When Vita Mors had shown him every possible reality in a mere moment. Had taken everything and then shown absolute absence of it all. His mind had never truly quietened after that day. His mind had never stopped. It was just locked away.

This was different. This was him, his own insanity. His own collapse, the ghosts, the pain and the agony. Every single moment of it screamed through his head. All at once, he could do little to fight it off. Grief overwhelmed him, grief threatened to strangle him. Threatened to tear at every part of his consciousness. Explosions of light, explosions of colour. Flashes of flashes of flashes of memories. Moments of curled up agony.

And then, suddenly.

Peace.

As if everything had come to life all at once. As if all had been calmed down and that for a moment. For a simple, easy and quiet moment. Peace. Total and utter calm. Something he’d not felt since…

Ever.

There was a bench in a park. A quiet bench in a park, full of flowers and bees. A flowing wind, a gentle calmness. It wasn’t a place he recognised, but it wasn’t threatening. It wasn’t agonising. It wasn’t painful. All was calm in the world.

He reached up and touched his face and felt the wetness. Felt the tears that flowed and barrelled down his cheeks. Tears of understanding. Tears of recognition. Tears of… happiness? For the moment, that bubbling and boiling in his soul. It was gone. There was nothing left in the depths of him. None of that anger, none of the vitriol. Just a calmness, that his body didn’t know quite how to accept.

He sat there looking into the world around him and took a deep breath, leaning back as he heard the crunch of grass beside him. He turned and looked, and he smiled. His mother.

The one ghost that had never been.

“My sweet boy.” Her voice sang out, like a light breeze.

“Mum…” Alex said softly in response, his voice choked up in his throat.

She sat beside him, and placed a hand on his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her warmth in that moment was soothing kiss to his fragile mind. A reminder of the positivity in the world, a positivity he had long since forgotten. The thin, wiry woman, an absolute battle axe of a lady.

“You’ve been through a lot, my sweet. A hard life, but you’re here still. A strong, powerful and loving man. Full of grief, but also full of love. Love for the people that mean the most. I loved that girl, Alex. And I know she loved you then, as much as she does now.” His mother said in his sharp, somewhat broken English. He’d nearly forgotten what her voice sounded like at one point in his life.

That powerful German mother, who stood as the barrier to abuse. That stood against the pain of the world and sheltered all those who suffered the same. The roof that protected from the storm. A true fighter, and a true woman of love. He reached turned his palm over and took her hand in his. Holding it for one more fleeting moment longer than he ever had before.

“The world grew bleaker without you here.” Alex said to her, turning to look at her eyes.

She just smiled, a smile that reached them. A smile that he could never forget.

“Only because you put on your sunglasses, Alexander. Only because you put your sunglasses on and never took them off. Look how beautiful it is here. How beautiful the world can be. Even beyond all the grief.” She said softly.

He turned to her and smiled. The Lost, had brought him home. His mind hadn’t been keeping him prisoner. Not in the true sense of it all. No, it had been trying to do what he refused to do. To make him face the truth. To face the resentment. To face his anger.

To realise that the grief wasn’t all he had.

“I miss you, Mum. I miss you every day. I love you.” Alex said, feeling the warmth of the tears still falling from his eyes. An endless waterfall of pent-up emotion. He’d cried a lot lately, but not like this. Tears of acceptance.

“I’m so proud of you, Alexander. I loved you every moment of my waking life, and beyond it. Do not forsake the world. Carry that love for me. Always.” She said one more time as she looked away, looking into the park.

He could feel it in the wind, in the warmth of the sun on his skin. She would leave soon, and maybe, forever. That was okay.

“I’m a little bit fucked up, I think.” Alex said.

“We’re all a little fucked up, Alexander. Curse of the family, I’m afraid. You’ll be right. You’ll pull through. I know you will. I know, because you won’t let the world forget you. Be my shining beacon, like I always thought you would.” His mother said.

And then, as quick as it all had begun. The world vanished. Her warm hand was gone, and the park was different. The park was still a park with flowers and wind. The sun still warm on his skin, but the bench was painful under his ass. He looked down at where his mother’s hand had been and for a moment he could almost feel it still.

“You alright there, grandpa? Taking a bit of a nap are we, sugar?” Luna’s voice cut through the air, as her warms flung around his neck, and she pressed her head against his. He reached up and took her hands in his and nodded.

“Yeah. I think I’m alright, Lu. I love you.” Alex said and leaned into her. Truly leaned into her, and just let the peace he felt linger a little bit longer.

And then…

He smiled with joy.

Supercard Roleplays / Re: ALEX JONES (c) v MILES KASEY - INTERNET TITLE - LAST MAN STANDING

« Last post by Alex Jones on March 05, 2026, 08:06:56 AM »

Realizations

The room smelled like disinfectant and old magazines. It was too quiet. No ropes creaking. No bodies hitting canvas. No trainers barking instructions. Just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the slow ticking of a wall clock that felt louder than it should have been. Alex sat on the edge of the examination table, paper crinkling beneath him every time he shifted his weight. His hoodie was folded beside him. Boots planted firmly on the tile floor. Elbows resting on his knees. He hated places like this. Hospitals. Clinics. Waiting rooms. Too clean. Too still. Too honest. The door opened. Dr. Andrews stepped inside with a tablet tucked under his arm. Mid-fifties. Calm eyes. The kind of man who spoke gently even when delivering bad news. “Morning, Alex.”

Alex didn’t look up immediately. “Doc.”

Dr. Andrews shut the door and moved toward the counter. “How’ve you been feeling?”

Alex snorted lightly. “That’s a dangerous question.”

The doctor gave a faint smile. “Humor me.”

Alex leaned back slightly, stretching his neck until it popped. “My left knee sounds like gravel when I walk upstairs. Shoulder aches when it rains. Back locks up if I sit too long.” He shrugged. “So… normal.”

Dr. Andrews didn’t laugh. He tapped the tablet, scrolling through imaging results. MRI scans. X-rays. Years of them. “Alex,” he began carefully, “this isn’t just soreness anymore.”

Alex rolled his eyes slightly. “You’ve been telling me that for fifteen years.”

“And you’ve been ignoring me for fifteen years.”

Fair. Alex leaned forward again, forearms resting on his thighs. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

Dr. Andrews stepped closer, tone still calm but firmer now. “Your cervical spine has degeneration consistent with repeated trauma. Your left knee cartilage is thinning. There’s chronic inflammation in your lower back. And your shoulder…” He paused. “…your shoulder is holding together because you’re stubborn.”

Alex smirked faintly. “I’ve been falling apart since I was a kid.”

Dr. Andrews didn’t bite. “That’s not something to joke about.”

Alex shrugged. “Doc, I grew up broke. I’ve been taped together since before I had health insurance.”

Silence. The doctor stepped closer, lowering his voice. “This isn’t about toughness. This is about longevity.”

Alex’s jaw tightened slightly. “Longevity for what?”

“For your life.”

That hung there. He didn’t say “career.” He didn’t say “matches.” He said life. Alex looked down at the floor tiles. “I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

“You’re not planning on slowing down either.” Alex didn’t respond. Dr. Andrews folded his arms. “How many matches last year?”

Alex hesitated. “…Thirty-two.”

“And how many the year before?”

“Thirty-six.”

“And you’re how old now?”

Alex’s jaw flexed. “Old enough.”

The doctor exhaled. “You are not a young man anymore.”

There it was. Not said cruelly. Not said dismissively. Just stated like a fact. Alex let out a quiet breath through his nose. “I don’t feel old.”

Dr. Andrews nodded. “I know.”

“And I’m still moving.”

“Yes.”

“And I’m still competitive.”

“Yes.” The doctor stepped closer. “But your body is starting to break down.”

The words weren’t loud. But they hit harder than any forearm ever had. Alex stared straight ahead. The room felt smaller. “I’ve wrestled with worse,” he muttered.

“I know you have.” Dr. Andrews’ voice softened. “And that’s the problem.” Alex’s brow furrowed slightly. “You’ve normalized damage.” Silence. “You’ve convinced yourself that pain is proof you’re still alive.”

Alex’s jaw tightened. “That’s wrestling.”

“No,” Dr. Andrews replied gently. “That’s survival mode.”

That landed differently. Alex shifted slightly on the table, the paper beneath him crackling loudly. “What are you saying?”

Dr. Andrews met his eyes directly now. “I’m saying you can’t keep this pace up.” Alex didn’t blink. “You need to start winding down.”

There it was. The phrase he hated. Winding down. Like he was a clock running out of spring. Like he was an old engine. Like something that had already peaked. Alex let out a humorless chuckle. “You got a pamphlet for that? How to gracefully disappear’?”

Dr. Andrews ignored the sarcasm. “This doesn’t have to be dramatic. You reduce your schedule. Prioritize recovery. Think long term.” Alex stared at the wall. Long term. He’d never thought long term. Wrestling wasn’t long term. It was match to match. Paycheck to paycheck. Injury to recovery. Repeat. “You don’t have to quit tomorrow,” the doctor continued. “But if you keep pushing at this intensity? You’re going to force your body to quit for you.”

Alex’s hands tightened into fists. He hated that more than anything. Losing control. “Worst case?” Alex asked quietly.

Dr. Andrews didn’t sugarcoat it. “Permanent mobility issues. Chronic nerve damage. Reduced quality of life.” Silence. “And that’s not even discussing head trauma.”

Alex swallowed. He looked down at his hands. Scars across his knuckles. Faint white lines from stitches. Old tape residue. He flexed his fingers slowly. They still worked. They still gripped. But they weren’t as fast anymore. He’d noticed that. He just hadn’t admitted it. The ticking clock felt louder now. “Doc,” Alex said quietly, “I don’t know how to not do this.”

That wasn’t defiance. That was honesty. Dr. Andrews’ expression softened. “I’m not asking you to stop being who you are.” He paused. “I’m asking you to protect the man you want to be at sixty.”

Sixty. That felt distant. And terrifying. Alex stared at the floor for a long time. Then he laughed under his breath. “You know what’s funny?” Dr. Andrews waited. “I used to think I’d be done by thirty.”

“And yet.”

“Yeah.”

Silence again. Then it crept in. The thought he hadn’t wanted to have. Dylan. He pictured him in the ring yesterday. Calm. Focused. Alive. He pictured that spark in his eyes when Alex said, “You want this?”

He imagined Dylan sitting on this same paper-covered table in twenty years. Hearing the same words. Your body is breaking down. You’re not a young man anymore. Alex’s chest tightened. “Do you want your son doing this?” Dr. Andrews asked suddenly.

The question wasn’t accusatory. It was curious. Alex didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Did he want Dylan feeling this? Did he want him icing joints at midnight? Did he want him measuring his worth in applause? Did he want him taped together and pretending it was normal? No. Absolutely not. But…He remembered Dylan’s face yesterday. That hunger. That certainty. He remembered his own at that age. You couldn’t stop that. You couldn’t reason it away. It wasn’t logic. It was calling. Alex exhaled slowly. “It’s not about what I want.” Dr. Andrews tilted his head. Alex looked at him. “It’s his choice.”

Silence filled the room again. The doctor nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

Alex ran a hand over his face. “I can’t protect him from pain.”

“No.”

“I can’t stop him from chasing it.” Alex swallowed. “But I can teach him how to survive it.”

Dr. Andrews gave a faint smile. “That’s the healthiest thing you’ve said since you walked in.”

Alex huffed a small laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

The doctor stepped back, tapping the tablet again. “So. We adjust your schedule. Physical therapy twice a week. Strength maintenance, not ego lifting.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Hey.”

“Don’t argue.” A beat. “And you start thinking about transition.”

Alex’s expression darkened slightly. “Transition.”

“Coaching. Producing. Mentoring. Full time. Something that keeps you in it without destroying you.”

Alex didn’t respond right away. Because the idea of not being the one in the ring felt… hollow. But the idea of not being able to walk beside his son someday? That felt worse. He slid off the examination table. Boots hitting tile with a heavy sound. “I’ll cut back,” he muttered.

Dr. Andrews gave him a knowing look. “Actually cut back.”

Alex smirked faintly. “We’ll see.”

The doctor stepped closer one last time. “You’ve given a lot to this business.”

Alex nodded. “Yeah.”

“Make sure it doesn’t take everything.” That one lingered. Alex grabbed his hoodie and pulled it on slowly. The fabric felt familiar. Comforting. Armor. He opened the door, then paused. For just a second. He thought about the ring. The ropes. The noise. The adrenaline. Then he thought about Dylan. And something shifted. Not fear. Not regret. Just clarity. He couldn’t wrestle forever.

But Dylan might.

And if that was going to happen…Then Alex needed to still be standing when the real storms hit. He stepped into the hallway. The clinic was still quiet. Still sterile. Still honest. For the first time in a long time, Alex didn’t feel invincible. But he didn’t feel defeated either. He felt aware. Aware that time wasn’t chasing him. It was walking beside him. And if he was smart…He’d start walking a little slower. Not because he was done. But because the next step wasn’t about proving he could endure pain anymore. It was about making sure he was still there when his son needed him. And that…Was a different kind of strength.

Last man standing

”I am doing this for all of you”

Alex pauses for a moment looking down at the Internet championship that is sitting over to the side on a small table with a light shining above it. He takes a long deep breath before looking back forward his eyes focused.

”I am trying to bring all of these young kids up to the same standard that I was held to when I was younger. I am trying to drag them kicking and screaming to a point where they can support this business and this company without people like me. I’m not going to be able to wrestle forever, I’m not going to be able to stay part of SCW forever. Big names come and go but I have stayed loyal to this company. I’ve stayed loyal to SCW because it has always stayed loyal to me and now as I’m trying to get the next generation ready to replace people like me you all seem to despise me for it.”

“I want one of these so-called kids to step up. But not one of them has been able to. Zayvion, LJ, Logan… they are the future. They are the ones who are going to carry this company into the next decade. And while they are talented I just don’t think they have it in them to do what needs to be done and that’s why I’ve been trying to make them. I’ve been trying to get them to realise that this business will chew you up and spit you out unless you fight back.”

“Zayvion tried hard and I respect that kid. He comes from a family that loves this business and I can see him rising up to the same height as Eddie Vincent and Alexandra.”

“But he’s not ready yet. Same as Logan Hunter he’s a good kid but he’s not ready yet either. And then of course there was LJ Kasey. The younger brother of my opponent at blaze of Glory. LJ you have talent. I can see it. Everyone can see it. But you keep letting yourself believe that your older brother is the one who is going to go on to become a world champion. I can see it in your eyes. You don’t think you’re as good as him. But trust me on this. You are better. And I’m going to prove it. I’m going to do you a favour LJ and a blaze of glory. I’m going to beat the hell out of your brother”

He pauses and then chuckles under his breath before sitting back

”Miles, you got to choose the stipulation for our championship match. And part of me was surprised. I didn’t think you would choose something so brutal but then I realised something. Everything I’ve said and everything I’ve done has gone under your skin. It has made you so angry that it has blinded you to what would have been an advantage. A last man standing match is not an advantage for you. The last man standing match is something that still puts us on even ground. You could have chosen a ladder match, you are faster than me. You’re more athletic than me and unlike me you don’t have too bad knees. You could’ve chosen that. But instead you stayed with this one.”

“You are so desperate to prove that you are better than me. But maybe it isn’t just about me is it Miles? This is another supercard where you are going into a championship match where you are not the champion. Another supercard where you are going to go for the Internet championship instead of the world championship.”

“What is Carter doing?”

“Oh right he’s defending the world championship. Again. He’s in a main event and you’re not. Maybe your choice of match, maybe the anger that you feel, maybe it’s not about me is it? Maybe it’s about Carter. Are you finally starting to realise what we’ve all been telling you? Is it getting through your thick skull miles? Your relationship is destroying your career. And hey maybe you’re happy with that. Maybe you are more than happy to play second fiddle to Carter. Let him go and be the star while you just exist.”

Alex chuckles and shakes his head. Reaching over to grab the Internet championship, he puts it on his lap and keeps his hand on a protectively.

”Beating me work fix that. It might give you a small moment of reprieve. It might make you feel a little bit better about yourself. But ultimately Miles beating me and taking the Internet championship is not going to be your saving grace. It’s not going to allow you to look to the future and say that you are one of the best. Because you are simply not. As talented as you are, as inspiring as it can be watching you overcome the odds and hearing those fans get behind you the truth is that until you sort your relationship and your career out and separate them completely. You are just going to be nothing but Carter’s bitch.”

“You need to push the two parts of your life apart. See, a real champion, someone who really wanted to be the best of the best wouldn’t worry about who is holding the championship. You should have gone after Carter with everything that you are to try and win that world championship and proved to the world that you are as good as you say you are but you didn’t. You just sat back and let Carter become the star while you faded into obscurity. And the only reason you’re relevant now is because you’re facing me. You and I have been able to resuscitate your career and make sure that everyone knows you still exist.”

“You’re welcome…”

“But, the problem is that soon it will be over. I talked about what will happen if you beat me but what happens if I beat you? This is the last time I’ll be defending the championship against two Miles. I beat you and that’s it. You go onto something else. But what will it be? I will stay the champion I will have another Challenger. But what about you? Your whole idea of relevancy your whole feeling of actually mattering now, it’s going to mean absolutely nothing. So blaze of glory you are going to do everything you can to be the last man standing, but at the end of the day if you lose there will be nothing holding you to this company anymore as being relevant. You’ll be a nobody. That’s the saddest part of all.”

Supercard Roleplays / Re: ALICIA LUKAS (c) v CASSIE WOLFE - ROULETTE TITLE

« Last post by Alicia Lukas on March 05, 2026, 08:01:38 AM »

Home is Where the Heart Is: Part Three

Barbara’s house hadn’t changed. Not really. The same cream curtains framed the front windows. The same hanging fern near the doorway that Alicia swore had been alive since childhood. The same faint scent of lavender and old books greeted her the moment she stepped inside. Some places refused to move with time. And for once, Alicia found that comforting instead of suffocating. “Shoes,” Barbara called from the kitchen without even turning around.

Alicia laughed softly and slipped them off by the door. “I’m thirty-four.”

“And still capable of tracking dirt across my floors.”

Fair. Alicia stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Her mother stood at the stove stirring something that smelled like tomato and garlic. She looked smaller than Alicia remembered. Or maybe Alicia just felt bigger now. More certain. Barbara turned finally, wooden spoon still in hand. There it was. That look. Not judgment. Not worry. Just… measuring. “How’s the house?” Barbara asked casually.

Alicia’s face lit instantly. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t polite enthusiasm. It was real. “Oh Mom,” she exhaled, pushing herself upright. “It’s… it’s perfect.”

Barbara raised one eyebrow. “Perfect?”

Alicia nodded quickly, almost laughing at herself. “Okay maybe not perfect. The backyard still looks like a construction zone and Ryan refuses to put his shoes away in the right cupboard and Marcus somehow leaves toy cars in places that defy physics.” Barbara’s mouth twitched. “But it’s ours,” Alicia continued, softer now. “It smells like us. It feels like us. The boys—” She stopped herself because her voice threatened to crack. “They run through it like they’ve always lived there.”

Barbara leaned her hip against the counter, crossing her arms slowly. “And you?”

Alicia didn’t hesitate. “I don’t feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong anymore.”

The words hung in the air. Barbara’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. A softness that hadn’t been there before. “That’s new,” she said gently.

Alicia nodded. They moved to the small wooden table by the window. The same table Alicia had done homework at. The same table she had once slammed her fists against during arguments about wrestling, about risk, about choices. Now she wrapped both hands around a mug of tea. Barbara studied her. Again, that look. Alicia narrowed her eyes playfully. “What?”

Barbara tilted her head slightly. “You look settled.”

“I am settled.”

“No,” Barbara corrected softly. “You look… complete.” Alicia blinked. Barbara reached across the table and covered Alicia’s hand with her own. “I have watched you chase things your entire life. Titles. Validation. Approval. You were always proving something. Even when you didn’t need to.” Alicia swallowed. “I worried Not because you weren’t strong. You’ve always been strong. But because you never allowed yourself to rest in anything. You were always tense.” That word hit harder than it should have..Barbara squeezed her hand gently. “But you’re not tense anymore.”

Alicia’s throat tightened. “No,” she whispered.

Barbara smiled then. Not wide. Not theatrical. Just warm.“I’m proud of you.”

The simplicity of it made Alicia’s eyes sting. “For the house?” she asked, attempting lightness.

“For choosing well.” Silence again. But this time it wasn’t heavy. Barbara continued carefully. “Austin… he balances you. Doesn't control you. It doesn’tcompete with you. He stands beside you. And those boys, they look happy. All of them. That doesn’t happen by accident.”

Alicia blinked rapidly. “They’re good kids,” she murmured.

“They are. Because you and he are giving them something steady.” Barbara’s gaze sharpened just slightly. “You didn’t always have steady.”

That wasn’t accusatory. It was factual. Alicia nodded once. “No,” she agreed.

Barbara leaned back in her chair. “But you built it anyway.” The pride in her mother’s voice cracked something open in Alicia’s chest. Years ago, Barbara had been protective. Cautious. Unsure about the wrestling world. About Austin. About the pace Alicia lived at. Now there was no hesitation. “I was worried at first,” Barbara admitted. “Not about him. About you. I didn’t want you choosing from loneliness.” Alicia’s brows knit slightly.“ But you didn’t, You chose from strength.” The distinction mattered.

Alicia let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I am happy,” she said firmly. “I’ve never been this… calm. The boys laugh constantly. Austin’s shoulder is healing. We cook dinner together. Sometimes we argue about absolutely stupid things like which cupboard the cereal goes in and then we forget about it five minutes later.” She smiled. “It’s boring, Mom.”

Barbara’s lips curved. “Good.”

“It’s not adrenaline. It’s not chaos. It’s just… life.”

“And you’re not afraid of it?”

Alicia shook her head. “I used to think if everything was quiet it meant I was missing something. Now I think maybe I was missing this.”

Barbara stood and walked around the table, pulling Alicia into a hug without warning. Not a polite hug. A tight one. “I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become,” she murmured against her daughter’s hair.

Alicia closed her eyes. “I’m so happy you approve,” she confessed quietly.

Barbara pulled back slightly, cupping Alicia’s face. “Approve?” she repeated gently. “Sweetheart, I trust you.” That landed differently. “You’ve built a home, “Not just walls. Not just rooms. A home. And that’s harder than any championship you’ve ever won.”

Alicia laughed through the moisture in her eyes. “Don’t let SCW hear you say that.”

Barbara smirked. “Let them.” They sat back down eventually, conversation shifting to lighter things. School schedules. Landscaping plans. Whether Austin really needed another grill. But underneath it all was something steady. Recognition. Validation not from a crowd. But from the woman who had watched Alicia grow from a stubborn little girl into someone who finally understood that strength wasn’t just about fighting. It was about choosing peace when you’d spent your whole life in battle. As Alicia stood to leave later that afternoon, Barbara walked her to the door. “Bring the boys next week,” she said.

“I will.”

Barbara hesitated before adding, “And Alicia?” She turned. “You deserve this.” No caveat. No warning. No protective edge. Just certainty. Alicia stepped outside into the fading afternoon light feeling lighter than she had in years. Not because her life was perfect. Not because nothing could go wrong. But because the last person she’d subconsciously been trying to prove something to had just told her she didn’t need to anymore. And that? That felt like coming home all over again.

Idiot

”Thats it?”

Alicia takes a long deep breath, staring ahead. You can see the look of disappointment on her face. Not anger disappointment. She takes a deep breath and continues clasping her hands together.

”I wanted so much more from you, Cassie. I wanted you to get angry and cut a scathing promo on me. One that proved to me that you were ready to beat me or that you are ready to be more than just a sideshow. But apparently, apparently my belief in you was misplaced. And I should be angry with you. I should be so angry that I should be ready to rip your goddamn head off. But I’m not angry I’m just disappointed.”

“See Cassie, sweetheart. There is this thing in this business called earning your shots. No matter where you go and no matter what you do you have to earn everything that you get. I guess that’s something that your generation just doesn’t get does it? You sit there and say that you’re hungry like a wolf or that you’re this rebel princess yet you asked me to step aside and let you take the spotlight and let you be a champion. You asked me to hand you something.”

“Yeah, that really seems like championship material doesn’t it?”

“You have to earn everything that you get given Cassie and you just don’t seem to understand that. You want me to step aside? You want to be the future? Then you have to earn it. And you have to earn it by facing me. You have to earn it by beating me. This business doesn’t just give things to people. It lets people who earned them hold them. I earned the roulette championship. I earned the right to be a champion. And so far all you’ve heard is a entertaining ass kicking a blaze of glory.”

She shakes her head again, adjusting her leather jacket before sitting back

”You call me a legacy act, and I’m sure you thought that would get under my skin right? The truth is Cassie you’re not completely wrong. I am a legacy act. Because unlike you, I have a legacy in this business and this company. You act like I’m old and that I should be getting ready to retire. I’m in my 30s, my early 30s, I am not some 50 year-old with a broken body and a broken brain dragging myself to the ring and embarrassing myself every single week. So you want to talk about legacy act? This legacy act is the bombshell’s division.”

“When people look through the history of the SCW bombshells division, when they look through the great matches of the great moments, my name is synonymous with all of them. My name is on that same level as some of the other legends of this business. Women who have been the champion, women who have created moments. My name is going to be remembered years from now. When I eventually do retire and hang up my boots do you know what’s going to happen?”

“I will still be remembered.”

“I will have kids who aren’t even born yet discovering my moments. Discovering my championship reigns, discovery my matches. Then they’re going to get around and they’re going to talk about dream matches between current rates and myself or how I would survive in the new days of wrestling whatever they are going to look like and I’m going to have those same kids wishing that I would come back. Wishing that I was young enough to still get in the ring. But you? Do you want to know what’s going to happen to your name in 20 or 30 years time Cassie?”

“Nothing… because you have no legacy”

She slowly smiles knowing that that was going to sting. But in Alicia‘s mind it was the truth.

”But, maybe I’m being too hard on you, Cassie. After all you would have been the roulette champion if your knee hadn’t got blown out right? You certainly have some kind of facts to pack that up don’t you? What’s that? You don’t? Of course you don’t. Because you much like Harper and everyone else that is part of your generation like to just throw out things without any proof. Any time I say something I have proof to back it up. Even if it isn’t something that was seen or heard I can still come up with something that justifies my opinion or justifies everything that I’ve said.”

“But you? You don’t do that. You don’t come up with any proof for your opinions or ideas. You sit there and say that you would have been the roulette champion? What about the fact that every other time you wanna have faced I’ve won? What do you forget that? Rather convenient isn’t it?? Of course with your generation I guess it’s pretty on par isn’t it? You lose a match and the next week or the next time you’re seen it’s like it doesn’t matter. You might mention it in a throwaway single line where you might not mention it at all. You just keep on going. You never turn around and address it and face it.”

“Well…I’m going to change that…”

“I’m going to beat you at blaze of glory and I’m going to force you to face your loss. I am going to force you to admit that you were wrong and I’m going to force you to step up and finally be a real woman. Not a scared little girl who doesn’t know what this business is all about. I’m going to make you become who you need to be because right now I have absolutely no confidence leaving this business in your hands. You want to be the future? Do you want to be a champion? You want people like myself and Mercedes Vargus and crystal gone? Then earn it. Prove it. Instead of just being a whiny little bitch.”

Supercard Roleplays / Re: KAYLA RICHARDS (c) v FRANKIE HOLLIDAY - WORLD TITLE

« Last post by Dreamkiller on March 05, 2026, 07:51:54 AM »

Chapter 83: Quiet Things

Finn was already home when I heard the front door open.

I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. The afternoon light had thinned into something dusky and uncertain, the kind that stretches shadows long across the floor before finally surrendering to night. The house felt different in the evenings. Smaller. More enclosed. Like the walls leaned in slightly once the sun disappeared. His boots hit the mat by the door. The sound grounded me more than I expected.

Leather scraping. A muted thud. The soft exhale that always followed when he stepped inside, like he allowed himself to decompress only once the door was shut behind him. I was still on the couch, blanket pulled back over my legs, but the television was off now. The silence wasn’t empty. Just layered, heater humming softly, pipes ticking faintly as they adjusted to temperature changes, wind brushing against the windows in uneven strokes. “Hey,” he called out, voice roughened slightly from training. There was always gravel in it after a long session. Like friction lived in his throat.

“In here.”

His footsteps were steady. Measured. Finn never rushed into rooms. He occupied them deliberately, aware of space, aware of presence. When he appeared in the doorway, his hair was soaked in sweat, dark strands damp at the temples. A faint bruise had begun forming high on his cheekbone, purpling under pale skin. His knuckles were reddened. Raw. He leaned against the doorframe for a second before stepping in fully. “You okay?” he asked.

Not suspicion. Not interrogation. Just observation. He’d gotten good at reading shifts in my breathing. “Yeah,” I replied. “Tasmin stopped by.” He nodded once, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of me. Close, but not crowding. His forearms rested loosely on his thighs. His hands hung between them, relaxed but strong, veins faintly visible beneath skin that carried too many old scars.

“How is she?”

“Good. Dawn’s declared war on vegetables.”

A corner of his mouth lifted faintly. “Brave kid.” I smiled slightly at that. Silence followed, but not uncomfortable. Just breathing space. Finn was never threatened by quiet. He treated it like something that deserved respect. He studied me for another moment. “And?” he asked quietly.

That was it. That was him probing. Never digging. Just opening a door and letting me decide whether to walk through it. I watched his hands instead of his eyes. “She’s been seeing Dad,” I said. His expression didn’t change. But something in his posture stilled further. Listening more closely now. “Consistently,” I added. “He’s been showing up.”

Finn nodded slowly, once. “That good?”

“I think so.”

“You think,” he repeated gently, not correcting, just clarifying.

I exhaled softly through my nose. “I don’t know what to do with it yet.”

He shifted slightly, elbows bracing on his thighs now. “You don’t have to.”

“I feel like I should.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. “Because it’s different.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Different doesn’t mean immediate.” That was such a Finn answer. No emotional rush. No dramatic reaction. Just grounded logic wrapped in patience. “He asked you something?” Finn said after a moment.

I looked up at him then. He wasn’t accusing. Just… aware. He knew my father didn’t visit without leaving something behind. “Yeah,” I admitted. He waited. “He asked if I wanted children.” The air shifted. Subtle. Quiet. But real. Finn’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, before he forced it to relax. His tongue pressed briefly against the inside of his cheek. A small tell. One I’d learned to notice.

“And?” he asked. I swallowed.

“I told him I wasn’t sure.” He nodded once. “But,” I added. His eyes flicked back to mine. “But with you… it feels different.” The words felt fragile once spoken. Not because they were weak, but because they were honest. “I used to think I didn’t want them,” I continued, voice steady but softer now. “Because I was scared I’d repeat things. That I’d mess someone up the way we were messed up.” I hesitated. “That I’d disappear emotionally. Or shut down. Or… become him in ways I wouldn’t even notice.” Finn didn’t interrupt. Didn’t rush to contradict.

“But when I picture it now, I don’t see that.” His gaze held mine carefully. Like he was bracing for impact but refusing to look away. “I see this house, I see mornings with too much noise. I see toys in places they shouldn’t be. I see you trying to assemble something without instructions and pretending you’re not frustrated.” A faint breath of a smile. “I see something stable.” He looked away first. Not sharply. Not coldly. Just… inward. “I don’t know when that changed,” I admitted. “But it did.” The silence stretched longer this time. His shoulders rose with a slow inhale. Fell with an even slower exhale.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he said.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“A while.” His fingers interlocked loosely between his knees now. He stared at them like they might offer answers. Then he went quiet. Not dismissive. Not angry. Just quiet in a way that felt heavier than before. I shifted forward slightly, blanket slipping from my knees to the floor unnoticed. “Finn,” I said softly. He dragged a hand down his face briefly, fingers pressing into his eyes before lowering again.

“I don’t know if I want kids,” he said finally. The words weren’t sharp. They were tired. I let them land without flinching. He looked at me again then, and there was something raw behind his eyes. Something exposed. “You have to remember,” he said carefully, “what I’ve been through.” I did. Not in detail. He didn’t share those. But I remembered hospital hallways. The way he shut down for weeks after certain anniversaries. The way grief sat in his chest like a permanent resident. “They weren’t ideas,” he continued, voice quieter now. “They weren’t hypotheticals. They were here.” His throat tightened slightly. “I held them.” The room felt smaller. “And then they weren’t.” Silence pressed in. “And I don’t know, if I could survive that again.”

There it was. Not rejection. Not refusal. Fear wrapped in memory. I reached forward slowly, placing my hand over his. His skin was warm, calloused, familiar. “I’m not trying to replace anything,” I said gently.

“I know.” Immediate. Firm. He meant it. His fingers shifted beneath mine, turning so our hands laced together naturally. “I just…” He exhaled shakily. “I don’t know if I’m built to risk that again. To open that door and wonder every day if it’s going to be taken from me.”

His honesty didn’t feel like distance. It felt like standing at the edge of something fragile and choosing not to pretend it wasn’t cracked. “I understand,” And I did. Because this wasn’t about willingness. It was about survival. “You don’t have to decide now,” I added.

“That’s not fair to you.”

“It’s not about fair.”

His eyes searched mine like he expected resentment hiding there. “I’m not saying never,” he clarified. “I just can’t promise I’ll get there.”

“That’s okay.”

The words didn’t taste bitter. They tasted steady. “I don’t want to take that from you,” he said.

“You’re not.” I’d rather have you,” I continued quietly, “than an idea of something that might not even exist yet.” That made something shift in his expression. Relief. Pain. Gratitude. “You don’t have to shut it down just because it’s complicated,” I told him. “I won’t push.”[/color]

“It is complicated,” he said.

“We are complicated.”

That pulled a faint breath of a laugh from him. Small. Real. His thumb brushed across the back of my hand absently. “You’d be a good mother,” he said suddenly. The statement hit harder than I expected.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” No hesitation this time. “You question everything. You’d never ignore a problem. You’d never disappear.” His voice softened further. “You’d fight for them.”

Emotion pressed tight in my chest. “Thank you.”

He nodded once. “But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to be someone’s father again.”

Again. That word carried everything. I didn’t ask what would make him ready. Didn’t ask if time healed it. Some wounds don’t respond to schedules. So I squeezed his hand instead. “We don’t have to solve the future tonight,” I said.

He leaned back slightly, tension easing a fraction. “No,” he agreed quietly. After a moment, he shifted from the coffee table to the couch beside me. The cushion dipped under his weight. I tucked back into the blanket automatically and he pulled part of it over his lap too. His arm came around my shoulders. Not possessive. Protective. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm beneath my ear. His heartbeat was slower than mine. Grounded. Anchoring. “You okay?” he asked again, softer this time.

“Yeah.” I was. The conversation hadn’t given us answers. It hadn’t built a plan or drawn a timeline. But it had stayed honest. And that mattered more. I didn’t bring it up again that night. Didn’t circle back. Didn’t push him into the past he’d barely opened. He wasn’t closing a door. He was guarding a scar. And loving someone means knowing the difference. Outside, the mountains stood unmoved. Ancient. Steady. Inside, we were quieter than that. More fragile. But still here. Still choosing each other. And for now. That was enough.

The Difference Between a Moment and a Legacy

“You know something, Captain… I listened to everything you had to say. Every insult. Every accusation. Every little fantasy you spun about how you supposedly broke me, exposed me, shattered the myth of Kayla Richards. And the entire time I kept waiting for the part where you actually said something new.”

Kayla’s voice is calm, steady, and almost amused.

“But it never came. Because the truth is, for someone who loves to talk about how boring I am… you’ve been repeating the exact same story for months now. ‘I beat Kayla Richards.’ ‘I lit the myth on fire.’ ‘I exposed the unbeatable champion.’ That’s your entire identity, Captain. That one moment. That one victory. That one night where everything lined up for you and suddenly you convinced yourself that it rewrote the entire history of this division. And that’s where the difference between you and me begins. Because when you beat me, I didn’t spend the next six months crying about it. I didn’t run around telling everyone the universe had collapsed. I didn’t create conspiracy theories about the company, or management, or how the world was against me. I did something much simpler than that. I accepted it. I took the loss, I stepped back, and I continued doing what I’ve done my entire career… building a legacy.”

“Meanwhile you… you built a personality out of beating me once. That’s the part you don’t seem to understand, Captain. In this business, anybody can have a moment. Anybody can catch lightning in a bottle for one night. Anybody can beat the champion on the right night under the right circumstances. That doesn’t make you the future. That doesn’t make you inevitable. That doesn’t make you the woman who runs the division. It just means you had a moment. And the problem with building your entire identity around a moment… is that eventually you have to prove it wasn’t a fluke.”

Kayla inhale sharply before chuckling and grabbing hold of the championship,

“Which brings us to your favorite little question. What took me so long to get the title back? Six months, right? Six whole months where apparently I was lost, broken, wandering around without purpose because I didn’t have a championship belt to validate my existence. That’s the story you want people to believe. That I’m nothing without this title. That I need it to feel important. That I need it to be relevant. But if that were actually true… then explain something to me. Why are you still obsessed with proving you’re better than me? You spent an entire promo talking about how boring I am. How replaceable I am. How I’m just a pawn for the company. How I’m white bread, safe, predictable, stale. And yet somehow, despite all of that, the single greatest accomplishment of your career is still beating Kayla Richards. Doesn’t that seem a little contradictory to you?”

“Because if I’m everything you claim I am… then beating me shouldn’t mean anything.”

“But you don’t treat it like it means nothing. You treat it like it’s the defining moment of your life. You built your entire reputation on it. Your entire aura on it. Your entire identity on it. Which means whether you like it or not… Kayla Richards is the foundation of your career. And that must drive you absolutely insane. You also love talking about how the company protects me. How I’m the safe choice. The reliable champion. The status quo they want to keep at the top of the division. That’s your favorite conspiracy theory, isn’t it? The idea that management is terrified of you. That you’re the revolutionary force they can’t control.”

“But here’s the funny part about that narrative. If the company was so desperate to protect me… you never would have beaten me in the first place You never would have taken the title from me. You never would have had that moment you’re so proud of. The very existence of that victory completely destroys the story you’re trying to tell. Because if I’m their chosen golden child… if I’m the protected pawn… then how exactly did you ‘burn the myth to the ground’ in the first place? You can’t have it both ways, Either I’m the unstoppable system favorite who gets everything handed to her… or you beat me fair and square and proved you were better that night.”

her words are filled with venom. She takes a step forward clutching the championship. There’s now over her shoulder a little harder.

“But if you beat me fair and square… then the company clearly isn’t protecting me the way you claim. Which means your entire rebellion narrative collapses. And suddenly you’re not the fearless revolutionary anymore. You’re just another challenger trying to take my championship. And that brings us to the part of your promo where things really start to fall apart. You say you’re inevitable. You say you clawed your way back from the bottom. You say you’re the unstoppable future of this division. And yet here we are… and I’m the one holding the championship again. Not you. Me. Which means despite all that talk about inevitability… despite all that talk about how you changed the division… despite all that talk about how you destroyed the myth of Kayla Richards…you’re still chasing me. And that’s the part you can’t stand.”

“You don’t want to just beat me again. You need to beat me again. Because if you don’t… then the entire story you’ve built about yourself starts to crumble. If you lose at Blaze of Glory, suddenly that legendary victory becomes just another upset. Just another moment where someone caught lightning in a bottle. Just another night where a challenger got lucky against the champion. And that terrifies you. Because deep down you know something. Moments are fragile. They don’t last forever. Legacies do. That’s why you keep talking about breaking me. Destroying me. Taking everything away from me. You want to see me collapse. You want to see the aura disappear. You want to prove that the woman everyone called the best wrestler in the world was just an illusion.”

“But the truth is much simpler than that.”

“You didn’t destroy the myth of Kayla Richards. You challenged it. And now you have to do it again. Because that’s how this works. If you want to replace someone like me… if you want to claim you’re the future… if you want to stand here and tell the world you’re better than the best wrestler in the world…then you don’t get to do it once. You have to do it every time. That’s the pressure of being at the top of this division. That’s the reality of holding this championship. And it’s something you haven’t had to live with yet. But you’re about to find out exactly what it feels like.”

she slightly smiles trying to relax herself. Now she clears her throat before continuing.

“Because at Blaze of Glory you’re not walking into the ring with the woman you beat months ago. You’re stepping into the ring with the champion. With the woman who has spent years proving she belongs at the top of this industry. With the woman whose entire career has been built on doing the same thing over and over again…proving people wrong. So if you really believe everything you said… if you really believe you broke me… if you really believe the myth of Kayla Richards is dead…Then come prove it again.” Because one victory makes a moment. But two? Two starts to make a legacy. And right now, Captain…”

“…you’re still living off a moment.”

“But the more I listened to you talk, the more something became painfully obvious. You’re not actually trying to prove you’re better than me anymore. You’re trying to convince yourself that beating me once actually meant what you hoped it meant. Because if that victory truly shattered the myth of Kayla Richards the way you claim it did… we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Think about that for a second. You say you destroyed the aura. You say you broke the unbeatable champion. You say you knocked the queen off the mountain. Yet here we are again, standing in the exact same place, with the exact same championship sitting on my shoulder.”

“That doesn’t sound like someone who was broken to me. That sounds like someone who got back up. And that’s the part of this story you can’t stand. Because the entire mythology you’ve built around yourself depends on the idea that beating me permanently changed everything. You need people to believe that moment rewrote the hierarchy of this division.That it exposed the truth. That it revealed the emperor had no clothes. But the problem with myths like that is they have a nasty habit of collapsing the moment reality steps back in. Reality looks a lot like this championship.”

she looks to her right clutching the championship that’s on her shoulder before looking forward with a smile

“Reality looks like the same woman you claim to have destroyed standing right back at the top of the division again. Reality looks like the supposed ‘status quo pawn’ you keep whining about being the one every challenger still has to go through if they want to call themselves the best. And that’s why you’re so angry. Because if I really was everything you say I am, boring, replaceable, stale, irrelevant, then beating me wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t define your career. It wouldn’t be the story you repeat over and over again like it’s the single greatest accomplishment of your life. But it does define you. And that’s the truth you’re trying to run from.”

“You can scream about revolutions and inevitability all you want, but at the end of the day the foundation of your reputation still rests on one thing: you beat Kayla Richards.”

“Which means no matter how much you pretend otherwise, no matter how loudly you try to rewrite the narrative… career still revolves around me. And if you fail at Blaze of Glory? If you walk into that ring with all this confidence and all this rage and all this certainty… and you walk out without this championship? Then that ‘historic victory’ you keep bragging about stops looking like the birth of a new era. It starts looking like exactly what it really was. A great night for a challenger… against a champion who came back and proved it was only a moment. “And moments fade, Captain.”

“Legends don’t.”

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