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Mommy's Little Monsters
#NP "Mommy's Little Monster" by Social Distortion
Locale: Dive Bar in San Juan, PR (Three weeks ago)
If he wanted an experience, he was about to get one. We pan inside of a local dive bar somewhere in San Juan. It is rather Americanized in its decor, meant to appeal to tourists, despite the dilapidated state the bar is in. We go around the bar to see men dressed in a variety of styles, dancing with girls that appear to be more showgirls than anything. Sequins and feathers aplenty, and gold dripping from all over their bodies, their hair done up beauty queen style, and make up that makes them equal to Helen of Troy. Dare I say even surpassing the beauty. There are the wallflowers who are nursing their beers, watching the action, yet too afraid to participate in the freestyle salsa dancing going on in the center of the bar. One of said wallflowers is Tim Staggs. However, he is nursing a virgin drink under the guise of a mixed drink. The red cocktail has fruit around the rim, and even a decorative umbrella in it. Tim doesn't see how effeminate this appears to others, and he'd be better off nursing a soft drink, so he lightly bobs his head to the music. One of the most beautiful women walks by the line of wallflowers, her fiery Latina eyes sizing up her next victim. The spider pendant resting neatly on her ample bosom gives away her moniker, La Viuda Negra, The Black Widow. The men standing by suddenly get excited in hopes of attracting the attention of this lovely lady of the night. Naivity settles in with Tim as this flies over his head. As La Viuda Negra walks down the line, Tim's fruity drink, and his ginger hair, seem to attract her immediately. She walks over to him, taking his drink from his hand, and she wraps her arms around his neck, swaying to the latin beat.
La Viuda Negra: Muy caliente, papi. You must dance with me.
Without waiting for an answer, she drags Tim onto the dance floor where she demands the attention of every patron within the bar. To call her a show stealer is a true understatement. She is the center of attention, whether you want her to be or not. Her hips sway as she shimmies around Tim, captivating the youngster as she threatens to seduce him. Her hands rest around his neck as her eyes demand him to place his hands on her hips. Without hesitation, he does. He almost doesn't know how to handle having all eyes near him, as he's used to being ignored by his peers. The dance goes on for several more minutes, and it appears to be a game of cat and mouse. The more naive Tim seems, the more La Viuda Negra wants him for herself. She kneels down slightly as she shimmies up his body slowly. She presses her lips against his, leading the inexperienced Tim into her web. At this point, the war is won, and the song ends. La Viuda Negra smiles and winks at Tim before leading him off of the floor. She looks from side to side before walking to a table at the very back of the bar. Despite it's location, it is quite lush. A black wrought iron spider with a ruby red hourglass symbol on its back rests on the wall above the booth. As she walks with Tim, Tim insists she enter the booth first. She winks and blushes, gingerly sitting down as she lifts the bottom of her evening gown just enough to comfortably move in the form fitting dress. Tim sits next to her, and she sinks into him, taking a small sniff of his essense, moaning in a pleased tone as she unbuttons the top few buttons of his shirt. She reaches in and runs her fingers over his smooth, and surprisingly toned chest. With her free hand, she snaps her fingers three times, pointing down at the table with annoyance.
Tim: That was a great dance. It's the first time I've ever felt noticed by such a lovely lady...
La Viuda Negra: Awww, that ees so sweet of you, Rojo.
A few seconds of awkward silence passes before the gritty bartender whose entire body, from the neck down at least, appears to be a demented childrens coloring book page. The amber liquid splashes all over the place, causing La Viuda Negra to begin spouting off in Spanish at him.
La Viuda Negra: Oh mi dios que puto idiota! Cuidado con la forma de manejar su negocio mientras este chico dama maneja el suyo, hijo de puta! Thank you!
La Viuda Negra's snappy, angry tone quickly changes as she looks back up into Tim's icy blue eyes, cooling her down as she melts back into his arms. She takes the shot glass and tosses it back in a precise gulp. She goes to hand the half empty one to Tim. As she does, Tim contemplates taking it. When he figures he's got nothing to lose, he places the glass to his lips when a bejeweled hand, with black manicured nails slaps it clear from his hand, causing the glass to break against the wall. La Viuda Negra looks highly offended as she brushes a piece of hair from out of her face. She stands up at the table and speaks very pointedly to the person standing in front of their table.
La Viuda Negra: Ex-CUSE me, puta? I dun know who you think you are, chica, but...
"I am his mother... puta..."
The camera turns to see Tim's biological mother, Roxanne, standing in front of him. She is wearing a black leather dress fashioned to look like a mixture of a fetish garment and an evening gown. She glares at La Viuda Negra, causing her to laugh in Roxanne's face.
La Vuida Negra: You might be old enough to be 'ees mother, but don't be mad cause he upgraded.
Roxanne: Don't mistake me, bitch, because I will bust you open and smear you all over this shitty fucking bar. If you don't believe me, I'd be happy to prove how very fucking serious I am right now...
La Viuda Negra looks at Tim, who is both embarrassed and angry as he looks down at the table as if he can't believe this is happening to him. La Viuda Negra rolls her eyes and holds a hand up in Roxanne's face as she exits the booth.
La Viuda Negra: I seriously doubt it, mami, but I didn't spend good money on a manicure to get slut cuts in my nail beds. Sorry Rojo...
She walks off as Roxanne bends over, resting her elbows on the table, glaring right at Tim. However, she is surprised to see him staring right back at her with the same intensity. He pounds the table in frustration as he literally screams at her.
Tim: YOU FUCKING COCK BLOCKER!!! I told you I didn't want to ever see you again! Why are you even here?!
Roxanne: You will NOT talk to your mother that way!
Tim: Damn right I will not, but you gave up that right when you signed custody over to Misty eleven years ago to go play Amanda Cortez. Now, if you will excuse me, lady, I'm about to lose my virginity.
Roxanne shudders at the thought, almost unsure of how to respond to that, for many reasons. She takes a deep breath, and takes a seat at the table. She grabs onto Tim's hands gently, in a manner that begs him to sit and hear her out. However. Tim rips his arms free and stands up, leaning down into his mother's face.
Tim: Don't you dare touch me, bitch.
Without a warning, Roxanne slaps Tim across the face as hard as she can, taking him by surprise. She then shoves him down into the booth, turning the tides on him as she is now hovering over him as he holds his reddening cheek tenderly.
Roxanne: Don't you dare talk to an elder like that. Your father might have accepted that type of language, but I won't. Nobody calls me "bitch", are we crystal?
Tim doesn't respond as he simply stares into Roxanne's eyes. She waits to make sure he fully understands. When he doesn't move much, she slowly sits back down in her seat, crossing her legs as she pulls a black clove cigarette out of her handbag. She lights it up, sucking in softly and almost seductively before she exhales the plume of fragrant smoke.
Roxanne: This isn't you, Timmy. You were always a respectful boy. You minded your manners everywhere. You know, no matter how fucked up Spike and I were, we always heard compliments on your behavior. Well-mannered. Courteous. An angel... I'm not asking you to tell me what changed, because you've made it abundantly clear that I don't reserve that right. I'm okay with that. But, as a concerned citizen, I think you should go back home to your father.
Tim: As far as I'm concerned, I'm an orphan right now. Misty has her son, dad has his second chances with the twins. There is nobody for me, and I'm finally used to it. Everyone passes me off as a fucking problem, and I'm done giving a shit about it. That well behaved boy disappeared when you tried to butt back into my life six weeks ago. He disappeared the second my fucking fist met Spike's face. It was that moment where he proved he doesn't really care about me. Not even a little. If he cared, he would know that, no matter what the circumstances were, you are the last person I would ever want to see. Comprende?
Tim leans his elbows on the table, staring with an almost familiar sadistic glare in his ice blue eyes. He locks on to Roxanne's, and the look in his eyes is almost enough to scare her, even. She does her best to put up a fight, but the emotion of the moment gets the best of her as she breaks the stare. Tim leans back in the booth, tucking his hands behind his head as he watches Roxanne smooth out her skirt before standing up. She picks up her purse and slings it over her shoulders as she turns and looks back to Tim.
Roxanne: I just hope that you know that the road you are going down is not an untravelled one. It isn't you being rebellious. It makes you a chip off of the old block. You can still stop yourself before you turn into your father.
Tim: Sometimes you have to be what you hate, to beat what you hate.
Roxanne gives a friendly, yet highly passive-aggressive, smirk as she adjusts the strap on her black leather handbag. She studies Tim for a moment, trying to disguise the tears welling up in her eyes with a light chuckle.
Roxanne: That isn't beating, boy. That is replacing. You are replacing the monster with an even darer one.
Tim: I... don't... care...
Tim picks up a glass on the table, holding it up to his nose as he takes in a deep breath of the cocktail. He brings the rim of the glass to his lips, taking in a light sip, before guzzling it all down, while watching his biological mother sour in disgust before she turns and walks away. Tim picks a piece of ice out of the glass and places it between his teeth, grinning at his mother as La Viuda Negra walks back up. He wraps his lips around the cube as she takes a seat next to him. He brings his lips to her bust line, kissing up to her neck, sending chills down her spine as she gasps, moaning and holding onto his head, as if asking for mercy that she doesn't truly want. Tim glares at Roxanne as she walks out of the door, and he chuckles as La Viuda Negra crawls onto his lap and the scene fades out.
Taking It In Stride
#NP "Edge of Seventeen" by Stevie Nicks
LOCALE: Las Vegas, Nevada
The sun is burning brightly as we get a close up on Tim walking down a run down street in Las Vegas. Not exactly a tourist attraction spot. He has his headphones in as he whistles along to the music playing through his headphones. Despite a bandage on the side of his head, he looks to be in a very good mood, even with the events of the last few weeks. He has a bit of a swagger in his step as he rounds the corner, facing Staggs Dungeon's entrance. He looks down at his iPod, taking note of the early hour of 6:30am before he places a key into the lock of the door. He raises a cigarette to his lips, taking a final drag before flicking it down the street and opening the door up. It is dimly lit inside, as he removes his black hooded jacket and tosses it to the ground. He takes a deep breath as he walks deeper within the gym. He flips the light on, ready to get in a work out before the gym opened to the students. However, what greets him comes as a bit of a surprise. Connor Murphy is standing in the middle of the ring, and he is not alone. Spike and Vixen Staggs are standing on either side of him. Spike seems rather uninterested, though it is clearly a facade, while Connor has a guilty expression. Tim's face sours as he looks to be on the verge of a meltdown. However, he quickly silences the boiling anger, and simply scoffs as he shakes his head. He locks eyes with Connor as if having a silent conversation with him for a moment before making a verbal response.
Tim: I honestly can't believe you did this, Connor... That's pretty fucked up, man.
Tim leans down to pick up his jacket from the ground when Connor exits the ring. He approaches Tim, who is pulling his jacket over his arms in a flustered hurry. He grunts in displeasure as Connor walks toward him, placing a hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim shrugs it off, only to have Connor assert himself as he leans in, pulling a cigarette from Tim's chest pocket, along with a lighter. He takes a long drag as Connor exhales next to Tim's ear before speaking.
Connor: You got to man up eventually, me boyo.
He gives a few hard pats of encouragement to Tim before making a sour face.
Connor: Menthols, really?
Connor opens the door, hanging outside of it as he continues to smoke. Tim couldn't look any more displeased until he forces a similar look of disinterest onto his face as his father is sporting. He just stands there, staring at the couple inside of the ring. Spike remains silent as if waiting for some sort of an apology, which is clearly not coming. Tim shakes his head as he once again sheds his jacket. He thinks to himself that he's not going to waste a perfectly good opportunity to work out before he has to catch his plane. He walks over to the punching bag where he unbuttons his flannel shirt and tosses it to the ground, showing off his impressive physique as he begins to casually bat the bag, causing it to fly up and knock against the ceiling. Spike watches for a moment before he becomes sickened, shaking his head as he looks to Vixen.
Spike: I don't have time for this right now. If he's not going to talk, then I've got paperwork to go through in my office.
Vixen looks disappointed in Spike's attitude, but does not object to his exit. Spike looks over at Tim, however, with no one else looking, a pained, almost guilty expression comes over his face before he walks to his office, closing the door. Vixen takes a few steps over toward the ropes, watching Tim and his technique. Tim takes no notice as he places both headphones into his ears, boxing along to the beat of the song. His eyes are focused, and only focused on the bag. He seems to go into a trance that lasts several minutes, but seems only like mere seconds. His concentration is broken as he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around, in the zone, and raises his fist to swing, until he sees Vixen standing there. He lowers his arm out of respect, though he clearly does not want her near him right now. Without removing his headphones, he addresses her.
Tim: I'm really not in the mood to hear you defend my father to me right now, especially when you don't even...
Vixen: ... know the full story? Maybe not, but I know enough.
Tim shakes his head. He'd never had a single bad feeling toward his step mother, but right now, he was really getting pissed off, and he needs to turn away. He goes back to boxing the bag so not to let any actual disrespect show.
Tim: You don't know shit. Sorry, but you don't.
Vixen: I do know "shit", such as... if you really want to improve your boxing technique, you might want to...
Vixen steps in and begins to box the bag just as quickly as Tim, but in a manner that seems to be much easier, making it seem easy as pie. Tim watches the bag bounce rhythmically for a moment as Vixen slows down just a bit to let Tim absorb the technique.
Vixen: It's all about posture, and the proper extension of the arms. Making it look easy is the tricky part.
Vixen turns her head to face Tim as she keeps the proper rhythm going. Tim can't help but crack a bit of a smile, chuckling under his breath, which brings Vixen to smirk in satisfaction. She brings the bag to a stop and then holds it still before stepping out of the way, allowing Tim to try it once again. He might not have it down as flawlessly as the SCW Hall of Famer, but it looks much more polished than it had before. Tim sits there in silence as he boxes the bag, still unsure about having this conversation.
Tim: I'm sure listening to my father's holier than thou rants probably has you thinking I turned into a big problem child, but he deserved that punch to the face after everything he's done to me.
Vixen: He did...
Tim misses a punch that throws his rhythm off, causing him to trip up just a little. He turns to Vixen with a bit of a surprised look on his face. Vixen nods her head, offering an apologetic glance toward Spike's office, but she shrugs her shoulders as she turns back to Tim.
Vixen: Some circumstances might be a little different, but our lives are not much different. What you are going through now, I went through also. I joined the military when I was not much older than you, and it helped me, but I was just like you. I held a hatred deep inside of me, that ran my life.
Tim almost rolls his eyes, but out of respect, he stops himself. However, the sarcasm that follows, he might as well have rolled them
Tim: And let me guess, you found wrestling to be an outlet, and you were finally able to let that hatred go? It sounds pretty fucking cliche, considering wrestling has only intensified my hatred.
Vixen: I never did let that hatred go, but I put on a pretty good act, do I not?
Vixen gives an almost cheeky grin as she sticks her point. Tim turns to see it, and just as he does, the bag comes back and smacks him hard against the side of the head. It dazes him for a second as Vixen lets out a small chuckle. It is clear that this is about a geniune concern that does not come from a parental place as she doesn't so much as offer a gasp of surprise and worry for Tim. Somehow, this is the exact response needed, as Tim blushes, rubbing the side of his head in embarrassment. He lends a laugh at himself as he walks over to the pull up bars against the wall.
Tim: Things have just been so tough for me, and nobody seems to get that. Everyone says that because of my last name, I have the world in front of me. But, it's just not true. I have to fight harder because of it, and every time I fall short, people rub it in my face and call me a slacker.
Vixen: To a degree, they are right, Timmy. The whole world is in front of you, ready for the taking. Some of it does have to do with your pedigree, four world champions having parented you, but not all of it. When they say you rely on your name, it is a lazy insult that only makes them seem lazy in return. Just think of it as Mean Girls mentality, and then maybe you can laugh it off as I did for most of the time that Paris trash was trying to torture this family. Just take it all in stride.
Tim: ...
Tim is ready to respond, when Vixen's words seem to resonate with him. Such a simple mantra, but one that would certainly get to the attention seekers and keyboard trolls hiding behind smartphones and computers. Instead, he nods his head, smiling a bit. He doesn't waste any more time before jumping up and wrapping his fingers around the bar. His feet dangle for a second before he starts lifting himself up, listening as Vixen continues talking with Tim, and we fade out.
#NP "The Resistance" by Anberlin
Locale: Kingston, Jamaica
We pan in to the campus for the University of the West Indies, the site of the next edition of Sin City Wrestling's Climax Control. The campus is buzzing in anticipation for the show as Stars and Bombshells can be found in various spots, selling merchandise, signing autgraphs, and mingling with the fans. However, in one spot of the campus, we can see various people passing by in black hooded jackets, all walking over to a table with a white banner with crudely written red lettering reading "Nobodies". The hooded figures approach the table with blank pieces of paper in hand. Like machines, the hooded figures at the table accept the piece of paper, and scribble "Nobody" on the paper, before handing it back. Next to the table, is a lackadaisical photographer, in a hooded jacket. In front of the camera, is another hooded figure. Other hooded figures approach, and pose as the camera snaps. The hooded "fans" shake hands with the hooded poser before moving along for the next person to get their picture taken. They then approach a table with hooded jackets hanging up. They point to one, and hand money to a hooded cashier who then hands them the jacket. They place the jacket over their current jacket before moving along. This process goes on for what seems like forever, until the pattern is broken by the brightly dressed blonde drag queen interviewer, Mz. Holly Wood. Her hair is done in stylish dreads, and a Jamaican flag printed sequin dress. She has a microphone in hand, but as she tries to approach the table, a masked bouncer shakes his head and points to the back of the line. Holly is about to protest when the bouncer steps closer, asserting his size.
Holly: Okay, okay... no need to get rough... Who am I kidding? I like it rough.
Her joke isn't appreciated as the bouncer continues to shake his head and point. Holly walks back, behind roughly sixteen people, standing in line. She taps her foot impatiently as she moves slowly through the mechanical line. Once she finally makes it to the table, she raises the microphone to her lips.
Holly: Tim, I...
The hooded figure at the table shakes his head slowly.
Holly: Damn, is that all y'all know how to do? Damn... Where can I find Tim Staggs?
The hooded figure reaches his hand out for the blank piece of paper, which Holly clearly doesn't have. She stands there, waiting for an answer that just won't come. She scoffs and turns around, ripping a piece of paper from the person behind her's hand, and slaps it down on the table. The masked figure signs it "Nobody" and hands it back, gently shaking Holly's hand.
Holly: I go from a stable where bitches don't shut the hell up to interviewing stables that don't say a word. I can't win, gurl...
Holly shakes her head as she walks over to the posing masked Nobody, and she stands next to it. Just as the camera is about to flash, she grabs a handful of his crotch, causing the quiet person to yelp in surprise and confusion simultaneously. This causes a bit of a chuckle to come from Holly, who takes her Polaroid picture, fanning her face with it as she slowly walks to the hooded jacket table, looking back at the masked Nobody and signals for him to call her. She turns around and holds her hand out, signalling that she is quite impressed with his large member. She slaps a bill down on the table, but retracts it slowly as the masked cashier goes to accept it.
Holly: You got any of them in chatreuse? Burgandy?
The masked cashier signals to the extensive collection of plain black hoodies for her to choose from. Holly picks one and pulls it over her head. She flings her dreads freely before she ties it in the most stylish and feminine way one can possibly wear a big, bulky black hooded jacket. Just as she's met her fill of the game, she sucks in a deep breath as she prepares to get a little hood.
Tim: Mz. Wood, because we're nasty... I'd like to say it's a pleasure, but I've never been a good liar.
Holly: Who are all of these...
Tim: Why ask when you know I won't tell you? I hope you've enjoyed being part of my demonstation of pointless consumerism that drives economies the world over.
Holly: I didn't understand half of that, but I assure you, I only enjoyed grabbing a handful of that dude...
Holly points back at the posing Nobody, who one would imagine is blushing pridefully. Holly turns back to Tim, collecting herself with a shallow breath, exhaling loudly. She brings the microphone to her lips as she prepares to do what she's come to do.
Holly: Now that I got ya here, can I ask you a couple question?
Tim: You can ask whatever you want, but whether I'll answer them is something entirely different.
Holly: The first question I have is about the mixed tag team match at High Stakes V. What are your thoughts on the outcome?
Tim stares with an almost wicked smile on his face. Holly waits for an answer that doesn't come. She mouths "ohhhhkay" as she looks back to the camera, she tries to hide her annoyance as she continues along.
Holly: Fine. What are your thoughts on the attack by Kris Halich? Do you have any plans of revenge?
Tim: I have no real thoughts on that sad excuse of an attack by K-Halc other than it was a desperate attempt at regaining some kind of notoriety after high tailing it out of this company because he couldn't handle the pressure of being a true Nobody. I refuse to react one way or another.
Holly: That sounds like a punk bitch response to me.
Tim: Call it what you will, but I refuse to indulge him, or anybody who wants to prove some sort of point by attacking me, or my crew. Especially a backstabbing, trecherous coward like Kris Halich or Johnny Tsunami. I just won't do it. My reaction is simple.
Tim turns to his left slightly, raising his hand to point at his cheek to signal turning the other cheek. Holly nods her head, though she is clearly underwhelmed by the response.
Holly: What are your thoughts on the outcome of Celeste North and Alexis Edw...
Tim: Look, this isn't 60 Minutes. This isn't the Presidential Debate. There is only one thing that is pertainant to the moment. The one thing you should be asking me about is my match in two days. Doesn't anybody care about the heart of the sport, the WRESTLING?! We aren't a soap opera, and I get so fucking sick of this business getting treated as such. That's what's wrong with this business, is that the focus is on all of the wrong things. It sickens me, quite honestly. You would rather know who is sleeping with who, and who is teaming with who. You reporters and fans don't focus on what is important. The sport itself. The athleticism involved in wrestling is so unimportant, that is makes my grandfather turn in his grave. It is disgusting, so unless you want to ask me about my MATCH... then this interview is over.
Holly looks almost shocked by Tim's outburst. He seems to calm himself down with the reptition on the line of masked figures moving through a slow, dull production line, his nostrils returning to their normal size as he relaxes a bit, turning back to Holly. Holly actually sees where Tim is coming from, and she nods her head before proceeding.
Holly: This match has been talked about since it was ann...
Tim: Don't lie. Nobody cares about this match but... well, The Nobodies. Not even "Dark Tiger" Sebastian Hardin cares. Do you know why? Because he's one of only a handful of people who knows I'm going to kick his ass. People are calling this a David Versus Goliath match. How much more accurate could that possibly be? David slayed Goliath, and who is everyone calling David? It surely isn't Seven Foot Sebastian. Will it be easy?
Holly: No?
Tim: Yes.
Holly nods, but a look of confusion comes over her face.
Holly: Yes, as in no? Or yes, as in yes?
Tim: No... Wait, now you're confusing me! Yes, as in yes. And do you know why?
Holly: I'm not sure I do.
Tim: Because, I took him, along with his nephew, out already, and I did it on my own. I had exactly no help from anyone, so when I meet up with the big useless sack of shit inside of the ring, one on one, it will be like a fucking breeze. And that's if he even decides to show, because, as we know, the Hardin's are known for phoning it in. I'm not even remotely concerned, because I've been training hard for weeks, thinking I might have some sort of a challenging opponent. And then I get the card, and see I'm opening up against "Dark Tiger" Sebastian Hardin. It's almost insulting, but you have to play the cards you are dealt. And, as usual, I was dealt the shitty cards this round, because I'm screwed one way of the other. If I beat him, it doesn't do anything for me. I've already done it, so I stay at the same level I am at anyway. But, if I lose, I am the laughing stock of the company, and considering the fact that I'm clearly on the bottom rung with opening this show, that's still a long, hard fall. I can't lose. I won't lose. Sebastian had better...
Holly: How do you feel about the distractions of the group in recent weeks?
Tim is ready to continue, when he stops, his jaw hanging open as he just stares at Holly. He scoffs at her and throws his arms up in surrender. He shakes his head as he walks off, leaving Holly amidst the crowd of masked Nobodies that seems to flood the immediate area. She just sighs, and signals for the camera to cut off. After a moment, the scene fades out... TO BLACK!
