Absence Makes the Heart Grow Bitter
#NP "Terrible Lie" by Nine Inch Nails
LOCALE: Las Vegas, Nevada (November 22nd, 2015)
It has been quite a while since we've seen the youngest Staggs family member to grace a Sin City Wrestling ring. The last time we saw the fiery redhead, Tim Staggs, he and Connor Murphy had defeated Sebastian and Jeremiah Hardin, collectively known as R.O.A.R. This was no easy feat, though the spry Staggs saw this as a repetition of history. It was something akin to a "given" that he and Connor would walk out of that match as the victors. What Tim did not foresee was not seeing the inside of a wrestling ring for the better part of the road to December 2 Dismember. After a week, Tim was ready to weasel his way into the heads of the crowd, perhaps point out some different form of corruption within the infrastructure of SCW. Yet, another week had gone by without a call from booker, Christian Underwood. This was another week that Tim would sit in his smoky hotel room. It was another week that Tim would be forced to watch the same old shit replaying on his laptop. It was another week where he would have to see ungrateful competitors who act like they are doing the sport a favor by being there, when, in fact, it is the sport allowing such people to run amuck, trampling any sense of honor that his grandfather and great uncle Erik had given to the business. Never mind the fact that his father and uncle helped to pave the way for the current generation of SCW Stars and Bombshells. There was a point where Tim thought he was about to vomit, simply by seeing Drake Green's face on his computer screen. It was likely from the whiskey that refused to settle in his stomach, but the timing was almost too convenient.
Finally, after Climax Control on November 22nd, Tim received that call. A call that entailed some very interesting news. A call that did not come from Christian Underwood, but Tim's great uncle, and Head of Talent Relations, Erik Staggs.
We pan inside of the dingy motel "suite" somewhere on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Tim is staring at his cell phone screen, almost in disbelief. Climax Control was barely to Celeste's match, one that Tim almost didn't want to watch, because of the most obviously expected outcome. He lets out a loud sigh through his nostrils as he finally slides his finger over the green circle, answering his uncle's call, all while acting much more disinterested than he actually is.
Tim: *Yawn* Hello?
Erik: Timmy? It's your uncle Erik. How are you doing?
Tim: Thinking about grabbing a ginger ale from the ethnic liquor store, but I might want to get my shots updated, what with the chicken who shits all over the store...
There is a light pause on Erik's end. He is heard gasping in surprise and worry.
Erik: Oh no. Is everything alright?
Tim: The real answer doesn't even matter, I'm sure. Say, why did Christian even book a match between a rookie and a Hall of Fame worthy wrestler? When Mercedes beats Celeste, I'm going to have to hear about it for weeks, and I have to agree. It's bullshit.
Erik: I stand by Christian's booking. Despite her piss poor attitude, Celeste trains very hard. She stands a decent chance.
Celeste would have killed him had she heard this, but Tim lets out a very nasally snort of a laugh as his eyes roll. Despite the evidence being pretty clear on screen, he doesn't see it because of his own perceptions of how SCW works.
Tim: There is no decent chance. There's no chance at all. It's just another way to keep The Nobodies down and boost someone who is starting to lose their place in the sun. Mercedes isn't moving as much merchandise, the same as the Seven Deadly Sins when Kris, Johnny, and I were fed to them, not standing a chance, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a fucking idiot.
Erik: Did you ever stop to think that having such an attitude could very well be why you three lost?
Again, there is a laugh. However, this time, there is no attempt to cover it up. Annoyance is very clearly present in his laugh as he turns his attention away from the laptop for a moment as he sits up on the white sheets, the only clean part of this entire hotel room.
Tim: The Nobodies are SCW's biggest joke. I know you've never seen Invader Zim, but I feel like Dib. I sit there, pointing out the blindingly obvious to everyone, while they look at me like I'm an idiot, or a conspiracy theorist. SCW is broken. It's fucked up beyond all repair. There is no way that it can be fixed at this point. I feel like I might as well turn this shit off and go watch General Hospital. Yet, the more I say it, the more people argue that it's at its best right now. People who work their asses off get ignored. People who go off and make shitty Clive Owen style movies can come back and win the World Championship in a matter of weeks. What do I have to do to get any kind of notoriety around here? Do I have to piss in "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward's beer bottle? Do I have to sprinkle cayanne pepper on Christian Underwood's butt plugs? Do I have to blow someone?
There is a silence on the other end of the line that makes Tim growl in frustration. He smashes his fist against the end table by his bed as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket, searching around for a lighter in the mess of candy wrappers and liquor bottles.
Tim: SCW is trapped in an endless cycle of assholes with over inflated egos coming in and destroying menial competition and acting like they deserve something for it. They don't want to fight. They just want glory. It's not about the glory though. It's about the fight, and anyone who thinks differently needs to get the fuck out of this sport! I'm sick and tired of it, and honestly, if I don't get booked for the remainder of my contract, it would be a fucking blessing. I'm tired of repeating myself to a bunch of mentally incompetant jerk offs who get up to stuff their diabetically fat fucking faces with nachos and hot dogs.
Erik: I wouldn't give up so quickly. You've been booked this Sunday, Timbo.
Tim: Oh?
Despite the curious nature of his response, his tone lets us all know that he is entirely underwhelmed. He finds the lighter he'd been looking for, and he strikes it up quickly, lighting the end of it. He puffs out a few times, sending a plume of smoke and fiery embers flying outward.
Erik: Are you ready to eat those words?
Tim nods his head while rolling his eyes. Knowing his uncle can't see either, he remains silent as he awaits an answer.
Erik: You will be facing Landon Axel on Sunday, with Connor Murphy at your side, while Ethan Brody stands in Landon's corner.
Tim: Hooooray... You are further proving my point. You are feeding us to the tag champions so that they look good going into their next defense against... let me guess... Surf Boys?
Erik: No...
Tim rubs his chin, feigning deep thought, while letting out a low toned "Hmmm..." as he tries to figure out who the challengers could be.
Tim: R.O.A.R. ...
Erik: Not even close, kiddo.
Tim: The idiotic sounding Monstimals again? That would be typical SCW logic.
Erik lets out a groan that lets Tim know that he is wrong again.
Tim: Let me guess... one of Christian's brilliant Lethal Lottery pairings? It figures, because championship opportunities are handed out so freely around here.
Erik: Nobody...
Tim: That makes sense, considering nobody actually wants those belts. Why are they even still sanctioned belts? Let me guess again... they are propping them up so that Gabriel can return with Despayre and have something shiny to make people think they're important, and to take away from the obvious fact that he lacks committment?
Erik: Nobody, as in... The Nobodies? You and Connor will be facing off against Guns For Hire at December 2 Dismember.
Tim chuckles, this time he is seriously tickled by what he perceives to be a joke by his uncle. His extended laugh is eventually cut off as he takes another quick drag from his cigarette, inhaling it deeply before exhaling.
Erik: No, I'm not kidding. Connor Murphy and Tim Staggs will be facing the tag champions at D2D with the belts on the line.
Tim: Really? Why?
Erik: You both defeated former tag team champions, and then you defeated Sebastian just a few weeks ago. We felt that you earned it.
Tim's expression changes as he tries to absorb the information that he's just received. He has to think it over for a second while he takes another hard drag from his cigarette, his eyebrows furled as he slowly exhales once more.
Tim: So... because we beat R.O.A.R. once, a few months ago, and because I beat half of the former *air quotes* champions a few weeks ago... with no opportunity to build any heat... no notice of any kind... Connor and I are being given a title shot?
Erik: I'd like to look at it in a different light, but...
Tim: But nothing! There is no other light to look at it in, uncle Erik! Connor and I have been sparcely booked the last three months. We haven't earned this shot. There are only two possible reasons for us getting this title shot, and neither of them are good! It's either blatant nepetism, or it's a way to buy us off because we're starting to cause too many waves. If you had anything to do with this, I'll personally kick your nards so hard, they will pop out of your mouth like a couple of Nerf balls.
Erk: I swear, I had nothing to do with it. I was as surprised as you are, honestly.
Tim shakes his head as his uncles words resonate in his mind.
Tim: Yeah, meaning even you know that I don't deserve a title shot. But, of course, you didn't argue it. You really are one of them now, because the uncle Erik I knew would have fought to make me earn it. You would have fought to get me booked more with Connor, so that we could earn a shot at the tag titles. You would have argued that winning a fucking singles match is NOT grounds for receiving a tag team championship opportunity. He would have...
The sound of "Sex Metal Barbie" playing over the speakers of his laptop catches him off guard as he turns to look at the screen, expecting to see some after effect of Celeste being a sore loser and attacking Mercedes with a pipe or something. However, he is met with seeing her arm raised in victory. This completely wrecks his train of thought.
Erik: I told you that she stood a chance, and she did it all on her own.
Tim: Yeah, so maybe you should give her and Alexis a shot at the Bombshell Tag Team Championships, huh? She beat one half of a team that held those titles.
Erik: That's ridiculous.
Tim: Right? Now you're seeing my logic. I'm going to level with you. I don't give a single speck of fuck about this match on Sunday. I don't care about Landon Axel or Ethan Brody. They are just a couple of fairweather compettitors who wouldn't know what committment was if it bit them on the ass and then introduced itself. They only got shots because they are associated with Drake Green, and because nobody actually cares about tag team wrestling, except for Christian Underwood. Nobody wants the tag team titles unless they believe in the myth that there's a direct link between them and the World Heavyweight Championship. It is a stepping stone belt, because every team that holds them is a stepping stone. Those belts change hands more often than any other belt, and it's because no one cares. No one wants them. They kill careers. Look at Delia Darling. Top Bombshell, top wrestler for the longest time. She was unstoppable. She wins the tag titles, and she instantly falls off the radar without so much as a word. If those belts can destroy someone who rightfully should have been Wrestler or Woman of the Year for the 2015 ceremony, then what will they do to a real Nobody? I can't speak for Connor, and if Connor wants to pursue the belts, then I'll go along with it, but I think this whole situation is bullshit.
There is another long pause from Erik, as he tries to think up a way to talk his nephew into taking this opportunity seriously. However, his extended silence costs him this opportunity.
Tim: You know it too. I'll show up and collect my paycheck so that I can afford to buy a Hungry Man TV dinner for Thanksgiving, but I want you to know that I'm sickened by this, and if I have it my way, you'll have to find a way to push the dead weight of Guns For Hire another six weeks for some other team to challenge them. And tell Christian, thanks but no thanks. Maybe next time you guys decide to pull a random title opportunity out of your asses to give to any of us, make sure it's early enough that we can actually make something of what is actually a turd.
Before Erik has a chance to respond to this, Tim hangs up his phone. He immediately shuts it off and throws it across the room, slamming his laptop shut before putting his cigarette out on the back of the screen. He shakes his head as he walks over to a chair and grabs his jacket. He pulls it over his white t-shirt and slides his shoes on, heading over toward the door where he grabs his keys and duffel bag. Out the door he goes as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!
