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Ain't No Rest For the Wicked
#NP "Ain't No Rest For the Wicked" by Cage The Elephant
Locale: BeeHoldzil Fighting Scouts Events Center; Fort Defiance, Arizona
Just because you don't see me, it doesn't mean that I wasn't there. I am an icon, but when my signature black spikes are covered up with a hat, I blend into the sea of Nobodies, at a rate that is almost scary to me. After everything that I've accomplished, people in this company don't know me from Adam. A man who helped to transform the very foundation of this once hodunk promotion, to the massive heights that it is today, and people treat me like a stagehand. The very reason I left this business, and it's being thrown back in my face. So much for my change of heart.
After telling the umpteenth stagehand that I don't know where Mark or Christian is at this very moment, I give up on searching for any kind of action in Arizona. I planned to comfort my son after his loss to the newcomer, Dmitri, but he apparently wasn't that upset, because he ran off with Alexis Edwards to search the back of her throat with his tongue. I had hoped that with my presence in SCW, I might be able to fend off the likes of Brother Grimm and Belladonna Grey, but they still find a way to get past me. Connor has left the venue after his win, and he's likely finding a drink, or Tessa's g-spot, so that leaves me here, all alone, as the crowds thin out. Well, I wished I was alone, but the sad truth is that... I am not. I think I would be much more at ease if the brash Celeste North would just lay into me. With a fist? Or maybe a good verbal motherfucking? But no, she just sits there, staring at me, as if my very presence is just the biggest possible imposition in the world. She scoffs, and rolls her eyes, as if she were as disinterested in her surroundings as Delia Darling.
I simply blink my eyes, waiting for a text or call from Vixen to update me on the home front. I'm sure she will contact me soon, and I want to be able to give her my full attention, so I stay put, sipping on a bottle of water. However, after the ninety-ninth scoff, I close my eyes, flaring out my nostrils as I try to stop the verbal vomit I'm about to lose, but...
Me: Can I help you, Celeste?
My voice comes out even much more annoyed than I had expected in would, and I knew it was going to be shitty. Though, I try to soften the harsh edges as I say her name, my point has been conveyed crystal clear. She pauses for a second, but her own shitty attitude doesn't allow her to find a way to at least be cordial to me.
Celeste: Yes. You can leave now. I'd like a moment alone now, thanks...
Me: Oh? I'm sorry that your night of doing fuck all has exhausted you so much, but I'm not going anywhere right this second. Thanks for the invitation though.
Celeste: And I wondered where Tim got his shitty attitude from, but answer is staring me right in the face.
I crinkle my nose with pride at her comment, smiling and relishing in the fact. This earns me the one hundredth scoff of the night, and even a Delia hair flip. I must be good at pissing people off...
Me: Don't mistake the following question as me caring too much, but why are you being extra shitty tonight? I mean, I'm sure I'm not your favorite person in the world, but have I done something...?
Celeste: In a manner of speaking... though it wasn't you exactly, but the expulsion from your nut sack...
Me: Oh? Do tell. Color me curious now.
Celeste closes her eyes, and this is where I know I've struck a nerve. She shakes her head, as if she isn't going to tell me, but I've learned that it is a classic girl move. All I have to do is strike another nerve, and I think I know just the one.
Me: Oh, I guess now you're going to pretend you don't want to tell me. It's cool, I don't really care too much, honestly.
And she flips around, just begging to scream out the answer. That, my friends, is the secret to melting away the frost of the cold shoulder, but you must be prepared to deal with the fire that comes along with it. Don't say I didn't warn you...
Celeste: Well, of course not, because you raised him to be a man whore who sleeps with people's boyfriends. It doesn't matter that I was his best friend, who stuck by his side through everything, and came to his aid whenever I possibly could. He didn't seem to remember the fact that I gave him a roof over his head when he wanted to play little orphan runaway, when he slept with my boyfriend, in my bed no less. He seemed to have forgotten the fact that I helped cast the protection spell that keeps the boogeyman out of every dark corner, from his closet, or under his bed when he was on top of mine... with my boyfriend!
I'm kind of shocked at what I'm hearing, to the point that I can't even speak. She just shakes her head, and it's clear that she is fighting back tears at this point. I drop the asshole act for a moment, and just nod my head, despite my mind being stuck on this news. Celeste tries to process the thoughts running through her head, but she purses her lips as she tries to verbally express too much at once. She steps toward me, holding her finger up in the air, before slowly pointing it at me.
Celeste: And let's not forget the incessant bullshit I had to go through with him, over... and over... and over... and over again with Alexis. Little lover boy can't make up his mind on which way he swings, so he's just giving it and taking it from anyone who will give it and take it... I'm no angel, not by a long shot, but that?
Celeste digs her fingernail into my chest, but before she can apply too much pressure, she stops, and lets it slide down my chest, and back to her side. I notice a small tear rolling down her cheek, even before she realizes it. She looks up at me, and her glossy blue eyes shine under the light of her tears.
Celeste: That was... so... fucked... up...
I almost didn't think it was possible, but here it is, happening right before my very eyes. Celeste North is crying. Real tears, with no discernable motive in place. She leans against my chest, despite neither one of us being comfortable with that. She lightly pounds her fist on my chest as she sobs. I gently pat the back of her head to comfort her, and she lets me. I'm the luckiest, unlucky bastard on the planet as I get possibly the only glimpse into the vulnerability of Celeste North. But, it is only fleeting as she pushes away from me, sniffling and quickly wiping away at her eyes, smearing her mascara.
Celeste: Your precious baby boy did this. I don't even know why I let you see me cry, because it's obvious that you, of all people, won't take my side in this.
I nod my head as I look into her hurt eyes.
Me: You're absolutely right.
Celeste: Figures. I mean, from what I've heard about you, you're a heartless, sadistic asshole, so why should I expect your spawn to be any different?
Me: That is where you are wrong, Celeste...
Celeste tries to scoff, but it comes off as highly forced. She turns away from me, though she is staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror.
Celeste: Oh, right... you're a changed man. A family man, now...
Me: No, you were right on the first part. I'm no saint, by any means. I've done some pretty fucked up shit, and I'll probably continue to do some even more fucked up shit, the longer I let this sport get to me. The drive to become a Somebody again is really starting to kick in. At some points, I almost feel like I'd be willing to do anything to get back my SCW Heavyweight Championship. Even the ones who remember me around here, most of them don't remember what I'm actually capable of. I got a taste for the cheer of the fans, and I liked it, but as that faded away, I grew bitter, and angry again.
Celeste: You know, I hear a whole lot of "You're right, Celeste" and literally no "You're totally wrong, Celeste" going on.
I pause and stare at her. Clearly the girl doesn't have the patience to see a story through, so I make her wait a moment longer, just because I fucking can.
Me: My son is nothing like me, and I'm thankful for that. The only similarity that we share is our love... and hatred... of this business. I'm crass, jaded, and cruel. Tim is jovial, naive, and kind.
Celeste snorts, like literally snorts, at the last comment. I give her a death stare, because no one is going to talk shit about baby bear to papa bear and truly get away with it. The warning seems to be effective as she slowly folds her arms over her chest and listens.
Me: Tim might have made some mistakes, but he's still trying to forge his own path in life. I thought I was doing him a solid when I sheltered him for most of his life, because I had screwed up so much early on. But, I didn't help him at all with that. Now, as painful as it is, I'm trying to give him the space he needs to grow into a better man than me. A man doesn't learn from being hidden away for his whole life, like Siddhartha Gotama. The kid has to make some mistakes so that he can learn from them, and grow.
Celeste: And so I'm supposed to just forgive him for stabbing me in the fucking back, when I've been loyal to a fault since day one? Un-fucking-real...
Me: Oh, I never said that, Celeste.
Celeste looks confused as she turns around. A simple, almost dumbfounded "Hm?" escapes her lips as she readies herself for more sarcastic retorts. However, I stare her dead in the eye, and give her the only piece of advice that she could have never seen coming...
Me: I never said that you should just be the bigger person and forgive him. You have every right to be angry. As I said, I'm not a saint, and I don't believe in turning the other cheek. For the good of The Nobodies, we've got to get past all of this tired, stale, childish bickering. It's getting old, and it's holding us back.
Celeste: Oh, I'm sorry for being angry that YOUR SON...
I hold up my hand, because I'm tired of the victim routine. Everyone is a victim, but we don't need to broadcast it to the world like my son's new squeeze does on Twitter all day, every day. I slowly lower my hand, and shake my head, making sure she knows not to proceed.
Me: I'm letting Tim run the show, but this intervention thing must not have been heard by you. Suck it up, buttercup, and find a way to get past it, for the sake of this stable.
Celeste: Oh? And how exactly am I supposed to do that, Papa Smurf?
Me: Well, you could just get revenge.
Celeste: Uhhh, what?
I smile. Of course I don't want to see my son in pain, but I also don't want to see him being an asshole. Celeste seems confused, or possibly just shocked at my suggestion. In case it is confusion, I step forward, my smile growing wider as I do.
Me: Yeah... He'll never learn if there aren't any real consequences. At least, I know I never did. Why don't you think about the most legal, yet gratifying way that you could possibly get revenge on him... and do it. Even the playing field a little.
Celeste: So, you... his father... are telling me to get even with him? I just want to make sure I'm hearing you right.
Me: Yeah! It would be a hell of a lot easier to just get it out of your system now, so that you guys can move forward. And, truth be told, he could use a little corrective action as of late. He thinks he's untouchable now that Grimm is mostly off of his case.
Celeste: I could totally break that spell and let Brother Grimm take care of him!
Celeste clinches her fists in pure excitement, all while my mouth hangs open. I guess it is legal, but I was thinking in another direction. My face must say it all as Celeste sinks down a bit, saddened by this new limitation. After a few seconds, her eyes light up, and a devious smile comes over her face. She grabs onto my shirt collar, and yanks me down, ready to plant her lips against mine.
Me: Woahhhhhhhhhhh! Hold on, now...
She lets go, and I adjust my collar. This almost got too weird to handle. I clear my throat, and Celeste looks momentarily embarrassed.
Me: No, that could have worked... if it didn't involve me, so thankfully I stopped that. But keep thinking it over. I'm sure you'll figure it out. Just do me a favor and make sure that it's good, okay?
Before Celeste can answer, my phone goes off. It is Vixen, and it's my chance to be on my way, and away from this revenge seeking, hormonally crazed woman. I reach into my pocket, and pull my phone out, just as the scene fades.
Ground Zero
#NP "Dragonfly" Shaman's Harvest
Locale: Staggs Dungeon; Las Vegas, Nevada
Lucy Seraphina and I had a good conversation at Lestat's Cafe earlier today. I felt like prior to today, we had established a very self-centered approach to this tournament. Both of us could have cared less about the other, but only our own interests. The fame of winning the Blast From the Past tournament, and the title shots that followed, were the only things that we cared about. This week could be a real test for Lucy, as she gets a taste of Samantha Marlowe, and their encounter could be talked about for months to come, especially if Lucy gets the upper hand. But, for me, I stand to gain very little from this encounter. The only thing that could be proved is a win over Rage, which is something I already possess. Advancing to a bigger goal is the only thing that I've got my mind set on right now.
But, after the conversation Lucy and I had over lunch, I feel like she let me in to her world. Whether she meant to or not, she showed me a vulnerability that I feel few others have seen. That means that she trusts me enough to let me in, and I haven't really done that for her. Besides that, I owe her a training session, since I ran out on her before the last one could even be started. It isn't much to look at, especially from the outside, but it is my world. Outside of my family, this is what I have in the now. We walk up the sidewalk of the warehouse district, and Lucy seems surprised when we leave the broken down sidewalks, to walk down an alley. While she is not scared in the least, she is surprised that the streets of Las Vegas could actually get more dilapidated than what she's seen. We approach the gym doors, and much to my surprise, the lights are on inside. Lucy's eyes look up, seeming to take in the red embossed lettering of the sign above her head. I place my hand on the door handle, and open it up, motioning for her to enter first. She obliges, offering a gentle smile, as she steps foot inside. However, once inside, she doesn't move. I step around her, as I hear the voice of my lovely wife, Vixen. Yet, it is accompanied by another female voice that sounds all too familiar.
Lucy: Are you offering me a surprise gift, Spike? Because, this is something I could really sink my teeth in to...
Me: Literally...
The unexpected sight that befalls us catches me off guard. On the other side of the gym, Vixen is seen with a look of disappointment, or regret, on her face, as she talks softly with none other than Samantha Marlowe. Lucy clinches her fists as a smile comes over her face. She takes a few steps forward, but I place a cautious hand in front of her, as a silent plea not to act rashly at the situation. Instead, I walk over toward Vixen and Samantha, and as I approach, both seem to become quiet. I look to each of them, with a curious smile on my face, as Lucy approaches at my side. Lucy's animalistic eyes stare right at Samantha, burning a hole through her very being, while Sam, sweet as ever, simply offers a smile to both of us, perhaps blissfully unaware of Lucy's pre-match animosity.
Samantha: Well hey there, Spike. I didn't expect to see you here.
I looks over to Lucy, a serious bloodlust coming over her, so I step over to Samantha, and offer her a friendly, yet worried, smile.
Me: Hello, Samantha. I must say, I didn't expect to see you here tonight...
Vixen: She was actually just leaving, amore.
Vixen comes over to my side, wrapping an arm around my waist, as I lean down for a kiss. However, she seems to beg for something more, letting her kiss linger. I stare into the chocolate oceans of her eyes, something that has always calmed me down in any given situation. She sighs and then smiles.
Vixen: I've offered Samantha a place to train with Ben Jordan.
Me: Oh?
Vixen is silent as she simply nods. As if she could read my mind, something we've both become really good at over the years, she looks over to Sam, and then back to me. Her French-Canadian accent trickles through, in a cute manner that seems to lull me, as if I were merely a little boy, listening to the soothing songs of his mother.
Vixen: Conflict of interest, and all... I figured it was best that I took a week off.
Before I can react to this news, one way or the other, Samantha reaches a friendly hand out to me, which I accept without question.
Samantha: Good luck to the both of you this week. It's going to be a proper battle between two worthy teams.
Me: Good luck to you, also, Samantha. May the best team win.
Samantha looks over to Lucy, and while she seems sweet, she's not nearly as naive as one might expect. She offers a friendly wave to Lucy, one which is not returned, and then she bows out. Vixen looks over to Lucy, and she seems to catch a glimpse of the same likeness that I'd seen just a few weeks ago. Lucy Seraphina is no stranger to our radar, but something about her seems to feel familiar to Vixen as well. She simply leans toward me and plants a kiss on my cheek before lifting her bag from the ground.
Vixen: You two must have a training session planned. I'll leave you two alone. The twins must be missing mommy about now.
I grab on to Vixen's hand, and plant a gentle, yet firm, kiss on top. I hold on to it, and smile as she grips my hand in hers. After a few seconds that feel like minutes, Vixen releases my hand and walks away, giving a respectful nod to Lucy, who returns the favor, though she is unsure of why Vixen would feel the least bit uneasy. After a momentary locking of eyes, Vixen reaches the door, and exits the gym. The lights are dim, so I walk over toward the wall, turning the lights above the ring on. They click on slowly, but very brightly. I shed my jacket from my body, and drop it on the bench, revealing my old sleeveless New X-Tremes shirt, faded from years of wear. Lucy approaches the bench, setting her bag down, though she is ready as she is, having the ability to tolerate the cold much better than even myself.
Lucy: That was... interesting?
Me: I think you mean, unexpected? If you didn't, I definitely mean it.
Lucy: And here I thought you were serving the Bombshell Champion to me on a silver platter.
I chuckle as Lucy wraps her wrists in tape, clearly ready to go harder than I had expected to. She tosses the tape over to me, giving me a playful look of warning to be more prepared. I give a toothy grin as I begin to wrap my first wrist.
Me: Unfortunately, I can't take credit for that, but I'm honestly surprised that Vixen refused to train Samantha this week. I would have never asked her to do such a thing.
Lucy: Her loyalty runs deep. You are a very lucky man.
Without saying it, I'm certainly thinking out loud that she couldn't be more right about that. We have been through some trying times, but no matter what, we've always been able to count on one another. Plus, have you seen her? I'm probably drooling, even after all of these years, so I shake it off quickly.
Me: Anyway... as you see, I've got a perfect replica of the SCW ring, as most of the wrestlers I train wind up working for Sin City Wrestling, so this is the perfect place for us to spar.
Lucy: While it is somewhat pointless, because you and Samantha are two totally different people, and I can't exactly face off against Rage due to the gender restriction.
Me: Consider it a bonding experience. Neither one of us can truly prepare for our match, as one never knows what to expect, but that doesn't mean that we can't challenge one another to keep us on our toes.
Lucy shrugs her shoulders, though she smirks, because she knows that I'm not expecting a challenge, and yet, that is exactly what she intends to bring my way. We both climb up onto the apron, stepping inside simultaneously. We walk to the center of the ring, and while I tower over Lucy, she doesn't seem the least bit intimidated, as I would hope she wouldn't.
Lucy: Please tell me that you can focus on more things than one at a time? Tell me your story. I've told you mine.
Me: What exactly do you mean?
We tie up in the center of the ring. While it is second nature for both of us, I use my power to back her against the ropes, but unfortunately, that is exactly what she planned on, and she uses her size to wiggle free, and send me against the ropes with amazing strength for someone her size. As I bounce off of the opposite ropes, she shouts across the ring.
Lucy: You said, just three weeks ago, that you were a... monster!
She thrusts her elbow toward my head, pulling no punches, and taking no mercy on me as her partner. I might have mildly impressed her when I duck the elbow, and grab onto her arm, and wrench it behind her back, while my other arm wraps around her waist in a varied German Suplex combo. I stop here for a moment, feeling the memories that are as cold, but much more dead, as Lucy's very touch. Memories of my many training sessions with Misty come flooding back, stopping me in my tracks, as Lucy uses this to her advantage. She twists out of the arm wrench, and breaks from my other arm with such ease and grace, but it is too late for me as I break out of the trance. Lucy jerks my arm down, bringing me to my knee. I pat her arm while I wrap my brain around the chance to break free from her iron clad grip.
Me: There is no story, really. I've always liked hurting people, so I made a career out of it.
Lucy: One doesn't just decide to be a monster and make a job out of it. One becomes a monster.
Lucy wrenches the arm again, but this time, I surprise her with my own agility for my size, and I kick my legs out, almost leaning back Matrix style, before I twist my body, bringing Lucy over with an Arm Drag. Lucy skids across the mat, on her feet, as she quickly regains her footing.
Me: Like foster father, like son. I'm not sure what else I can say. My uncle was a sadistic bastard, and to survive that, I had to become one myself.
Lucy laughs. She doesn't chuckle, she straight up laughs. I come toward her, stalking closely, but she is stalking me too. We circle around one another as her laughter calms down, perhaps realizing that she won't lull me into submission so easily.
Lucy: Your uncle is a lot of things, but sadistic is not one of them. He strikes me as more of a masochist than a sadist. What hurts you so badly that no amount of pain you inflict on another human being is enough to move past it?
Me: I'm not one for sob stories, sister, so...
Damn it! Reading her is nearly impossible, as she uses the split second of distraction to lunge at me, putting a well placed headlock on, wrenching until I'm brought down to one knee. However, this one isn't just about utilizing the distraction, but yet there is a bit of anger in her movements.
Lucy: I trusted you enough to open up to you. I thought for one brief moment that we could possibly be friends, but I guess I was wrong.
Lucy lets go of the hold, and just drops me. I rub at the side of my neck as I look over at her. She waves me off as she walks over toward the ropes. The Russian temper is clearly in effect, though I can't say that I don't deserve it. I approach her, and she simply growls, so I hold my hands up despite her not being able to see it.
Me: My life story in a nutshell is that I was rejected and dejected by just about every person I've ever encountered. Everyone leaves me, and no one can appreciate that I am a human being. My father was in the business, and he was always out on the road. I've heard stories that he was a man whore, and a drug addict who used his time away from his family to live away from the burden. He died. My mother killed herself because my father was her life, and she couldn't give two shits about her children. My uncle loved my mother, and we were the thing that stopped him from moving in on his brother's territory. My brother looked at me like a father... our father... and he grew to resent me. My first love tortured me, and toughened me up. My second love gave me my second beautiful child, before destroying me in the center of the ring. Any friend I've ever had has ditched me at the first chance they could. And the worst part is that the beast in me grew to full capacity about half way through all of this. So, if you want to know why I'm a monster, pick and choose any combination of that, and I'm sure it's a sufficient enough reason to explain why I need to redirect my pain.
Lucy lets it all soak in for a moment, not saying a word. Perhaps my desperate attempt at making up for the lack of trust on that level was just too little, too late. Who knows? All I know is that she isn't speaking to me. I shrug my shoulders and turn away from her and walk back toward the ropes to make my exit. As I get one leg through the ropes, her voice cuts through the air like knives.
Lucy: I thought you said you weren't one for a sob story? And I never took you as much of a liar...
Me: Excuse me?
I turn and look back at her. She has no idea what she's talking about if she feels that any of that was a lie. I stare daggers back at her, my nostrils beginning to flare up. She walks toward me, not giving an inch.
Lucy: Omission is still lying. I don't know much about your personal life, but you clearly have a wife who thinks the world of you. You have your children, and you make it no secret that you and your brothers, and even your uncle, are a closely knit family. If you are a monster, it isn't because you are your father's son. You just feel like you have to be. You are limiting yourself to being a pale imitation of your father. Who is your father, anyway?
I blink, taking her words to heart for a moment. I slowly nod my head, though I'm not sure where she is going with this.
Me: "Heartthrob" Robbie Staggs.
Lucy: I have never heard of him. But, I have heard of Spike Staggs. You are your own man, and so long as you continue to live like you are your father, at least as far as your career is concerned, then you have already outlived your career. I might as well think of another way to get to Samantha Marlowe and her Bombshell Championship.
Me: Who exactly do you think you are? You act like you know me so well, but up until five minutes ago, you didn't know anything that wasn't on my Wikipedia page. I am not my father. I'm world renowned. I'm not a cheater, or a drug addict, and I sure as FUCK don't like being away from my family! I am not my fucking father!
As I shout at her, she has once again goaded me, though this time, her smiling expression spells it out for me. She pats me on the back, though she might as well be patting herself on her own back, because the pride is within herself, and not within me.
Lucy: Great. Now, just convince yourself of that. I mean, truly convince yourself. Light the fire within yourself, and then we might stand a chance at getting past Rage and Sam on Sunday.
I breathe heavily, the anger still fresh within my head. I am pumped, and ready for a true fight now. Lucy takes a few steps back, and we go back to sparring, a session that will go on for hours, well into the night. I try not to appreciate what she's done for me, because the fire within me won't burn as brightly, and with the challenge ahead of us... we need to bring all of the heat we can...
Nostalgia
#NP "Freak on a Leash" by Korn
Locale: Location Undisclosed
There was a time where SCW was my life. I lived, breathed, ate, and shit all things Sin City Wrestling. In the beginning, I didn't even want to be part of this thing. I retired, and it was meant to be just that. But, "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward always has a way of getting what he wants, and I found my way to the ring. I almost seemed to pick back up right where I left off. I went to the center stage, and for a while... I commanded the fucking thing. I was the face of SCW, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. I don't think I should have to repeat myself, but for the sake of what I'm about to show you... I will...
I took this company from it's meager beginnings, and I lead a charge through the entirety of the NeWA. Within months of SCW becoming a territory, I led us to the front of the line, bringing more attention to SCW, and allowing others to capture many of the NeWA titles, or at least compete for them. I made SCW what it is today, so the fact that I'm truly a Nobody... it's a bit discouraging, I'm not going to lie. People barely know my name, and the only ones who do, don't seem to want to admit that they shit their pants when I took off my mask just a couple days before my special, limited time return.
It all got me thinking about the days when I was a Somebody. The days when the crowds cheered my name. The days when everyone knew exactly who I was. The days when people actually got excited to tune in to Climax Control. I took a little visit to the SCW Merchandise Shop online, where they keep at least a little bit of everything ever released on hand. I went through the list, and found things that were interesting to me. Things that inspired something within me. Before I knew it, I believe I had one of almost everything in my e-cart. I walk into what looks like a merchandise warehouse, but is actually my hotel room, rearranged to display everything I bought. I walk by the first item, a Jessie Salco men's t-shirt. You know, from before she became a dirty bitch who hazes young children on Twitter. I stop and look at it, as I mutter aloud...
Me: One of the first, truly loyal members of the New X-Tremes. We saw you win a few titles, and go from zero to hero.
I nod my head in pride at that thought, though it quickly fades as I pack the item back into the box. Next to it, I find the "Freight Train of Pain" t-shirt that I helped design myself for Casey Williams. Aside from myself and Jordan Williams, C-Will was the first man actually inducted into the New X-Tremes. He beat even myself to competing for NeWA gold, despite it not coming to fruition. He enjoyed many title reigns under my guidance, and even made for a good friend in the meantime. But, all things much come to an end, as I place the shirt into the same box. I ruffle through every NXT shirt on hand, tee's and tank tops, and even the hooded jacket that inspired the Nobodies uniform look. I place them into the box, and fold it back up. I move on to the next pile of crap, looking down at it fondly. My own personal tee, the tee featuring Giani Di Luca, Misty, Ben Jordan, Jon Dough, Party Horde, and the many Vixen t-shirts. I look at each one, cherishing a special memory, before packing them up as well. I move over to the Simon Jones shirts, as well as the Despayre and Drake Green shirts, and everything in between. I can't help but smile. Looking at them, I know that we all helped to build this company, along with so many others. When I say that I built SCW, I don't mean that I did it alone, but I certainly did lead the charge.
I look through the posters, when I start to notice the decline. Delia Darling, and all of the Mean Girls merchandise that I ordered with full intention of burning, sits spread out over a box. As much as I hate to admit it, Mean Girls was an empire, one that moved in to take the place that the New X-Tremes left behind. They were annoying as hell, but even they made the impossible... possible. While I wasn't necessarily there, I tuned in each week. I'd hoped someone would destroy them, but in true Delia Darling fashion, the only person who was allowed to destroy them... was them. Poetic in a way, really. For that reason, I won't burn their stuff. I'll simply tuck it away in a dark corner of a basement closet, far out of view.
Though, there have been a random treasure here and there, SCW has been missing such a spark from a unique stable that makes sense, and draws in dollars from the fans. The Mean Girls was the last of a dying breed. The Nobodies is about the exact opposite, and for that reason, we... they... will never reach such a status as The Nobodies. Nothing excites. Since my return, it feels like I've just been going through the motions, hoping to recapture that feeling that I once had for this business. Instead, all I see are dead memories, packed away in boxes, and a firm reminder that the past will always stay in the past, and no amount of wishing will ever bring it back. It's sad, but a reality that we must all face.
However, one last item that I had nearly forgotten about comes to mind. I'd forgotten to show it off, because I'm wearing it.
<img src=http://i1253.photobucket.com/albums/hh598/SinCityWrestlingBucket/RageSinOfWrathTShirt01_zps266f2d0a.png>
Ha! There's no way that anyone should forget that they are wearing something like this. Remembering that one moment that Rage had hair, and wishing he'd kept it to hide the fact that he's got a peanut head is just priceless. This shirt is the perfect embodiment of Rage, too. Each time I look at the picture, I see a big baby. The only thing it's missing are some tears flying from his eyes. He's throwing a big childish tantrum, and trying to pull all of the attention on to himself. Instead of being a normal person, and... I don't know, not sucking at wrestling, or being a choke artist... Rage throwns fits. He storms off when the going gets tough, but he will always mope around like he doesn't give a shit about anything or anyone, but when the attention isn't on him? He blows a fit. When it is on him? He throws a fucking fit. My children were never so childish... and they are children. I have to wonder if Rage actually has what it takes to get past me, or will it be another instance where Samantha Marlowe pulls him through the tournament? He clearly doesn't have what it takes to get a World title match on his own, and his temper tantrums and "quitting" as if he were Alexis Edwards, have worn thin on the bosses.
Rage has to rely on Samantha to get him through the tournament, because Rage is a classic choke artist. He is good at getting just to the cusp of greatness, and then failing, and fading. I've gotten past him before, and I have it on good authority that I will do it again. if he couldn't beat me when we were both in our prime, and he's clearly let himself go much worse than I have... then how does he expect to get to James Huntington-Hawkes the third?
You see, Rage... you want to fight for the top prize in this business. You want to earn your shot at the title, so that you can (no matter how delusional this sounds) be the champion that we need. The strong champion who bats away any and all competition. Sorry to break it to you, Jakey boy, but you will never be me. You will never be the original, and you will never even be a knock off of me... or a Drake Green as I like to say. You will have to find another way to James, because this is my path.
This isn't even about you, Rage. You're just an annoying obstacle, the same way that CJ Sharpe was. You see, I've got some business with J2H... haha... and I want him to see me destroy any and all obstables that come in my way. I want him to shit his pants, knowing that I'm coming for him. And just to be clear, I'm not coming for his title. I'm coming for him! The bastard that sold my son out, in true cowardly fashion. He might have inked himself up. He might have spent time in the gym with Austin Parker, but you can't change colors unless you are a chameleon, and James is no chameleon. He is a C-word. Cock sucker? Chicken shit? Cunt? All of the above, but first and foremost, he is a coward, and he proved that a zebra can't change it's stripes when he sold my son out. I'm ready to go round 2 with the little bastard, and no title in the world matters to me. The only thing that matters is wrapping my hands around his neck and ringing it like a motherfucking bell.
But, Rage... the fact that you want to delude yourself into believing that you stand a chance? I can actually respect that. It shows a bit of backbone that I didn't realize you had under all of that muscle and body oil. It doesn't show that you have any brains, but that's besides the point. You are not a coward. You are simply a dumb shit who has taken one too many chairs to the head, and no, I'm not talking about in the Blaze of Glory game I played earlier on my X-Box 360 where I repeatedly hammered away at your head with endless steal chairs... which totally happened, and it was definitely hilarious... No, I'm talking about real steel chairs. I'm talking about being concussed to the point you literally see stars and birds flying around your head like you were Roger Rabbit. No, I didn't choose that rabbit because of your speech impediment either... Okay, I did. I really did...
My point, Rage, is that I'm a determined man. I'm not a man child, but a real man, who has his eyes set on something far beyond you. I will get past you on Sunday, Rage. I will Suplex, DDT, Armlock, Headlock, punch, kick, and choke my way to victory, because I have to. I don't want to. I HAVE to. I have a few things to prove before I go after the sonuvabitch who put my son's life in needless jeopardy. You might be my "biggest" challenge yet, but you won't be my toughest. I've got my eyes on you, Jacob, even if it seems like I'm looking passed you. Be ready for hell on Sunday, because I will bring every bit of that hell, and oh so much more.
Oh, and just because I can... we take a look at the many sensual Vixen posters as the scene fades out... TO BLACK!
