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+--- Thread: Christmas SUCKS! (/showthread.php?tid=49565)
Christmas SUCKS! - Charlie Nickles - 12-15-2025
Krissy Arroyo is a good lil’ bitch. He’s been a good bitch for Dyson his whole unlife. And now? He’s a good bitch for Sam. But at War Games? Krissy was a good lil’ bitch for Kieran…until the moment he wasn’t.
Until the moment he got put in his place.
Because whenever that bitch steps out of line, whenever that mutt bites the hand that feeds – his owners tug on that leash so hard that his head damn near pops off!
Kieran. Dyson. Sam. Whenever Krissy barks too loud, they all give him a backhand!
And that’s all it takes to shut this mutt up, each and every time. One good smack, and Krissy gets right back in line like he knows he should! Even in his own motherfuckin’ promos!
He’s like a battered fuckin’ dog.
So are you sure you’re not a werewolf, Arroyo?
But hey, I ain’t hating.
Game respect game!
Because here’s the truth, Krissy: I’m a dog too…
But I’m not the kind you lead around on a leash.
I’m the kind that MAULS unsupervised children, I’m the kind that needs to be put down!
But if you won’t stand up to lil’ Sammy boy in your own promos, how the fuck are you gonna stand up to The Big, Bad Nickleman on Warfare?
When I look at you, Krissy- I don’t see a big, bad vampire.
I see just another Lost Boy.
I see another CHILDE, in need of a good ol’ L.S.M-ing!
Krissy thinks that riding Kieran’s coattails makes him a big deal. Krissy thinks that LOSING War Games, is some sort of impressive honor! Krissy thinks that he’s finally done something that matters-
But the only reason he thinks that?
Is because the list of his accomplishments can fit on a fuckin’ cocktail napkin.
But me?
Well, shit, everyone knows I don’t bring anything to the table. Because everyone knows…I AM THE MOTHERFUCKING TABLE!
As far as Warfare is concerned, MY BODY is the main stage!
My tongue lashings are the main event: and my matches are just the bloody encores.
I’ve carried the entire X-division on my back. I’ve carried the Television Championship over my shoulder for more than a year. I’ve carried the entire universe, for months at a time! I’m just surprised my back ain’t gave out yet, because I have to carry damn near every fuckin’ show I’m on!
But my greatest accomplishment of all?
Is that I’m the best big brother in the world!
“What the hell is this, Charlie?!”
“It’s Christmas!”
Jennie Nickles crosses her arms in disgust as her brother stands in front an extravagant holiday tree. Ornaments, lights, festive toppers: you name it, this tree has it! And beneath the tree, resting atop a decorative rug? A dozen presents; each wrapped with tender love and care. Each gift is covered in green wrapping paper and topped off with a shiny red bow!
“And I figured, since it’s been so long since we had the chance to celebrate it together…I had a lot of gift-giving to make up for!”
Jennie rolls her eyes as she scoffs at her brother’s gesture.
“It’s not even Christmas. So what’s the story here? Did you shoot up so much meth that you forgot what day it was? Did you pilfer the local orphanage for these presents?”
A look of hurt flashes across Charlie’s grizzled face, but he quickly suppresses it- choosing to bury the pain instead of confronting it. Meanwhile, Jennie taps her foot on the floor impatiently, as if expecting a genuine answer to her outlandish questions.
“No, Jennie…it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to make more merry memories with you. And since I only get to see you when you’re on work release, I figured we could do Christmas a little early this year.”
Jennie shifts her gaze from her brother towards the presents. Her eyes scan the 12 boxes with suspicion before she looks back to Charlie.
“I don’t want any of your blood money. I know that all these gifts were paid for by those Trillionaire scumbags.”
Charlie lets out a long, exasperated sigh.
“I just wanted to do something nice for you, okay? Why can’t I just do something nice for my little sister?”
“I don’t know Charlie, why can’t you?”
Jennie sneers at her big brother as she takes a step towards him.
“You were the special referee for my Captain’s match, and yet still, I end up being viciously attacked and stripped of my status! And then, to make matters worse? My own fucking brother tries to murder my new Captain live on Warfare just weeks before War Games! I wonder sometimes…who do you love more? Your own sister, or those Trillionaire asshats? I always knew you were a bastard, Charlie- but I never knew you were such a bitch-ass puppet.”
The Nickleman clenches his teeth, literally biting down on his tongue- drawing blood, even- as he fights back against all his instincts. Typically, an insult like that would be greeted with a closed-fist kiss from The Nickleman. Charlie tolerates disrespect about as well as a vampire tolerates a stake through the heart: but when it came to his sister, Charlie knew he had to suppress his inner beast. He would never let himself hurt her, not with his words and certainly not with his fists. So The Nickleman decided to put his own tongue on a leash as he carefully considered his reply.
“Jennie…I love you- and I know you know this. The Trillionaires don’t control me and they never will. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just puppets on my chess board. I keep the rabble-rousers in check, and they keep putting those same checks in my account. So what if I spent some of those hard-fought earnings on my sister? That doesn’t make the season any less festive.
Go on, just open a couple…”
Jennie rolls her eyes once more as she stomps her feet in place.
“Uggghhh, fine! If it means you’ll be done with all this lovey-dovey family bullshit, then let’s get it over with.”
Charlie cracks a soft smile as his baby sister finally relents.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS!”
The Nickleman glows with glee as he reaches beneath the tree, excitedly picking up a box and tossing it over to his sister.
“Go ahead, open it up!”
Charlie can’t help but smile wide, as he knows exactly what’s inside that box. Jennie looks at it with wild mild annoyance before ripping off the bow, opening the cardboard flaps, and exposing the contents to the camera. She pulls out a framed photograph of two teens.
“It’s the last photo we took together before I left Steubenville. Look how happy we were…I’ve kept it close ever since.”
Jennie glares at the photograph with nothing but contempt and disgust.
“Yeah, of course I was smiling- I had no fucking idea you were going to abandon me just a few weeks later! Get this shit out of my face.”
Jennie chucks the framed family photograph across the room, causing it to slam into the far wall. Glass shatters as the frame breaks apart on impact. Charlie’s smile turns itself upside down, but The Nickleman swallows the pain like it’s just another one of his pills.
“Well…maybe you’ll like this one better!”
Charlie reaches under the tree and grabs another, much smaller box. He hands it to Jennie with a soft smile and a warm heart, but she returns nothing of the kind. She simply takes the box, opens it, and then pulls out the contents for the camera to see: a pair of keys.
“I bought you a Lamborghini!”
Jennie cocks a curious eyebrow as she glances up from the fancy keys to meet her brother’s willful gaze.
“What color is it?”
“Green, with red accents! It’s Christmas themed! Or- you can say it’s Freddy Krueger themed if you’d rather!”
Jennie scoffs in disgust before throwing the keys against the opposite far wall!
“I wouldn’t be caught dead in such a tacky car! It’s like you don’t know me at all!”
“Well, you could always get it repainted…but that’s okay! I think I know a gift you’re gonna love!”
Instead of wallowing in the misery of rejection, Charlie ducks under the tree excitedly as he retrieves another gift-wrapped box. He hurriedly pulls it into his possession before passing it to his little sister. She reluctantly takes it, inspecting it for only a few moments before ripping it open.
Jennie simply sighs as she reveals the contents of the box to the camera.
“Three King-sized chocolate bars?”
“Those were your favorite treat when you were a kid!”
“You’re trying to buy my respect with three chocolate bars?”
“I was kind of going for like a 12 days of Christmas theme! On the first day of Christmas, my brother gave to me: one framed photograph! On the second day of Christmas, my brother gave to me: a PAIR of keys! On the third day of Christmas, my brother gave to me: three of my favorite candy bars! On the fourth day o-“
Jennie ends Charlie’s improv performance off with a simple wave of the hand.
“Yeah yeah, that’s enough of that screeching. Jesus, you sound like a dying horse when you try to sing.”
The Nickleman lets out a long, defeated sigh. He tried his hardest to bring the festive cheer to his sister, but it’s clear that she wants no part in any sort of merry merriment. A look of dejection etches itself into his facial features, burying itself in each one of his wrinkles and scars.
Jennie may be a stone-cold bitch, but she’s not completely heartless.
Not yet, at least.
“Oh my God this is so fucking pathetic. Fine. You want to get me a Christmas present I’ll actually like? Then take all this trash you bought back to the store…and do me just one little favor.”
“Anything for you Jennie, anything! Just tell me what you want for Christmas, and Chucky Claus will make it happen!”
Jennie raises a mischievous brow.
“Anything?”
“Anything!”
“Well then…”
The Nickleman perks up like a puppy dog being offered a treat. But if Charlie knew what his sister had in mind, he never would’ve agreed.
“Carry out my Scarlet Verdict, one last time.”
Charlie’s jaw drops to the floor as his sister reaches into her coat, and pulls out a manilla folder filled to the brim with felony plots. She passes it over to Charlie, letting him peruse the file as she continues explaining her Christmas wish.
“There’s another name in need of my justice, but if I relapse, I’ll never be released from prison again. If you really love me, Charlie…you’ll do me this favor.”
Charlie’s eyes grow wide as he opens the folder and begins perusing the dossier. His sister stands there silently, observantly, as The Nickleman parses through the pages of her murderous conspiracy.
“There’s a Warfare Killer?”
Jennie nods her head affirmatively.
“He’s not “A” Warfare Killer: he’s THE Warfare Killer. The evidence suggests that this sick son of a bitch has been following the Warfare touring schedule for the last few months. Every time we have a show, the local police find a body just a few blocks from the venue. According to the autopsies, The Warfare Killer drains their blood through two precise incisions on the neck.”
“…like a vampire?”
The Nickleman reads through the reported killings as Jennie’s controlled rage becomes self-evident.
“Like a mangy mutt who must be put down. So tell me, Big Brother, are you man enough to do the job for me? Or does your little sister have to dirty her own hands, and go back to prison for life? Because if you won’t do it, Charlie: trust me….I will.”
Standing between a rock and a hard place, Charlie knows that he has no choice. He could never let his sister fall back into the clutches of the judicial system, but at the same time, he knows he can’t control her murderous behavior. The Nickleman flips through all the pages in the file before closing it shut. Then, he lifts his eyes up from the paperwork in order to meet his sister’s sinister gaze.
“So…do we have a deal?”
Things don’t always go according to plan.
Ain’t that right, Krissy?
You never planned on getting pinned by your own fuckin’ War Games Captain.
But you walked right into it, or should I say slithered- you fuckin’ snake.
You never planned on getting shoved down a fiery chimney and set ablaze-
But you talked yourself right into it, by claiming a spot you should’ve never had…
In the Rooftop Clatter Spectacular.
A long-honored XWF tradition:
The semi bi-annual Christmas tradition of the world’s premiere wrestling federation.
Doc D’Ville vs. Charlie Nickles:
The match of the year, every year, happening on the last show of the year…every other other year.
And in line with the tradition, I raised my flag and I issued my call: asking The Good Doctor for one last
house visit.
But standing in his place, what do I find?
Just another Lost Boy.
JUST ANOTHER CHILDE-
With no idea what he just bit into.
Krissy doesn’t deserve to share the stage with me on this, most merry of nights.
The Rooftop Clatter Spectacular is no joke, no sideshow gimmick.
It’s a living testament to my greatness.
The battles I had against Doc D’ville-
Homage to my legendary run on Saturday Night Savage-
I opened this challenge for a legend…and instead, I got the Dysons’ lost puppy.
But Ol’ Krissy boy was so happy after his loss at War Games, that he’s out frolicking for more! So it’s no wonder he answered my call. He had his first taste of defeat at War Games, and now, it seems to be all his tongue craves!
So go ahead and bite into my neck, Krissy: but you won’t find any crimson sustenance.
You’ll just find amphetamines and liquor!
Biting into me is like poppin’ a motherfucking Molly- so you better be ready for what comes next.
I’ve never won a Rooftop Clatter Spectacular…and you’ve never lost a singles match…
So come on, Krissy- let’s bite into each other!
Let’s pop those fuckin’ cherries!
I’m begging you to give me your best shot. Because I don’t want a target on my back: I want it right between my eyes, I want it draped over my shoulder like gold, I want it wrapped around my waist like a motherfuckin’ championship belt.
People say The Trillionaires hand me this, they say I get handed that, they say I play backstage politics all day-
But the truth is, I’ve already paid all my dues.
Now, I’m just here to collect:
Belts, souls, and fledgling careers!
So don’t get it twisted, Krissy:
Your spot in this Co-Main Event doesn’t mean you’ve finally “made it”.
It just means that you were next!
The man in Jennie’s file doesn’t stay where Charlie expects him to.
No gothic castle.
No underground lair.
No romanticized crypt tucked beneath candlelight and stained glass.
Just a condemned walk-up a few miles away from the show in Lysefjord. Boarded windows. Peeling paint. The kind of place nobody notices unless they’re already looking for it.
The kind of hideout “The Warfare Killer” always manages to find.
When Charlie approaches, he doesn’t waste time knocking.
The door simply falls apart after his second kick!
The smell hits him first. Iron and rot. Cheap cologne trying and failing to cover something far older. But Charlie doesn’t pay the wicked stench any mind: he’s here on a mission to prove his love for his one and only sister.
The Nickleman wanders through the seemingly abandoned home, his fist raised and at the ready. His eyes glancing from side to side, searching in the shadows for the darkness that has been haunting Warfare. But all he sees is cracked walls and an army of roaches skittering across the floor. Somewhere deeper in the building, a fireplace crackles. The sound is distant but steady, heat breathing through the walls like the structure itself is alive.
Charlie Nickles rounds one corner, and then the next-
Until he finally finds his target, seated at a table in the candlelight of a dilapidated dining room.
The Warfare Killer is dressed to the nines, in a tailored scarlet suit with the crispest of collars. His ebony skin shines against the dark light, a sinister glow radiating from the man’s immaculate skin. In one hand he cradles a wine glass filled to the brim with crimson ichor, while his other hand rests flat against the crumbling table.
The Warfare Killer looks up slowly, until his shifty eyes meets The Nickleman’s murderous gaze. Annoyance flashes across his face before recognition ever gets the chance. He sneers at Charlie from his polished throne at the head of a long-abandoned table.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Charlie doesn’t answer- he just walks towards Jennie’s Christmas Wish with a sick and twisted smile etched across his chapped lips.
The killer from Jennie’s files studies Charlie’s gait, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the size, the posture, and the way Charlie approaches with no hesitation. A faint smile curls at the corner of the killer’s crimson-coated mouth.
“This is way above your paygrade, sport. If you were smart, you’d walk out the same exact you came in- or else, you won’t even make it to curtain call for your precious show.”
The Warfare Killer continues, tapping a finger against the rim of the blood-filled glass.
“I promise you, you really do not want to make this a ‘you’ problem.”
Charlie doesn’t give a damn for the chit-chat, he just takes another step closer.
The floor creaks beneath his weight. The Warfare Killer exhales through his nose, clearly surprised by The Nickleman’s continued advance. The creature at the table
“You do not even know who I am! Who I work for! Who keeps me where I am! Why don’t you take a seat, have a drink, and we’ll talk through this like men of class?”
Charlie only speaks once he’s firmly within striking distance of his sister’s gift.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, MOTHERFUCKER!”
The creature pushes back from the table and rises swiftly. He reaches for Charlie with a speed meant to intimidate, to overwhelm, to remind him that this is supposed to be a mismatch-
But Charlie crashes into him instead!
The table explodes under the impact! Wood splinters fly everywhere as the glass in the creature’s hand shatters! The creature snarls, his fangs flashing as he lashes out, his claws raking across Charlie’s shoulder!
But Charlie barely reacts.
Because the only pain he can feel these days, is the pain of his sister’s rejection.
Charlie drives the vampire backward through the room, into the wall, and through a doorway that leads deeper into the building! The fight turns into a frantic battle for survival. Their bodies break whatever stands between them! The fireplace roars as they pass, flames licking upward, heat pressing against the creature’s face for a split second too long.
The Warfare Killer hisses, recoiling from the fire.
“You have no idea what you are doing!”
The vampire snarls as he starts scrambling for distance.
But Charlie doesn’t answer.
He just fights!
The killer stumbles, catching himself on a staircase, his eyes looking desperately for exits.
That’s when the creature notices the door to the roof, and tries to make a break for it!
Cold air slams into them both as the fight carries onto the roof.
The Scandinavian countryside stretches out below, lights blinking in the distance as a desert of snow covers the land. Snow dusts the rooftop, thin and uneven, crunching beneath both men’s boots as they battle for survival. The chimney looms nearby, smoke curling upward into the night sky from the fire still burning below.
The creature backs toward it without realizing.
The killer lunges again, desperate now, sloppy.
But Charlie catches him!
Both arms hook tight around the creature’s head and shoulders. Charlie plants his feet, pivots, and drives him straight down with a well-deserved DEVIL HOOK DROP!
The double-armed DDT snaps the killer forward and sends him over the edge of the chimney’s mouth! The creature falls into the gap!
For half a second, there is nothing.
Then the fire roars!
The scream that follows is not pain. It is shock. Disbelief. The sound of someone realizing too late that lineage does not mean immunity.
Charlie steps back as the noise fades, smoke thickening as ash rises to meet the night. He stares down into the chimney, watching the glow from the fire dim and die.
Charlie turns away from the edge, jaw tight, chest heavy, knowing the fire below will burn itself out eventually. Just like everything else he touches.