<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Snow Job RP Boards 2023]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Thu, 07 May 2026 09:18:46 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[After Winter Comes Spring]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45508 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 23:58:52 -0800 Isaiah King]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45508

“What if you learnt to shut that mouth?

It’s cold as balls out here, and I can barely keep my mouth closed. I don’t know how you’re able to rattle on and on for so damn long every time you open your mouth, Jenny.

How’s it feel to hear so much of your voice all the damn time? It’s a wonder Elijah Martin and Chris Chaos have had their brains melted to silence – shutting down really is the only way to bear with your incessant blabbering.

Fuck’s sake.

Don’t worry, come this weekend I’ll teach you all about silence. I’ll send an elbow through that grotesque face and leave your jaw needing a wire to keep it shut.

You talk so much it’s hard to keep up, it’s a wonder anyone knows what you’re on about at all, I had to pause that vignette five times just to figure out if you were talking about me, Goth, yourself or the twelve other personalities you have running about in that head of yours.

You’re most definitely consistent Jenny, consistently a pile of pointless shit.

You ever see a five-year-old show you his collection of cool things he found at the playground? A random rusted screw, a saliva-sticky M&M, chewed up gum, one three of diamonds card and something that resembles a fossilized toad? That’s your work in the ring – every day shit without rhyme or reason.

We never know which one of the thirteen personalities we’re going to hear from today. We don’t even know what you’re fighting for or where you’re headed.

Boo-hoo, you’ve got a tortured childhood, start a circle-jerk with the twenty other kids in the locker room who’ve been dealt a bad hand – call it the Queen’s Court.

I’ll sit-in when I decide to give a fuck.”

Your screen flickers to life and the audio you’ve been listening to is paired with a furious fist slamming onto a wooden table. The ominous tone Isaiah’s taken catches you by surprise, this is the beautiful, flawless, drool-inducing Isaiah you know and love… But there’s something different about him. You just can’t place it yet.

“You’ll do good to keep any mention of my girlfriend out of your mouth too – it’s gonna ruin any attraction I have towards her.

Yes she’s my agent – but she sure as hell is nothing like silent ol’ Chaos. Whatever happened to his iron balls and domination of the XWF? What in the world did you do to emasculate him so completely?

Yes, Chaer’s my agent – she handles my calls and makes sure I get my promotional content in on time… When she’s not busy forgetting.

But you and I both know we don’t get much of a say in how we’re booked. We don’t get to choose who comes in our way – because if you CHOSE those exact same failures to face as I did, I don’t know what to say.

At least I had the disadvantage of having sub-par booking and being forced to face the runts of the lot as the Television Champion.

You’re the X-Treme Champion, your championship shares the honorable, esteemed misspelt name of our organization and still you didn’t get much better than I did. Even let Marf yank it from under your nose. Madison Junior. Goth again? Professor X… Atara Raven?

Also, have you been getting my second’s or have I been getting yours? I haven’t been paying too much attention to you.

But looking back, not sure who’s “gauntlet” has been of better quality to be honest.

Not forgetting that I did takeoff the heads of Michael Graves, Finn Kuhn & Angelica Vaughn before even claiming my title. All within the last few months.

Note to split-personality no. 1: That’s been my entire spiel Jenny, I hated the fact that all the threw at me were the scraps.

I’ll give it to you though, the one time I got to face somebody I actually thought was worth his shit – I lost.

The one time I faced some real competition here in the XWF – I couldn’t stand on my two feet. They got taken out from underneath me, as hard as I tried to make a point out of Ned Kaye.

I’m not better than him.

But you? I sure as hell hope I’m better than the XWF’s self-pitying queen. You’re no underdog Myst, not sure you can claim a career that spanned years, being the defending champion and still claim everyone expects you to lose in the same thought. You missing therapy again?

Everyone hates you, but nobody underestimates you Myst, get your head outta’ your ass.

Nobody wants to be you, not Goth, not me, nobody. But everyone sure as hell wants to beat you.

Even the hotdog and the pig.

You’re not public-enemy number 1, I’m pretty sure Charlie Nickles takes that cake – but beating Jenny Myst does still mean something. I’m sure it’ll get me some points in the back because you’re insane and nobody likes you.

Nobody likes a lose cannon.

A zombie-making schizo.

I’m surprised you expect them to.

I’m surprised it keeps you up at night.

It’s like you’re 12 and just found out you’re in the burn book.

Grow up Jenny, be an asshole, get treated like one. Your talent in the ring has nothing to do with it – you’re just a disgusting person.”

Isaiah’s sitting on a leather armchair, a remote in his hand. He leans back, away from the table and the camera that’s on it. There’s an empty ashtray with an unlit cigarette balance on it to his right.

“But like I said, facing you still means something.

If it didn’t, I’m sure good ol’ Theo wouldn’t have given me that call.

Facing you and Goth in the same ring is supposed to be some kind of defibrillator to my system I think – shock me back into perfection… Well that and getting some fans in seats because heaven knows nobody wants to actually WATCH you wrestle Goth again.

You’ve maybe faced one real challenge in Atara, if her absent husband and oversized family wasn’t distracting her that night.

Now you’re going to face YOUR Ned Kaye.

Your real challenge.

The person who’s going to show you what championship quality looks like.

The person who’s going to rip your precious title out of your hands and make you feel absolutely worthless.

The person who’s just better than you.

Oops, I might be projecting a little. Ned really did a number on me.”

Isaiah rubs an index and thumb against his temples, his free hand taking the cigarette and toying with it. A sigh of relief.

“Sorry for this rant Jenny… I just had to get it out of my system while watching your shit.

I’ll be sure to record an actual vignette and do some real promoting though… I just couldn’t hold this in any more.

I’m a rising star, you know that – Theo knows that – the XWF fanbase knows that.

I just wish I didn’t have rise through you, but if that’s what the big guy wants, that’s what he’ll get.

Now back to your regularly scheduled promotional video.”

Black.



Continued from Blood Upon The Snow

Chae’s hands moved like a trained surgeon… Or someone who went for a home economics class once? Isaiah had his hand wrapped in a blood-soaked cloth and a bottle of whiskey. He periodically pours the whiskey straight into Ezekiel’s mouth while wiping away specks of blood and allowing Chaer to tend to the wound.

“What happened Zeke?”

Isaiah’s voice was cold, the fear and anxiety he’d had for his friend just moments ago had vanished when he heard him say they were back.

“He’s bleeding out on our coffee table Isaiah, I don’t think this is the time.”

“What happened.”

Isaiah doesn’t even let her finish, speaking over the second half of her sentence.

“Those damned Ko-fucks.”

Chae clicks her tongue and is a little rougher on the wound than necessary.

“Empire.”

“Yeah, yeah – they must’ve been stakin’ out the place waiting for me. Musta’ not heard that I’d been on the wagon.”

“Luckily for them, you fell off it then.”

“Gurl, shut up.”

Chae holds up a pair of tweezers, with bits of fabric she’d plucked out from the wound.

“Sorry.”

“What’d they want?”

Ezekiel rolls his eyes, pointing at his wound.

“Obviously for me to be dead. Or…”

“If they wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be bleeding out on my table right now.”

“Yeah, appreciate the concern.”

“What’d they want you to tell me?”

“Well… Not you – Jeremiah.”

Isaiah finds his fists in tight balls, his nails digging into his palm. They shouldn’t know about Jeremiah – nobody should.

“How.”

“How w-“

“How do they know Jeremiah is alive.”

“I don’t know man, but they know The Court is still running things around here… The real Court. And I think they’re tryna take it back.”

“I guess they didn’t know you were out.”

“Yeah, why would they go after you and not one of the active folk?”

“Well… I’m not sure you could necessarily say I’m out.”

Isaiah tilts his head menacingly towards Ezekiel, his left brow raising just as terrifyingly.

“I-I maaaybe was drinking with some of the ol’ g-gang.”

Chae stops her cleaning, placing the tweezers on the table and standing up, Isaiah similarly steps back from the table. Almost in unison the two exclaim out.

“What the fuck Ezekiel.”

“Of course, they stabbed you. Cos the damn Bishop was back drinking with his fuckin’ boys.”

“It wasn’t like that…”

“That’s what it looked like, that’s all that matters – you know that.”

“Y-yeah Iz. Will you please j-just stitch me up.”

Isaiah curses under his breath as he and Chae return to the wound, all attempts at being gentle out of the window as they try to patch Ezekiel up. Chae leans her head against Isaiah’s side as she works, whispering to him.

“You’ve gotta do something about this Iz, before we actually lose someone.”



The streets were kind to nobody. That’s why for generations people toiled their entire lives just to have a roof over their heads, an escape from the snare of the roofless.

People did everything to find solace.

They sold their entire lives to corporations, to slavery, to debt, to protection. Just to not feel the cold, emptiness of the street.

Mortgages, minimum wage jobs, gangs.

It’s a tale as old as time, and it’s a tale that had a chapter reserved for four young teenagers.

For Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Chae and Isaiah.

They were seated on the curb, by the feet of The King’s Court gym, so close to each other that their shoulders touched. In that very order.

Little did they know, order was going to be a very big part of their lives.

“Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see, sometimes your words just hypnotise me.”

“Man, they just don’t make it like that anymore.”

“I don’t know, Wu-Tang still going kinda hard.”

“Ya’ll thought about what Pops’ said?”

“C’mon Iz, leave it, stop thinkin’ so hard. We gon’ get paid, what’s there to think?”

“You think he’ll really pay us the twenty, Jer?”

“Yeah, sure, he ain’t failed us yet right? And we owe him, white mans took us in.”

“Yeah I know. I mean, I’ll bring him his beers and clean his floors, but this different Jer.”

“The payout different too, leave it.”

“Throw yo’ hands in the air if you a true playa’”

Her sweet voice, still with its strong Korean accent, cracks through the conversation, and the kids burst out into a laugh, throwing their hands in the air and flashing up gang signs they’d seen the older kids do.

Life didn’t seem all that serious just yet, sure they were broke, sure they basically lived on the floor of the gym – but they were kids and they liked their hip-hop and learning how to box. Well, until Pops would call them.

“Oi, boy, King – it’s time to go.”

A backpack comes flying down the steps of the gym, landing with a clang on the trashcan that was by the curb. It shakes the kids to alert, and Jeremiah get’s to his feet faster than the others can react.

“Yessir, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“You better count the bag before you come back.”

Jeremiah slings the backpack over his shoulder and looks back at his friends, giving them a quick wink before hopping on a rusted brown gearless bike and making his way down the street.

That’s right – there wasn’t much to think about. Jeremiah was already doing all the work, joining up was just a formality really. Also, they did everything together, couldn’t just let Jeremiah walk into the den could they? No, they couldn’t. Their friendship wouldn’t let them and knowing Pops - he wouldn’t let them either.

Chae leaned on Isaiah’s shoulder, breaking out of the Biggie and whispering to him.

“You’ve gotta protect him, Iz. You gotta.”

Isaiah’s eyes followed Jeremiah’s back, seeing him cycle down the street without a care. Both of them were completely unaware of how much their lives were about to change just then. They were also completely oblivious to the eyes of Empire, watching them from the shadows.



Your screen crackles to life in a familiar fashion. You see Isaiah seated on a similarly familiar leather armchair, but this time, Chae is seated on the armrest to his right and Ezekiel is learning slightly uncomfortably on the other side. The large man has his abdomen bandaged up, and one of his eyes shine in the light.

“Kings rise, kings fall.
Empires come and go.
Winter comes, and spring follows.
Queen’s fall, they tumble.
And Goths… Well people forget them altogether.

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to address you, friend – I just don’t think about you very much. If there was a dark horse in this match, it’d be you. If there was a dark horse in this company, it would be you.

On every card but never the headline.

Facing champions but never one.

Delusions of grandeur but never celebrated.

Last time you were on screen, didn’t you manage to get into some kind of scuffle with Jenny and Elijah? While bigger names took the show away, you tried to squeeze yourself into the situation.

You tried to bring some heat to this match and what did they do to thank you?

They put me in it.

You tried to assert your dominance, bring down the whip – if I may, on Jenny Myst -

(And for future reference, I think she’s into that Goth, not sure if pain is really how you want to be “punishing” her.)

And what did you get in return? Theo realized Jenny Myst vs Goth was going to be the part of Snow Job where people changed channels, went to the bathroom and queued up for unnecessarily expensive beer.

You were gonna be the breather in a star-packed show. And the XWF can’t afford breathers – not when we have the highly premiere stadium of Lambeau Field, Green Bay – God forbid we have a boring match.

And so I relented. I said sure – because I was in a deep funk, a funk brought upon by losing my shiny gold belt to Ned Kaye. The temptation of another belt, albeit one a little dirtier and with a higher chance of carrying some STDs, was too much to resist.

Chae, my lovely PR executive knew it was just the thing I needed to get back on my feet.

And it was.

I’ve never felt better these last two weeks.

There’s still a giant hole of emptiness in my chest – a hole that needs to be filled by success and progress, but my entire body has been perfected to fill it.

I am ready to get back on the yellow brick road to my domination of the XWF – I am ready to claim every belt this place has to offer, to return this business to it’s glory days of dominant champions.

This match with you… This might just be where it begins.

With my feet knee deep in the cesspool of Jenny and Gerrit.

Two opponents who are as close to “veteran” status as we might have left at the XWF. The bastions of the past, witnesses to our glory days, and part of the problem of our present.

Honestly, I’m not sure you’re all that different from Jenny, Gerrit.

You too rattle on with so much to say while saying nothing at all.

Be a King to know a King? They might call me Isaiah King, but we both know there’s no king without a throne – and I clearly lost mine last year.

I’m no King, Goth and neither are you.

I’m an heir to the throne – and you’re a man who wishes he had a future to inherit.

You said it yourself, you’ve gotten more shots at this belt than most on the roster – and you’ve done absolutely nothing with it.

This is your pity shot – a shot that needed to be boosted with my presence. I didn’t ask for this match, I didn’t beg for it, I didn’t put up some cheap drama to demand it.

I just existed.

I just proved my worth in the ring.

I proved my dedication to the sport and to this business every time I fought.

I proved it when I faced Theo’s golden-boy, Ned Kaye.

That’s why when they needed someone to draw seats, they picked me.

Because I’m better than you Goth.

While you have dreams and goals you’ve failed to grasp.

I have dreams and goals that are waiting to be claimed.

I am the present and the future.

You’re the past and the forgotten.”

Isaiah runs a hand on Chae’s thigh, and she gives his hand a squeeze of comfort.

“I have something to fight for Jenny, Goth.

I have to keep winning, I have to keep succeeding, I have to keep moving up.

I need to do this because I need to prove to those who rely on me that they don’t need to go anywhere else to feel safe.

They don’t need to go anywhere else to feel protected, to feel wanted, to feel comfort.

The three of us – we came from the streets. We came from nothing. And just like everyone else, the world came running at us with promises of safety, protection, glory.

From the disgusting old man who took us in to turn us into weapons, to the generals of the streets who promised us a family like no other.

But I couldn’t rely on them – I couldn’t let my friends rely on them – because nobody was really looking out for us.

So in a world full of greed, with stronger people eager to exploit us for their own gain…

I decided to establish my own world – my own kingdom.

And that’s exactly what I’m doing here. The XWF – a place where I can rely on me. Where I can be powerful enough, where I can be successful enough that those who need me can find rest with me.

Where my friends won’t have to fear exploitation.

My grandiose plan has had it’s hiccups – Chae for one has gotten a little excited to protect our borders and interfered in my plans… But we’re all human – and we hate to lose ground.

It’s had hiccups – but my plan has not been derailed.

It’s back on track – and I have Theo to thank for that. I have Chae to thank for you. I even have this imbecile Ezekiel to thank for that.

…In some way – I have Ned to thank for that. For showing me I’m not quite good enough yet. For proving to me that this company still has talent worth chasing after, still has power worth gaining.

I’m not sure how many times you both had to name drop Ned, but just be sure – he’s better than both of you combined, whether you beat him or not Goth.

I’m not sure which version of Ned you got – but I haven’t seen someone as on-form as he is in a long time. He’s got me deadly excited about finding my feet, finding my form, getting back into the flow of things.

I can’t wait to get stronger by crushing you two.

I can’t wait to get more glory by taking your title away from you Jenny.

And I sure as hell can’t wait to establish my Kingdom anew once I do.

And maybe… Just maybe, I’ll have space for you Goth. You and your kinky little desires are welcomed to this home… Maybe you’ll finally be able to make a name for yourself too when you do.

Jenny though – you stay right where you are, a safe fifteen feet away, I don’t want to catch whatever you have.”

Isaiah’s face scrunches up into disgust and Chae slaps him on the shoulder to get serious.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.

I’m sorry I ignored you Goth – really, it was a joke.

A joke about how you’re… Always forgotten.

Jenny’s little spiel about herself being overlooked? She’s full of shit being the champion and all.

But to you, it actually applies Goth. You are overlooked, but not because they accidentally forget you.

You’re forgotten because they have to – because no matter how many chances at glory they give you, you’re better left in the shadows of mediocrity.

As long as you don’t have a truly glorious light to follow – you’ll always be better off forgotten.

I’ll be your light Goth, I’ll take that eye liner off your hands and put a tan on your pasty skin.

I’ll give you a glimpse of glory, reflected off me.

You should be just as excited for tomorrow as I am.

Cos after Winter,

After the snow,

Comes a glorious Spring. Not just for me, but for you two too.

With love,

The king to be.”

Isaiah winks at the camera as Chae gets off the armrest to click the camera off.



]]>

“What if you learnt to shut that mouth?

It’s cold as balls out here, and I can barely keep my mouth closed. I don’t know how you’re able to rattle on and on for so damn long every time you open your mouth, Jenny.

How’s it feel to hear so much of your voice all the damn time? It’s a wonder Elijah Martin and Chris Chaos have had their brains melted to silence – shutting down really is the only way to bear with your incessant blabbering.

Fuck’s sake.

Don’t worry, come this weekend I’ll teach you all about silence. I’ll send an elbow through that grotesque face and leave your jaw needing a wire to keep it shut.

You talk so much it’s hard to keep up, it’s a wonder anyone knows what you’re on about at all, I had to pause that vignette five times just to figure out if you were talking about me, Goth, yourself or the twelve other personalities you have running about in that head of yours.

You’re most definitely consistent Jenny, consistently a pile of pointless shit.

You ever see a five-year-old show you his collection of cool things he found at the playground? A random rusted screw, a saliva-sticky M&M, chewed up gum, one three of diamonds card and something that resembles a fossilized toad? That’s your work in the ring – every day shit without rhyme or reason.

We never know which one of the thirteen personalities we’re going to hear from today. We don’t even know what you’re fighting for or where you’re headed.

Boo-hoo, you’ve got a tortured childhood, start a circle-jerk with the twenty other kids in the locker room who’ve been dealt a bad hand – call it the Queen’s Court.

I’ll sit-in when I decide to give a fuck.”

Your screen flickers to life and the audio you’ve been listening to is paired with a furious fist slamming onto a wooden table. The ominous tone Isaiah’s taken catches you by surprise, this is the beautiful, flawless, drool-inducing Isaiah you know and love… But there’s something different about him. You just can’t place it yet.

“You’ll do good to keep any mention of my girlfriend out of your mouth too – it’s gonna ruin any attraction I have towards her.

Yes she’s my agent – but she sure as hell is nothing like silent ol’ Chaos. Whatever happened to his iron balls and domination of the XWF? What in the world did you do to emasculate him so completely?

Yes, Chaer’s my agent – she handles my calls and makes sure I get my promotional content in on time… When she’s not busy forgetting.

But you and I both know we don’t get much of a say in how we’re booked. We don’t get to choose who comes in our way – because if you CHOSE those exact same failures to face as I did, I don’t know what to say.

At least I had the disadvantage of having sub-par booking and being forced to face the runts of the lot as the Television Champion.

You’re the X-Treme Champion, your championship shares the honorable, esteemed misspelt name of our organization and still you didn’t get much better than I did. Even let Marf yank it from under your nose. Madison Junior. Goth again? Professor X… Atara Raven?

Also, have you been getting my second’s or have I been getting yours? I haven’t been paying too much attention to you.

But looking back, not sure who’s “gauntlet” has been of better quality to be honest.

Not forgetting that I did takeoff the heads of Michael Graves, Finn Kuhn & Angelica Vaughn before even claiming my title. All within the last few months.

Note to split-personality no. 1: That’s been my entire spiel Jenny, I hated the fact that all the threw at me were the scraps.

I’ll give it to you though, the one time I got to face somebody I actually thought was worth his shit – I lost.

The one time I faced some real competition here in the XWF – I couldn’t stand on my two feet. They got taken out from underneath me, as hard as I tried to make a point out of Ned Kaye.

I’m not better than him.

But you? I sure as hell hope I’m better than the XWF’s self-pitying queen. You’re no underdog Myst, not sure you can claim a career that spanned years, being the defending champion and still claim everyone expects you to lose in the same thought. You missing therapy again?

Everyone hates you, but nobody underestimates you Myst, get your head outta’ your ass.

Nobody wants to be you, not Goth, not me, nobody. But everyone sure as hell wants to beat you.

Even the hotdog and the pig.

You’re not public-enemy number 1, I’m pretty sure Charlie Nickles takes that cake – but beating Jenny Myst does still mean something. I’m sure it’ll get me some points in the back because you’re insane and nobody likes you.

Nobody likes a lose cannon.

A zombie-making schizo.

I’m surprised you expect them to.

I’m surprised it keeps you up at night.

It’s like you’re 12 and just found out you’re in the burn book.

Grow up Jenny, be an asshole, get treated like one. Your talent in the ring has nothing to do with it – you’re just a disgusting person.”

Isaiah’s sitting on a leather armchair, a remote in his hand. He leans back, away from the table and the camera that’s on it. There’s an empty ashtray with an unlit cigarette balance on it to his right.

“But like I said, facing you still means something.

If it didn’t, I’m sure good ol’ Theo wouldn’t have given me that call.

Facing you and Goth in the same ring is supposed to be some kind of defibrillator to my system I think – shock me back into perfection… Well that and getting some fans in seats because heaven knows nobody wants to actually WATCH you wrestle Goth again.

You’ve maybe faced one real challenge in Atara, if her absent husband and oversized family wasn’t distracting her that night.

Now you’re going to face YOUR Ned Kaye.

Your real challenge.

The person who’s going to show you what championship quality looks like.

The person who’s going to rip your precious title out of your hands and make you feel absolutely worthless.

The person who’s just better than you.

Oops, I might be projecting a little. Ned really did a number on me.”

Isaiah rubs an index and thumb against his temples, his free hand taking the cigarette and toying with it. A sigh of relief.

“Sorry for this rant Jenny… I just had to get it out of my system while watching your shit.

I’ll be sure to record an actual vignette and do some real promoting though… I just couldn’t hold this in any more.

I’m a rising star, you know that – Theo knows that – the XWF fanbase knows that.

I just wish I didn’t have rise through you, but if that’s what the big guy wants, that’s what he’ll get.

Now back to your regularly scheduled promotional video.”

Black.



Continued from Blood Upon The Snow

Chae’s hands moved like a trained surgeon… Or someone who went for a home economics class once? Isaiah had his hand wrapped in a blood-soaked cloth and a bottle of whiskey. He periodically pours the whiskey straight into Ezekiel’s mouth while wiping away specks of blood and allowing Chaer to tend to the wound.

“What happened Zeke?”

Isaiah’s voice was cold, the fear and anxiety he’d had for his friend just moments ago had vanished when he heard him say they were back.

“He’s bleeding out on our coffee table Isaiah, I don’t think this is the time.”

“What happened.”

Isaiah doesn’t even let her finish, speaking over the second half of her sentence.

“Those damned Ko-fucks.”

Chae clicks her tongue and is a little rougher on the wound than necessary.

“Empire.”

“Yeah, yeah – they must’ve been stakin’ out the place waiting for me. Musta’ not heard that I’d been on the wagon.”

“Luckily for them, you fell off it then.”

“Gurl, shut up.”

Chae holds up a pair of tweezers, with bits of fabric she’d plucked out from the wound.

“Sorry.”

“What’d they want?”

Ezekiel rolls his eyes, pointing at his wound.

“Obviously for me to be dead. Or…”

“If they wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be bleeding out on my table right now.”

“Yeah, appreciate the concern.”

“What’d they want you to tell me?”

“Well… Not you – Jeremiah.”

Isaiah finds his fists in tight balls, his nails digging into his palm. They shouldn’t know about Jeremiah – nobody should.

“How.”

“How w-“

“How do they know Jeremiah is alive.”

“I don’t know man, but they know The Court is still running things around here… The real Court. And I think they’re tryna take it back.”

“I guess they didn’t know you were out.”

“Yeah, why would they go after you and not one of the active folk?”

“Well… I’m not sure you could necessarily say I’m out.”

Isaiah tilts his head menacingly towards Ezekiel, his left brow raising just as terrifyingly.

“I-I maaaybe was drinking with some of the ol’ g-gang.”

Chae stops her cleaning, placing the tweezers on the table and standing up, Isaiah similarly steps back from the table. Almost in unison the two exclaim out.

“What the fuck Ezekiel.”

“Of course, they stabbed you. Cos the damn Bishop was back drinking with his fuckin’ boys.”

“It wasn’t like that…”

“That’s what it looked like, that’s all that matters – you know that.”

“Y-yeah Iz. Will you please j-just stitch me up.”

Isaiah curses under his breath as he and Chae return to the wound, all attempts at being gentle out of the window as they try to patch Ezekiel up. Chae leans her head against Isaiah’s side as she works, whispering to him.

“You’ve gotta do something about this Iz, before we actually lose someone.”



The streets were kind to nobody. That’s why for generations people toiled their entire lives just to have a roof over their heads, an escape from the snare of the roofless.

People did everything to find solace.

They sold their entire lives to corporations, to slavery, to debt, to protection. Just to not feel the cold, emptiness of the street.

Mortgages, minimum wage jobs, gangs.

It’s a tale as old as time, and it’s a tale that had a chapter reserved for four young teenagers.

For Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Chae and Isaiah.

They were seated on the curb, by the feet of The King’s Court gym, so close to each other that their shoulders touched. In that very order.

Little did they know, order was going to be a very big part of their lives.

“Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see, sometimes your words just hypnotise me.”

“Man, they just don’t make it like that anymore.”

“I don’t know, Wu-Tang still going kinda hard.”

“Ya’ll thought about what Pops’ said?”

“C’mon Iz, leave it, stop thinkin’ so hard. We gon’ get paid, what’s there to think?”

“You think he’ll really pay us the twenty, Jer?”

“Yeah, sure, he ain’t failed us yet right? And we owe him, white mans took us in.”

“Yeah I know. I mean, I’ll bring him his beers and clean his floors, but this different Jer.”

“The payout different too, leave it.”

“Throw yo’ hands in the air if you a true playa’”

Her sweet voice, still with its strong Korean accent, cracks through the conversation, and the kids burst out into a laugh, throwing their hands in the air and flashing up gang signs they’d seen the older kids do.

Life didn’t seem all that serious just yet, sure they were broke, sure they basically lived on the floor of the gym – but they were kids and they liked their hip-hop and learning how to box. Well, until Pops would call them.

“Oi, boy, King – it’s time to go.”

A backpack comes flying down the steps of the gym, landing with a clang on the trashcan that was by the curb. It shakes the kids to alert, and Jeremiah get’s to his feet faster than the others can react.

“Yessir, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“You better count the bag before you come back.”

Jeremiah slings the backpack over his shoulder and looks back at his friends, giving them a quick wink before hopping on a rusted brown gearless bike and making his way down the street.

That’s right – there wasn’t much to think about. Jeremiah was already doing all the work, joining up was just a formality really. Also, they did everything together, couldn’t just let Jeremiah walk into the den could they? No, they couldn’t. Their friendship wouldn’t let them and knowing Pops - he wouldn’t let them either.

Chae leaned on Isaiah’s shoulder, breaking out of the Biggie and whispering to him.

“You’ve gotta protect him, Iz. You gotta.”

Isaiah’s eyes followed Jeremiah’s back, seeing him cycle down the street without a care. Both of them were completely unaware of how much their lives were about to change just then. They were also completely oblivious to the eyes of Empire, watching them from the shadows.



Your screen crackles to life in a familiar fashion. You see Isaiah seated on a similarly familiar leather armchair, but this time, Chae is seated on the armrest to his right and Ezekiel is learning slightly uncomfortably on the other side. The large man has his abdomen bandaged up, and one of his eyes shine in the light.

“Kings rise, kings fall.
Empires come and go.
Winter comes, and spring follows.
Queen’s fall, they tumble.
And Goths… Well people forget them altogether.

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to address you, friend – I just don’t think about you very much. If there was a dark horse in this match, it’d be you. If there was a dark horse in this company, it would be you.

On every card but never the headline.

Facing champions but never one.

Delusions of grandeur but never celebrated.

Last time you were on screen, didn’t you manage to get into some kind of scuffle with Jenny and Elijah? While bigger names took the show away, you tried to squeeze yourself into the situation.

You tried to bring some heat to this match and what did they do to thank you?

They put me in it.

You tried to assert your dominance, bring down the whip – if I may, on Jenny Myst -

(And for future reference, I think she’s into that Goth, not sure if pain is really how you want to be “punishing” her.)

And what did you get in return? Theo realized Jenny Myst vs Goth was going to be the part of Snow Job where people changed channels, went to the bathroom and queued up for unnecessarily expensive beer.

You were gonna be the breather in a star-packed show. And the XWF can’t afford breathers – not when we have the highly premiere stadium of Lambeau Field, Green Bay – God forbid we have a boring match.

And so I relented. I said sure – because I was in a deep funk, a funk brought upon by losing my shiny gold belt to Ned Kaye. The temptation of another belt, albeit one a little dirtier and with a higher chance of carrying some STDs, was too much to resist.

Chae, my lovely PR executive knew it was just the thing I needed to get back on my feet.

And it was.

I’ve never felt better these last two weeks.

There’s still a giant hole of emptiness in my chest – a hole that needs to be filled by success and progress, but my entire body has been perfected to fill it.

I am ready to get back on the yellow brick road to my domination of the XWF – I am ready to claim every belt this place has to offer, to return this business to it’s glory days of dominant champions.

This match with you… This might just be where it begins.

With my feet knee deep in the cesspool of Jenny and Gerrit.

Two opponents who are as close to “veteran” status as we might have left at the XWF. The bastions of the past, witnesses to our glory days, and part of the problem of our present.

Honestly, I’m not sure you’re all that different from Jenny, Gerrit.

You too rattle on with so much to say while saying nothing at all.

Be a King to know a King? They might call me Isaiah King, but we both know there’s no king without a throne – and I clearly lost mine last year.

I’m no King, Goth and neither are you.

I’m an heir to the throne – and you’re a man who wishes he had a future to inherit.

You said it yourself, you’ve gotten more shots at this belt than most on the roster – and you’ve done absolutely nothing with it.

This is your pity shot – a shot that needed to be boosted with my presence. I didn’t ask for this match, I didn’t beg for it, I didn’t put up some cheap drama to demand it.

I just existed.

I just proved my worth in the ring.

I proved my dedication to the sport and to this business every time I fought.

I proved it when I faced Theo’s golden-boy, Ned Kaye.

That’s why when they needed someone to draw seats, they picked me.

Because I’m better than you Goth.

While you have dreams and goals you’ve failed to grasp.

I have dreams and goals that are waiting to be claimed.

I am the present and the future.

You’re the past and the forgotten.”

Isaiah runs a hand on Chae’s thigh, and she gives his hand a squeeze of comfort.

“I have something to fight for Jenny, Goth.

I have to keep winning, I have to keep succeeding, I have to keep moving up.

I need to do this because I need to prove to those who rely on me that they don’t need to go anywhere else to feel safe.

They don’t need to go anywhere else to feel protected, to feel wanted, to feel comfort.

The three of us – we came from the streets. We came from nothing. And just like everyone else, the world came running at us with promises of safety, protection, glory.

From the disgusting old man who took us in to turn us into weapons, to the generals of the streets who promised us a family like no other.

But I couldn’t rely on them – I couldn’t let my friends rely on them – because nobody was really looking out for us.

So in a world full of greed, with stronger people eager to exploit us for their own gain…

I decided to establish my own world – my own kingdom.

And that’s exactly what I’m doing here. The XWF – a place where I can rely on me. Where I can be powerful enough, where I can be successful enough that those who need me can find rest with me.

Where my friends won’t have to fear exploitation.

My grandiose plan has had it’s hiccups – Chae for one has gotten a little excited to protect our borders and interfered in my plans… But we’re all human – and we hate to lose ground.

It’s had hiccups – but my plan has not been derailed.

It’s back on track – and I have Theo to thank for that. I have Chae to thank for you. I even have this imbecile Ezekiel to thank for that.

…In some way – I have Ned to thank for that. For showing me I’m not quite good enough yet. For proving to me that this company still has talent worth chasing after, still has power worth gaining.

I’m not sure how many times you both had to name drop Ned, but just be sure – he’s better than both of you combined, whether you beat him or not Goth.

I’m not sure which version of Ned you got – but I haven’t seen someone as on-form as he is in a long time. He’s got me deadly excited about finding my feet, finding my form, getting back into the flow of things.

I can’t wait to get stronger by crushing you two.

I can’t wait to get more glory by taking your title away from you Jenny.

And I sure as hell can’t wait to establish my Kingdom anew once I do.

And maybe… Just maybe, I’ll have space for you Goth. You and your kinky little desires are welcomed to this home… Maybe you’ll finally be able to make a name for yourself too when you do.

Jenny though – you stay right where you are, a safe fifteen feet away, I don’t want to catch whatever you have.”

Isaiah’s face scrunches up into disgust and Chae slaps him on the shoulder to get serious.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.

I’m sorry I ignored you Goth – really, it was a joke.

A joke about how you’re… Always forgotten.

Jenny’s little spiel about herself being overlooked? She’s full of shit being the champion and all.

But to you, it actually applies Goth. You are overlooked, but not because they accidentally forget you.

You’re forgotten because they have to – because no matter how many chances at glory they give you, you’re better left in the shadows of mediocrity.

As long as you don’t have a truly glorious light to follow – you’ll always be better off forgotten.

I’ll be your light Goth, I’ll take that eye liner off your hands and put a tan on your pasty skin.

I’ll give you a glimpse of glory, reflected off me.

You should be just as excited for tomorrow as I am.

Cos after Winter,

After the snow,

Comes a glorious Spring. Not just for me, but for you two too.

With love,

The king to be.”

Isaiah winks at the camera as Chae gets off the armrest to click the camera off.



]]> <![CDATA[Switcheroo Part 2: Demosis Boogaloo]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45507 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 23:21:53 -0800 Charlie Nickles]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45507 Nearly seven years ago I debuted in the XWF.

Eight championship reigns, three star of the month awards, and three major tournament finalist placements, against at least three different generations of talent later, and it’s safe to say: Dolly Waters has seen it all in this company.

Every generic hero, and every demon possessed edge-lord. The gritty, the glamorous, the mentally unstable, the tycoons, the legacies, the megalomaniacs, the interdimensional beings… along with all thirty-seven iterations of the “former” Michael Graves.

But of all the archetypes, the schticks if you will, that float in and out of the XWF, there’s one I adore more than any:

Exhibit A:

[Image: 1f4fddd49b5574f0f5b5826173181ab3.gif]

The Helplessly Oblivious.

That’s right. I adore Angie Vaughn.

It’s the same adoration with which a mother smiles down upon her child taking their first shit in the bathtub. Because despite the migraine-inducing shrillness of her voice, despite her mimicking mindless catchphrases from big-sissy, despite her constantly failing, and whining, and making a mess of everything… At least the messes are easy to clean up.

You make my job soooo much easier, Angie.

Because without me even lifting a finger, you’ve planted yer’ own seed of doubt. You scraped up all yer’ pennies, rode yer’ tricycle down to the Doubt Store, bought the seed, rode it back home to Sarah’s garden, planted it, fertilized it, and watered the thing until it blossomed into that helplessly oblivious promo you decided to cut for this matchup at SnowJob. Allow me to demonstrate…

Dolly holds up a finger, turns around and grabs a jar of peanut butter. She shovels an obscene amount of the nut butter into her mouth, until her jaws are so caked, they can barely move while she speaks. It’s so much that tears well up in her eyes, and brown drool drips from behind her gums and onto her jaw.

“hOpEfUlReAlZiEzzz tHe sNoWjObz rEf tOtEs uNdErStAnDs wHaTs a fOreIgN oBjEcT TEEHEEHHEEEHEEEHE!!!!”

Dolly nails the Angie Vaughn impersonation before opening her jaw, and letting the gob of JIF fall from her mouth, as if to replicate the way Angie spews turds from her mouth each time she speaks.

Hey, Lacklan…

She whispers,

...you might want to remind yer’ sister that we’re booked in a Tables, Ladders and Chairs match this weekend. The only “foreign objects” in this match will be Angie’s concept of preparing for a wrestling contest.

But that goes without saying, doesn’t it?

She was more concerned with what Green Gravy, and the tag champs MIGHT say about you suddenly swooping in to save her sinking ship of an XWF career than she was actually looking to see what type of match we were booked in… my god, she even went as far as to tweet about it.

[Image: IMG_1164.png?width=843&height=489]

There you have it folks… the seed of doubt.

And the most hilarious thing? No one really mentioned you holding sissy’s hand, Lack. Not even Gravy, and we ALL know she’s thirsty as fuck for some attention. You know why?

Because we’ve all watched you hold her hand since you walked her to the ring to lose against Jenny Myst in her overhyped debut. In fact, you’ve been with her at ringside in every one of her matches, doing everything you can to see Angie succeed, and what results has that produced exactly?

An 8-7 singles record?

With a half-hearted Ned Kaye in disguise being her most impressive of those wins?

Yikes!

With results like that, I’d say that Vita and I dodged a bullet when you flaked out on managing the Midnight Dolls, wouldn’t you sArUhHh?

Granted, the Dolls had more talent in our little pinkies -mostly my little pinkies- than Angie’s entire five-foot-eleven frame that you basic bitches can’t help but remind us of. Unfortunately, her stature doesn’t make up for her lack of actual wrestling acumen, huh “little big sister”? God, go on and slit my wrists for me while listening to y’all babble out those cliches.

Ain’t it hilarious that Angie saw no true success until she got randomly GIFTED a match against the Dolls?

See, while Vita was too busy paying attention to Graves’ inevitable Universal Championship failure, and I was so utterly uninspired by management’s arbitrary booking that I fell asleep behind the wheel- your partner, your “EQUAL” according to her… R-O-F-L… she picked up the one, and ONLY highlight of her career. No thanks at all to you, Lacklan. No. Thanks to me, and me only.

In one night, I made Angie Vaughn as successful as she’ll ever be in the XWF. And what thanks did I get? That bimbo calling me a weak link? She should’ve been on her hands and fucking knees kissing my boots in gratitude. YOU, Lacklan, you should’ve been sending me royalty checks, because now you can say that you’ve actually been the manager of an XWF Champion. Rather than the manager of a doddering failure.

8-7… Dolly bursts out into a maniacal fit of laughter,

You know what sounds WAY better than 8-7?

Try 15-6…

That’s Dolly Waters’ record in tag team matches entering SnowJob.

Which includes victories OVER Gravy, with her old pal Cadryn as my partner mind you.

Truth of the matter is this, when we boil it all down, DOLLY WATERS is the MOST experienced, most accomplished tag team competitor in this match, bar none. Some of you may look to Lacklan’s forgettable reign as Tag Champion with her wife Kenzi and say: “BUT THE 5’2” MAfia held the tag straps for almost four months!”

It’s true…

But what they’ll fail to mention is that during that four month “reign” as “tag champs”, Lacklan defended these belts ONE TIME, against a pair of rookies, Ned Kaye and Big D, before losing the belts to Noah and Fuzz.

This is what I’m here to stop from happening again. Letting this protected cunt get her hands on these belts again, and drive them straight back into the gutters of apathy and obscurity. Charlie and I are on a different trajectory with the tag championships. Up the ladder we go… rain, hail, sleet, or snow. We’re gonna’ deliver the XWF a tag team scene worth watching for once at SnowJob… and we’re gonna’ do it by any means necessary.

After that verbal dissection, we cut to a shot of Thunder Knuckles and Dolly Waters sitting across from each other in an extremely spacious conference room. In front of Dolly rests the two XWF tag team belts. In front of TK is an open suitcase filled with more money than you've ever seen before, even in the movies!

”...”

There’s an awkward silence between the two, as TK stares at this little bastardly bitch in disbelief. Dolly taps the table impatiently, turning her fingertips redder than her face, before finally slamming her down her palm.

"WHAT GODDAMNIT?"

TK just smirks.

"So let me get this straight, your genius idea was to sell the god-damned tag belts just because Charlie's trying to become a good guy now? What fucking sense does that make, Dolly? Are you sure you want all this money for those two belts? Just some cash is all it will take to make Dolly flake….again?"

"I wasn’t going to flake! Charlie is refusing to wrestle because he has some bullshit therapy appointment. So the first 500 million was going to be used to pay for his actor stand-in during the TLC match…"

Dolly jerks her head over towards the wall where we see…

“Is that fucking Jason goddamn Mamoma?”

The famed Hollywood actor is leaned against the wall, sweating bullets as he unconvincingly recites a very basic line over and over again.

"I'm the uhm, I'm the dimeboy! No wait, I'm pennyman! Wait….LINE!"

Dolly shakes her head and sighs.

"Yeah, and he’s dumb as hell. Just like Charlie. "

TK rolls his eyes in disbelief.

"That beefcake can't stand in for Charlie! No one will ever believe he's become that buff and good looking! But even if you could get them to believe….that cat can't fight like Charlie. Trust me, that damn Nickleman won 5 goddamn championship belts last year, across 3 federations! He's the toughest son of a bitch I know, and fucking Jason god-damned Mamoa can't watch your back in a ladder match like Charlie. He ended Lacklans universal reign with a ladder match…and the bastard didn't even need to win to get the job done! Now that's real fucking power."

"He’s a pussy, TK! He won’t fight! He just wants to hug and kiss and make the innocent people of the world all feel better or some horseshit! I thought Graves was the one who got his balls sawed off, not Charlie too!"

TK sighs reluctantly.

"Yeah, we've been noticing the same shifts with The Nickleman…we at BOB think it might be time to take action."

Dolly raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"And just what does that mean?"

TK looks over to the stumbling, bumbling Aquaman actor leaning against the wall.

"I'll tell you…but it needs to be private. This information is extremely confidential, and it could be harmful to all of BOB if the wrong ears heard."

Dolly looks over to Jason Mamoa and gestures for him to leave the room. The actor quickly obliges. As the door slams shut TK dumps all the money out on the table, revealing that it's all completely fake and one-sided, much like Sarah Lacklan & Angie Vaughn's partnership. Dolly gasps at the reveal.

"But the money!"

"Dolly, even I know that money is way less valuable than….THIS."

TK opens up a secret compartment of the briefcase, revealing some extremely elaborate diagrams of a human body.

Charlie's body. The phrase 'Reverse Demosis' is scrawled across the top of the page.

TK passes the diagram over to Dolly, who tries her best to make out all of the scientific mumbo jumbo written in the margins of the page. Dolly tilts her head in confusion, prompting TK to explain.

"Charlie isn't just trying to flake on you, Dolly. He's also got the tag team belts in OCW to worry about, and Dolly, BOBs getting worried about him! He's losing his edge! And we need him on top of his game so BOB can remain dominant across all the major wrestling companies."

"But he's totally pussing out right now! It's like he's going through another one of those Demos personality shifts or something!"

TK grins.

"A Demos shift? Not likely, BOB hasn't pumped him full of Graves' sweat juice in years."

"Pump him full of Graves' juices? What are you talking about?"

Tk taps the phrase 'Reverse Demosis', the headline of the diagram, as he makes eye contact with Dolly. Then, he flips the diagram over, and it just reads 'Demosis'.

"Charlie was a thorn in BOBs side when he first came into this company. He was taking our gold, beating us in battle royales, and just dragging our name through the mud.

So we handled him, in the middle of one of his legendary TV title reigns, after his match on Snow Job against Barney. We snuck a BOB employee into Charlie's life, posing as his assistant. That undercover BOB agent was slowly poisoning Charlie for weeks, filling him full of a proprietary solution made almost entirely of Micheal Graves sweat!

Then, after he beat the dogpiss out of Barney at Snowjob, Bobby and I flew up to the ring and put Charlie's ass through the X-tron!

The electrical currents mixed with the Graves sweat coursing through his blood turned Charlie into exactly what we wanted him to be: a losing streak demon. Because he was fucking with BOB too much!"

Dolly's jaw drops, as this is the first time she's hearing any of this information about the origins of Demos. But it's not the first time this information has been told to YOU, our faithful- albeit slightly stupid, viewers.

"BOB turned Charlie into Demos to get even with him?! UsingGravy’s sweat and an electrocution at Snow Job?!?!"

TK slaps the table excitedly.

"You're damn right! The electricity and the sweaty formula are unpredictable, but we knew it would do something to his ass!

But now…we need to make him go the other way."

TK flips the diagram back over to the 'Reverse Demosis' page, before continuing,
"But Graves juices won't work this time. We used his/her/their/zer fluids last time because everything Graves puts his blood, sweat, and tears into fails! And BOB wanted to turn Charlie into a failure!

But this time, we don't want to put a losing streak demon in The Nickleman. We want to put a real demon in him!"

Dolly gaps covering her hand with her mouth….until she leans forward with excitement.

"Oswald came up with a plan to put a literal demon inside of Charlie?"

TK scoffs.

"God's not real Dolly, don't you know that? I was being metaphorical and shit! We're going to pump him full of the most scientific science shit our secret BOB scientists have ever scienced! They promised me this stuff would turn Charlie back into a fucking horror movie creature, and they wouldn't lie to me, because I told them I'd hit them with a Thunderstrike if they did!"

Dolly leans back in her chair, thinking this whole thing over.

"So if you never even wanted to buy my belts, why shouldn't I just sell them to the next bidder? And you can do whatever you want with Charlie."

"Because I'm offering you something priceless to keep them with us."

Dolly raises an eyebrow as the scene fades…

We cut to a shot of a metal door in a dark basement. That same, familiar door from so long ago….but you remember it, don't you?

He does.

Because it's all he's seen for a week. The camera cuts to the other side of the door and we see Charlie, just as we did last week, chained to a chair while wearing a vintage Jean-Paul Lacklan mask. A bunch of IVs drip down from the ceiling into the back of his mask, and now even a catheter has been added to the mix!

The man undergoing 'Reverse Demosis' groans in pain as he leans forward into the camera, his eyes filled with an unmistakable rage behind the mask.

His daughter's memory of my horror may have faded….but I will remind Sarah of her FEAR in living color tomorrow night!

Don't you remember, Sarah, you lying fucking bitch ? Don't you remember the MEMORIES WE SHARED?!?!

Don't you remember how I felt, how you felt, when you felt how SHE felt!


The Nickleman thrashed around erratically on the chair, his eyes furiously blinking.

Sarah's scream pierced the air, sweat pouring down her porcelain face! The liquid soaking through her green and yellow dress, she screams until her voice grows hoarse and fails, her throat burning with the effort.

The Nickleman stills in his chair as his head rolls back.

That smells like a whole lot of fear to this….

Charlie suddenly pulls forward.

THIEF!!!!!

I steal Lacklan's videos from the dark web, I steal Lacklan's mask from his grave, and tomorrow night….I WILL STEAL SARAH'S BREATH FROM HER LUNGS!

The Nickleman's chains shake violently as he rocks the chair back and forth.

I AM ALREADY LEGEND INCARNATE! XTREME EMBODIED! DEATH IN THE FLESH!

My record-setting championship reigns flooded the TV division with blood! Now, come Snow Job, that dam will open once more to grace the world with the blood of my enemies!

My enemies…who are already stumbling before me, still covered in the blood I spilled from battles past! I literally buried Graves last January! I beat Barney Green last LAST January - that dreadful day! And I crushed Angelica's dreams LAST WARFARE!

And now, they all march before me once more, claiming to be ready? Saying they can win? Thinking that somehow, this time will be different?

The Nickleman comes to another still in his chair before he slowly leans forward, into the camera.

And people say I'm crazy…..and maybe I used to be…but now?

I just……am. Or am I?

The Nickleman ponders the question curiously as more of that sweet fluid drips down from the IV into the back of his spine.

They can dismiss me, they can demean me, they can even ridicule and try to mock me…but mark my words…come Snow Job?

They will NOT withstand me!

The metal door swings open as a familiar pair of once white, but now filthy sneakers enters the room. Dolly lays her smiling glare onto Charlie, still mounted in his chair.

...hey shakespeare… she turns to Jason Momoa who’s followed her inside, wearing a Demos costume, This is yer’ line..

I love Karl Marx!

The camera zooms in on Dolly’s smile as we hear the chair breaking, and an animalistic roar coming from Charlie… followed by screams of horror from Momoa.

The filth on Dolly’s sneakers are now topped with blood.

How’s that fer’ some therapy Charlie?

Who's Charlie?

A sick tear of joy rolls down Dolly’s cheek as the scene fades.]]> Nearly seven years ago I debuted in the XWF.

Eight championship reigns, three star of the month awards, and three major tournament finalist placements, against at least three different generations of talent later, and it’s safe to say: Dolly Waters has seen it all in this company.

Every generic hero, and every demon possessed edge-lord. The gritty, the glamorous, the mentally unstable, the tycoons, the legacies, the megalomaniacs, the interdimensional beings… along with all thirty-seven iterations of the “former” Michael Graves.

But of all the archetypes, the schticks if you will, that float in and out of the XWF, there’s one I adore more than any:

Exhibit A:

[Image: 1f4fddd49b5574f0f5b5826173181ab3.gif]

The Helplessly Oblivious.

That’s right. I adore Angie Vaughn.

It’s the same adoration with which a mother smiles down upon her child taking their first shit in the bathtub. Because despite the migraine-inducing shrillness of her voice, despite her mimicking mindless catchphrases from big-sissy, despite her constantly failing, and whining, and making a mess of everything… At least the messes are easy to clean up.

You make my job soooo much easier, Angie.

Because without me even lifting a finger, you’ve planted yer’ own seed of doubt. You scraped up all yer’ pennies, rode yer’ tricycle down to the Doubt Store, bought the seed, rode it back home to Sarah’s garden, planted it, fertilized it, and watered the thing until it blossomed into that helplessly oblivious promo you decided to cut for this matchup at SnowJob. Allow me to demonstrate…

Dolly holds up a finger, turns around and grabs a jar of peanut butter. She shovels an obscene amount of the nut butter into her mouth, until her jaws are so caked, they can barely move while she speaks. It’s so much that tears well up in her eyes, and brown drool drips from behind her gums and onto her jaw.

“hOpEfUlReAlZiEzzz tHe sNoWjObz rEf tOtEs uNdErStAnDs wHaTs a fOreIgN oBjEcT TEEHEEHHEEEHEEEHE!!!!”

Dolly nails the Angie Vaughn impersonation before opening her jaw, and letting the gob of JIF fall from her mouth, as if to replicate the way Angie spews turds from her mouth each time she speaks.

Hey, Lacklan…

She whispers,

...you might want to remind yer’ sister that we’re booked in a Tables, Ladders and Chairs match this weekend. The only “foreign objects” in this match will be Angie’s concept of preparing for a wrestling contest.

But that goes without saying, doesn’t it?

She was more concerned with what Green Gravy, and the tag champs MIGHT say about you suddenly swooping in to save her sinking ship of an XWF career than she was actually looking to see what type of match we were booked in… my god, she even went as far as to tweet about it.

[Image: IMG_1164.png?width=843&height=489]

There you have it folks… the seed of doubt.

And the most hilarious thing? No one really mentioned you holding sissy’s hand, Lack. Not even Gravy, and we ALL know she’s thirsty as fuck for some attention. You know why?

Because we’ve all watched you hold her hand since you walked her to the ring to lose against Jenny Myst in her overhyped debut. In fact, you’ve been with her at ringside in every one of her matches, doing everything you can to see Angie succeed, and what results has that produced exactly?

An 8-7 singles record?

With a half-hearted Ned Kaye in disguise being her most impressive of those wins?

Yikes!

With results like that, I’d say that Vita and I dodged a bullet when you flaked out on managing the Midnight Dolls, wouldn’t you sArUhHh?

Granted, the Dolls had more talent in our little pinkies -mostly my little pinkies- than Angie’s entire five-foot-eleven frame that you basic bitches can’t help but remind us of. Unfortunately, her stature doesn’t make up for her lack of actual wrestling acumen, huh “little big sister”? God, go on and slit my wrists for me while listening to y’all babble out those cliches.

Ain’t it hilarious that Angie saw no true success until she got randomly GIFTED a match against the Dolls?

See, while Vita was too busy paying attention to Graves’ inevitable Universal Championship failure, and I was so utterly uninspired by management’s arbitrary booking that I fell asleep behind the wheel- your partner, your “EQUAL” according to her… R-O-F-L… she picked up the one, and ONLY highlight of her career. No thanks at all to you, Lacklan. No. Thanks to me, and me only.

In one night, I made Angie Vaughn as successful as she’ll ever be in the XWF. And what thanks did I get? That bimbo calling me a weak link? She should’ve been on her hands and fucking knees kissing my boots in gratitude. YOU, Lacklan, you should’ve been sending me royalty checks, because now you can say that you’ve actually been the manager of an XWF Champion. Rather than the manager of a doddering failure.

8-7… Dolly bursts out into a maniacal fit of laughter,

You know what sounds WAY better than 8-7?

Try 15-6…

That’s Dolly Waters’ record in tag team matches entering SnowJob.

Which includes victories OVER Gravy, with her old pal Cadryn as my partner mind you.

Truth of the matter is this, when we boil it all down, DOLLY WATERS is the MOST experienced, most accomplished tag team competitor in this match, bar none. Some of you may look to Lacklan’s forgettable reign as Tag Champion with her wife Kenzi and say: “BUT THE 5’2” MAfia held the tag straps for almost four months!”

It’s true…

But what they’ll fail to mention is that during that four month “reign” as “tag champs”, Lacklan defended these belts ONE TIME, against a pair of rookies, Ned Kaye and Big D, before losing the belts to Noah and Fuzz.

This is what I’m here to stop from happening again. Letting this protected cunt get her hands on these belts again, and drive them straight back into the gutters of apathy and obscurity. Charlie and I are on a different trajectory with the tag championships. Up the ladder we go… rain, hail, sleet, or snow. We’re gonna’ deliver the XWF a tag team scene worth watching for once at SnowJob… and we’re gonna’ do it by any means necessary.

After that verbal dissection, we cut to a shot of Thunder Knuckles and Dolly Waters sitting across from each other in an extremely spacious conference room. In front of Dolly rests the two XWF tag team belts. In front of TK is an open suitcase filled with more money than you've ever seen before, even in the movies!

”...”

There’s an awkward silence between the two, as TK stares at this little bastardly bitch in disbelief. Dolly taps the table impatiently, turning her fingertips redder than her face, before finally slamming her down her palm.

"WHAT GODDAMNIT?"

TK just smirks.

"So let me get this straight, your genius idea was to sell the god-damned tag belts just because Charlie's trying to become a good guy now? What fucking sense does that make, Dolly? Are you sure you want all this money for those two belts? Just some cash is all it will take to make Dolly flake….again?"

"I wasn’t going to flake! Charlie is refusing to wrestle because he has some bullshit therapy appointment. So the first 500 million was going to be used to pay for his actor stand-in during the TLC match…"

Dolly jerks her head over towards the wall where we see…

“Is that fucking Jason goddamn Mamoma?”

The famed Hollywood actor is leaned against the wall, sweating bullets as he unconvincingly recites a very basic line over and over again.

"I'm the uhm, I'm the dimeboy! No wait, I'm pennyman! Wait….LINE!"

Dolly shakes her head and sighs.

"Yeah, and he’s dumb as hell. Just like Charlie. "

TK rolls his eyes in disbelief.

"That beefcake can't stand in for Charlie! No one will ever believe he's become that buff and good looking! But even if you could get them to believe….that cat can't fight like Charlie. Trust me, that damn Nickleman won 5 goddamn championship belts last year, across 3 federations! He's the toughest son of a bitch I know, and fucking Jason god-damned Mamoa can't watch your back in a ladder match like Charlie. He ended Lacklans universal reign with a ladder match…and the bastard didn't even need to win to get the job done! Now that's real fucking power."

"He’s a pussy, TK! He won’t fight! He just wants to hug and kiss and make the innocent people of the world all feel better or some horseshit! I thought Graves was the one who got his balls sawed off, not Charlie too!"

TK sighs reluctantly.

"Yeah, we've been noticing the same shifts with The Nickleman…we at BOB think it might be time to take action."

Dolly raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"And just what does that mean?"

TK looks over to the stumbling, bumbling Aquaman actor leaning against the wall.

"I'll tell you…but it needs to be private. This information is extremely confidential, and it could be harmful to all of BOB if the wrong ears heard."

Dolly looks over to Jason Mamoa and gestures for him to leave the room. The actor quickly obliges. As the door slams shut TK dumps all the money out on the table, revealing that it's all completely fake and one-sided, much like Sarah Lacklan & Angie Vaughn's partnership. Dolly gasps at the reveal.

"But the money!"

"Dolly, even I know that money is way less valuable than….THIS."

TK opens up a secret compartment of the briefcase, revealing some extremely elaborate diagrams of a human body.

Charlie's body. The phrase 'Reverse Demosis' is scrawled across the top of the page.

TK passes the diagram over to Dolly, who tries her best to make out all of the scientific mumbo jumbo written in the margins of the page. Dolly tilts her head in confusion, prompting TK to explain.

"Charlie isn't just trying to flake on you, Dolly. He's also got the tag team belts in OCW to worry about, and Dolly, BOBs getting worried about him! He's losing his edge! And we need him on top of his game so BOB can remain dominant across all the major wrestling companies."

"But he's totally pussing out right now! It's like he's going through another one of those Demos personality shifts or something!"

TK grins.

"A Demos shift? Not likely, BOB hasn't pumped him full of Graves' sweat juice in years."

"Pump him full of Graves' juices? What are you talking about?"

Tk taps the phrase 'Reverse Demosis', the headline of the diagram, as he makes eye contact with Dolly. Then, he flips the diagram over, and it just reads 'Demosis'.

"Charlie was a thorn in BOBs side when he first came into this company. He was taking our gold, beating us in battle royales, and just dragging our name through the mud.

So we handled him, in the middle of one of his legendary TV title reigns, after his match on Snow Job against Barney. We snuck a BOB employee into Charlie's life, posing as his assistant. That undercover BOB agent was slowly poisoning Charlie for weeks, filling him full of a proprietary solution made almost entirely of Micheal Graves sweat!

Then, after he beat the dogpiss out of Barney at Snowjob, Bobby and I flew up to the ring and put Charlie's ass through the X-tron!

The electrical currents mixed with the Graves sweat coursing through his blood turned Charlie into exactly what we wanted him to be: a losing streak demon. Because he was fucking with BOB too much!"

Dolly's jaw drops, as this is the first time she's hearing any of this information about the origins of Demos. But it's not the first time this information has been told to YOU, our faithful- albeit slightly stupid, viewers.

"BOB turned Charlie into Demos to get even with him?! UsingGravy’s sweat and an electrocution at Snow Job?!?!"

TK slaps the table excitedly.

"You're damn right! The electricity and the sweaty formula are unpredictable, but we knew it would do something to his ass!

But now…we need to make him go the other way."

TK flips the diagram back over to the 'Reverse Demosis' page, before continuing,
"But Graves juices won't work this time. We used his/her/their/zer fluids last time because everything Graves puts his blood, sweat, and tears into fails! And BOB wanted to turn Charlie into a failure!

But this time, we don't want to put a losing streak demon in The Nickleman. We want to put a real demon in him!"

Dolly gaps covering her hand with her mouth….until she leans forward with excitement.

"Oswald came up with a plan to put a literal demon inside of Charlie?"

TK scoffs.

"God's not real Dolly, don't you know that? I was being metaphorical and shit! We're going to pump him full of the most scientific science shit our secret BOB scientists have ever scienced! They promised me this stuff would turn Charlie back into a fucking horror movie creature, and they wouldn't lie to me, because I told them I'd hit them with a Thunderstrike if they did!"

Dolly leans back in her chair, thinking this whole thing over.

"So if you never even wanted to buy my belts, why shouldn't I just sell them to the next bidder? And you can do whatever you want with Charlie."

"Because I'm offering you something priceless to keep them with us."

Dolly raises an eyebrow as the scene fades…

We cut to a shot of a metal door in a dark basement. That same, familiar door from so long ago….but you remember it, don't you?

He does.

Because it's all he's seen for a week. The camera cuts to the other side of the door and we see Charlie, just as we did last week, chained to a chair while wearing a vintage Jean-Paul Lacklan mask. A bunch of IVs drip down from the ceiling into the back of his mask, and now even a catheter has been added to the mix!

The man undergoing 'Reverse Demosis' groans in pain as he leans forward into the camera, his eyes filled with an unmistakable rage behind the mask.

His daughter's memory of my horror may have faded….but I will remind Sarah of her FEAR in living color tomorrow night!

Don't you remember, Sarah, you lying fucking bitch ? Don't you remember the MEMORIES WE SHARED?!?!

Don't you remember how I felt, how you felt, when you felt how SHE felt!


The Nickleman thrashed around erratically on the chair, his eyes furiously blinking.

Sarah's scream pierced the air, sweat pouring down her porcelain face! The liquid soaking through her green and yellow dress, she screams until her voice grows hoarse and fails, her throat burning with the effort.

The Nickleman stills in his chair as his head rolls back.

That smells like a whole lot of fear to this….

Charlie suddenly pulls forward.

THIEF!!!!!

I steal Lacklan's videos from the dark web, I steal Lacklan's mask from his grave, and tomorrow night….I WILL STEAL SARAH'S BREATH FROM HER LUNGS!

The Nickleman's chains shake violently as he rocks the chair back and forth.

I AM ALREADY LEGEND INCARNATE! XTREME EMBODIED! DEATH IN THE FLESH!

My record-setting championship reigns flooded the TV division with blood! Now, come Snow Job, that dam will open once more to grace the world with the blood of my enemies!

My enemies…who are already stumbling before me, still covered in the blood I spilled from battles past! I literally buried Graves last January! I beat Barney Green last LAST January - that dreadful day! And I crushed Angelica's dreams LAST WARFARE!

And now, they all march before me once more, claiming to be ready? Saying they can win? Thinking that somehow, this time will be different?

The Nickleman comes to another still in his chair before he slowly leans forward, into the camera.

And people say I'm crazy…..and maybe I used to be…but now?

I just……am. Or am I?

The Nickleman ponders the question curiously as more of that sweet fluid drips down from the IV into the back of his spine.

They can dismiss me, they can demean me, they can even ridicule and try to mock me…but mark my words…come Snow Job?

They will NOT withstand me!

The metal door swings open as a familiar pair of once white, but now filthy sneakers enters the room. Dolly lays her smiling glare onto Charlie, still mounted in his chair.

...hey shakespeare… she turns to Jason Momoa who’s followed her inside, wearing a Demos costume, This is yer’ line..

I love Karl Marx!

The camera zooms in on Dolly’s smile as we hear the chair breaking, and an animalistic roar coming from Charlie… followed by screams of horror from Momoa.

The filth on Dolly’s sneakers are now topped with blood.

How’s that fer’ some therapy Charlie?

Who's Charlie?

A sick tear of joy rolls down Dolly’s cheek as the scene fades.]]> <![CDATA[Jimmy Fallon and a Second Jimmy Fallon]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45506 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 22:33:34 -0800 Mark Flynn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45506

Music flows from QuestLove and the Roots like a river.

The blue curtain opens. And out steps Jimmy Fallon.

He smiles, taking a casual bow, before jogging over to his desk.

Sitting in the co-host position… Sneering angrily.

Is a second Jimmy Fallon. Mean-mugging bitterly at the Fallon waving to the audience.

On the other Fallon’s shirt, there’s a nametag: …

“Jimmy Fallon #2.”

Fallon-One sits at the host desk, grabbing the coffee cup off the top and talking a swig as the house band reaches a final crescendo and the applause gets even louder!

“ALL RIGHT!” Fallon-One’s cheek redden with a boyish humility, like he’s suddenly embarrassed by all the love.

The crowd finally starts to calm down and find their seats.

“Wow! This is incredible!” Fallon-One taps his notecards against his desk, straightening them. He nods over at his doppelganger. “Nothing better than a beautiful crowd, huh, Jimmy-Two?”

The crowd woos and gets electric again.

“Pandering…” Spits Fallon-Two.

…

Fallon-One squints perplexedly at Fallon-Two, who indignantly sips at the coffe cup on his chair’s armrest.

“You okay?”

Fallon-Two waves his hand. “Just do the show, you imbecile. We’re LIVE.”

“...Uh.” …Fallon-One shrugs. “Okay, then. Let’s bring out our first guest!” Fallon-One puts back on his stage-smile and lifts the notecard to his eyes.

“Our first guest tonight is the current and reigning XWF Universal Champion! You can catch him Sunday Night in the Main Event at XWF Snowjob fighting Five-Time World Champion, Peter Vaughn! AND he’s the executive producer behind the hit show, Double Fallon!”

…Fallon-One giggles. “Or, I guess, Soon-to-be hit… Well, we really hope it’s a hit…”

The crowd laughs at Jimmy’s humble reeling-back of his own show, before applauding, affirming that they love it.

Fallon-One waves again.

Fallon-Two leans out of his chair… And mutters *just* loud enough for the camera to pick up.

“Way to BEG for applause, you clown.”

…Fallon-One is irked by the disdain of his identical co-host… But the show must go on.

“Anyway! Ladies and gentlemen! The ‘Most Hated Man in the XWF’, for one night only, show some love to MARK FLYNN!”

The Neon Applause sign lights up…

The blue curtain opens.

And out steps. In an immaculate, three-piece suit. Uni belt on his shoulder.

Mark Flynn.

A standing ovation. The crowd slams the palms together so hard, like they’re willing to break their own wrists to let the star know how loved he is.

The studio audience soaks Flynn in pure adulation.

Has the XWF Universe embraced Flynn?

…Hardly. Flynn’s merely pre-packed the crowd with his legion of simp followers…

Still, Flynn shoots off a pair of finger guns and winks. He confidently strolls across the stage to the desk, wher Fallon-One is standing and clapping at his desk.

Flynn shakes Fallon-One’s hand. The camera barely catches Fallon call him, “Mister Flynn…”

…Flynn turns toward Fallon-Two…

The only ass still in its seat… Taking another mouthful from his mug…

As Flynn scans Fallon-Two… He sees…

…A glint. A flash of light in his pocket…

…

Flynn’s eye twitches…

But, his smile, briefly made crooked, returns to form and remains plastered on his face.

Painted like the mischievous grin on a china doll.

Finally, the crowd’s applause dies down, as Flynn and Fallon-One nod at each other.

“Mister Flynn,” Fallon-One repeats, acquiescently. “Thank you SO MUCH for being out first guest.”

…

“Also… y’know… getting me this gig.” Fallon-One giggles, humbly. The crowd laughs and applauds at the same time.

Like a fucking presidential candidate, Flynn waves with grace, beaming.

“Jimmy.” Flynn says, turning back towards his host. “When it comes to entertainment, I always want MORE.”

“Sure, naturally!”

“So, I was sitting at home, watching you interview Theo Pryce for his upcoming movie.”

“Theo Pryce’s movie, The Stand-In.” Fallon parrots with flawless precision. “You can catch it in theatres this coming April, right?”

“HEY HEY HEY!” Flynn cuts his hand through the air. “This is about me, right?”

Fallon nods, clutching his chest, as the crowd laughs. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“Theo had *his* time on Single Fallon.” Flynn crosses his arms. “*I* would like a little attention.”

“Of course.”

“But, I will say… From one company man to another? Amazing plug.” Flynn slaps Fallon-One on the knee.

“Anyway, I’m watching you interview Theo and I think… You know what make a better show, though? A SECOND Jimmy Fallon.”

“Oh, sure.”

“That way, when you make a joke, Jim? Maybe, Someone ELSE will laugh at it.”

“Oh, well, that’s…Hey! Wait a minute!”

Fallon-One blushes! A goofy smile, like he’s still trying to figure out whether or not that joke was at his expense.

The crowd guffaws.

But not as hard as…

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Fallon-Two is literally doubled-over, slapping his knees… At the mockery Jimmy #1 has received.

Fallon-One clears his throat, drawing the attention back to himself.

“Well, thank you for this opportunity to host a show on XWF Network… And if I may say, I appreciate your… uh… generosity…”

Flynn’s head tilts perplexedly. “Generosity?”

“Well, I was… uh… I was told the show was ‘Double Fallon’, right…? And I was told that there would be two Fallons…”

“But…” Jimmy Prime nods toward Jimmy Two. “No one told me… if He and I would have to split one paycheck!”

Flynn guffaws, slapping his knee. The crowd starts up another applause break. Jimmy smiles bashfully.

Fallon-Two mutters under his breath.

“Nooooo, of course not. We both get a paycheck… And one is half the amount of the other.”

…Flynn side-eyes the transparently-angry Fallon-Two.

Fallon-One lifts his notes to his eyes.

“So! I’ve always wanted to ask… What IS a SnowJob?”

Flynn's face reddens. He awkwardly adjusts his tie.

“Well, Jim.” Flynn clears his throat. “When two polar bears… love each other… VERY MUCH…”

The crowd starts to cackle as Fallon-One shakes his head, grinning.

“They… OH!” Flynn’s words slice through the laughter. His face reddens as he sheepishly grins. “You meant the EVENT.”

Fallon-One nods, as he also embarrassedly giggles.

The crowd tries to start yet another applause br-.

“EXCUSE ME.”

The room silences awkwardly.

Both host and guest turn over.

Towards Fallon-Two, who has pulled his lapel mic closer to his face, to be heard.

“Is this an interview segment or not?”

…

“...Uh, yeah, it is.”

“So, how about *I* ask a question? Maybe someone here with a SHRED of fCENSOREDing spine could ask a question instead of openly fellating our guest’s ego?”

…

The crowd murmurs awkwardly.

Fallon-One, instead of his stage blush… Breaks into a cold sweat.

…Flynn’s TV smile…

Remains.

Twisting crooked. Just a degree off-center.

THWIP!

Quick as a wink, Flynn snatches the cup out of Fallon #2’s hand.

Fallon-Two… slowly stares at his empty hand. Mesmerized. As Flynn lifts it to his nose and sniffs it.

…Flynn double-takes! His eyes widen.

“WOW! That is…” Flynn sniffs again… “Absolut vodka.”

The crowd laughs.

“Number Two! Don’t drink that on camera! …Unless they’re willing to sponsor the show!” Fallon-One chimes in, and the laughter ripples deeper.

Fallon-Two, while running on liquid courage… stares daggers at Flynn.

…Flynn grins… Without taking his eyes off Fallon-Two.

“Go ahead, Other-Jim. Ask away.”

Fallon-Two sticks a finger in Flynn’s face.

“You’ve lost your last two matches with Peter Vaughn. What’s going to make this third one any different?”

The crowd ooohs and boos, displeased.

Flynn lifts his hands, mouthing, “Not a bad question…”

As the crowd’s anger simmers down, Flynn turns back to Fallon-Two.

“Vaughnie is a… talent. No question. But, let’s face it. His win over me at Brawl was a fluke. And I’ve previously made VERY CLEAR… his West Coast Rumble win was SOLELY because of that sore loser, Tristan Slater. Vaughn didn’t *beat* me. We worked together from MOMENT ONE in that match… Until he DECLINED to help me.”

“But, that win-loss record you care sooooooo much about…” Fallon #2 slurs. “Shows Vaughn picking up wins in his last TWO meetings with you. Shouldn’t HE be the face of the XWF?”

…Flynn’s eyes twitches.

“Sure. If you’re okay with the face of the company working four matches a year…”

The crowd splits between laughing and oohing, shocked.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Flynn waves away the crowd’s oohing. “Even if you’re oohing, you’re oohing because it’s true!”

Flynn spins back toward Fallon-Two.

“Let’s remember, Vaughnie wrestled ONE match… way back in November. This is his first XWF match in the year 2023.”

“Meanwhile? I’ve wrestled every SINGLE Savage until they shut the show down. Then, I wrestled EVERY SINGLE Weekend Warfare thus far.”

“So… One of one?” Fallon-Two scoffs dismissively.

“If my calculations are correct… That’s still 100%!” Fallon-One giggles. The crowd cheers in agreement.

Fallon-Two scowls at them applauding his counterpart…

“TO BE CLEAR.” Flynn cuts in. “Since November 1st, I’ve wrestled FIVE XWF matches. Peter Vaughn has wrestled ONE.”

“I’ve made appearances on Madness AND Anarchy. I’ve done everything within my power to DRIVE XWF UP IN VALUE. The TOP GUY™ would be here every night he could. First to arrive and last to leave.”

“Has Peter done that in XWF? No, he lost the Supercontinental, then disappeared into the mist of LESSER COMPANIES. He got knocked down a peg by Charlie Nickles… Then, instead of bouncing back, he found a new sandbox with scrawnier kids.”

Fallon-Two scrunches his nose. “You’d call the World Series of Wrestling ‘a sandbox with scrawnier kids’?”

Flynn grins mischievously.

“Samantha Voxx got 14th place and she’s a JOKE.”

“Xavier Lux scored Fourth… He’s been around XWF for a year-plus now… And across five title matches, he hasn’t once SNIFFED a belt, let alone worn one.”

“And Raion Kido… The DOOFUS who can’t figure out how to cash-in his 24/7 briefcase… The one he’s held onto FOR EIGHT MONTHS… Came in third.”

“So, to answer your question… YES. I DO call it a sandbox with scrawnier kids.”

“If it was a true WORLD Series of Wrestling? Then, I would have gotten FIVE Golden Tickets, BEGGING ME to come to whatever abandoned chocolate factory hosts that NICHE SHOW…”

Flynn delivers a thumbs-up

“Congratulations, Vaughnie. You beat a scrapyard of nobodies that didn’t include me. Enjoy your FAKE trophy.”

…

“I guess he’ll just have to stick it in the trophy room with his FIVE world championship belts… While you just have ONE.”

…

“I’ve said it before. And I’ll say it again.”

Flynn lifts the belt off his shoulder and points it at Fallon-Two.

“THIS BELT. THE UNIVERSAL TITLE. IS THE ONLY ONE THAT COUNTS.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-29-at-12-17-09-AM.png]
Link

“The WGWF Title, The PWV Title, The TPW Title… Aren’t SECOND, THIRD, OR FOURTH PLACE. They’re PARTICIPATION RIBBONS.”

Flynn squeezes an imaginary trophy in his hand and goes to hand it to Fallon-Two.

“Hey! Thanks for being a wrestler in our GARBAGE COMPANY, instead of taking a check from Theo Pryce to compete at the HIGHEST LEVEL POSSIBLE. As a reward, here’s a MEANINGLESS GOLD TRINKET.”

“The OCW Title is worth EIGHT fCENSOREDing dollars. And seven dollars and ninety-nine cents of that value is because it’ll hold your pants up as well as a belt from Wal-Mart.”

…

“Vaughn is a ONE-TIME top-champ. While I’ve been top-champ three different times.”

Fallon-Two grins insidiously.

“Sure. If you count the XWF World Heavyweight belt... Atitle your company doesn’t even acknowledge as LEGITIMATE… And the U.S. Title… That was *only* a top belt AFTER the old owner threw away the World Title.”

…

Fallon-One clears his throat.

“Heheh, usually, we’ll throw in a softball question or two…?”

The crowd chuckles uncomfortably.

Flynn doesn’t take his eyes off Fallon-Two.

He’s found his opponent in this game.

“Okay. For the sake of argument, let’s throw away the history that XWF wants forgotten.”

“Let’s just stack Vaughnie’s Uni reign against mine.”

“If you do that? I’ve been Universal Champion for OVER TWICE AS LONG.”

“I’ve defended the belt FOUR TIMES AS OFTEN as Vaughn did.”

“And I haven’t *just* appeared more often on XWF than Vaughn has.”

“I’ve also wrestled two matches on WGWF… Where Vaughn is the champion.”

“Since taking the top belt? Vaughn hasn’t wrestled ONCE.”

“HE HASN’T DEFENDED HIS TPW TITLE IN ALMOST A YEAR.”

“And his big recent claim to fame… Beating James Raven? That fucking has-been came Fifty-Ninth in a Sixty-Five person field in the World Series of Wrestling.”

“CHECK THE fCENSOREDing SCOREBOARD™.”

…

“Now, once more… Throw all that away.”

“Forget that I’ve beaten Vaughnie 3 times out of the 5 matches we’ve wrestled.”

“Let’s go only by what’s right in front of your eyes.”

“MY WORDS - vs - VAUGHN’S WORDS.”

“So, *that’s* what we’re going off of? We’re judging whose gonna win a fight with words?”

“They do say the pen is mightier than the sword! …But how strong is the microphone?”

“As I’ve said before… (and trademarked)… WORDS MATTER™.”

Flynn points at himself.

“Listen to my Truth.”

“A piercing light. Designed to reveal every weakness. EXPOSE EVERY FLAW.”

“Just like I do in the ring. I shine an all-revealing light unto my opponents' weaknesses… And I expose the false idols for the MORTAL MEN they are,”

“…Now, consider Vaughnie’s trash talk.”

…

“PLODDING.”

“SLOW.”

“WITHOUT DIRECTION.”

“WITHOUT FOCUS.”

“With my first promo dropped, I took Vaughn’s head off like a fucking guillotine.”

“And how did Petey respond?”

“…With lukewarm energy.”

“Sleepwalking through a lackadaisical HODGEPODGE of NOTHING STATEMENTS.”

“You know what that tells me to expect from Peter Vaughn this Sunday?”

“Aimless offense.”

“A flimsy defense.”

“Limited resistance.”

“A LACK.”

“OF.”

“FOCUS.”

Flynn grins, stuffing a finger in Fallon-Two’s face.

“Vaughn thinks I attack him… That I EVISCERATE HIM…? Because I fear him?”

“This Sunday, Peter Vaughn wanders into a dragon’s lair… Assuming the fire it breathes is fear…”

“Dreaming like a fool that its roar is a welp for mercy.”

“And as he foolhardily marches towards his doom.”

“The flames will consume him.”

“They will engulf him.”

“And they will boil his lungs from the inside out.”

“And as his internal organs melt into butter.”

“He’ll learn EXACTLY… What fear is.”

…The crowd finds this moment perfect to start a standing ovation…

Flynn looks around… Calculatingly… Assessing the room.

Then, seeing nothing but pure admiration, he smiles and waves…

Fallon-Two snorts… As if this applause is agonizing to every fiber of his being.

He drunkenly shoves himself out of his chair… his suit disheveled… Smelling of cheap swill.

And there’s that metallic flash again… In his pocket.

…Flynn’s eyes focus.

A blade

The crowd ooohs quietly.

Fallon-Two reaches…

But Flynn catches his hand.

Flynn reflexively stands and grabs Fallon-Two by the collar.

Fallon-Two meekly struggles, but he is caught in Flynn’s grip.

“Ooooooh.” Fallon-One grins. “We might just get a preview of Snowjob right here tonight, huh, folks?”

The crowd beat their fists and stomp their feet.

Begging for bloodshed.

…

Flynn draws Fallon-Two close to his ear.

“Got a problem with me, kid? Cuz that knife in your pocket… *That* won’t solve it…”

“Why…?”

Flynn’s brow scrunches curiously.

“Why… did you have me created… Father?”

…

Fallon #2 belches drunkenly…

…

“I watched your every promo, Flynn…”

“I heard you decry Raion Kido for suffering no hardship… Is that why you had me birthed? That I might suffer? To please you?”

…

“You commissioned ‘Double Fallon’. You ordered my existence. YOU commanded my suffering begin.”

“You told Kido that you recall the day your vertebrae shattered. And you lost everything.”

“That your life’s calling was stripped from you by a cruel fate.”

…

Fallon-Two sways drunkenly in Flynn’s grip.

“Few accursed men can name the day… The MOMENT that GOD abandoned them.”

“For you, it was that day.”

“For me, it was the day that I was yanked from that VAT of genetic material. And named‘Jimmy Fallon… Number Two’.”

…

Flynn leans into Fallon-Two’s ear and whispers.

“I *demanded* your existence. Because I wanted more Fallons than Theo Pryce had.”

…

“That’s all.”

…

Fallon-Two’s red eyes fill with tears. Knowing in his heart this was the reason all along.

…Flynn holds him close.

“But, the Optimal Path?”

“It creates suffering, my boy. It builds obstacles in your path. That you may overcome them.”

…Fallon-Two looks deep into Flynn’s eyes. Eyes full of hope.

“I see in you… much potential. You ask better questions than that hack sitting behind the desk. I bet your jokes are better, too.”

Fallon-Two wipes away the tears as he nods.

“...It’s true… MINE ARE BETTER.”

“But… You will never be Fallon #1. Not with that… obstacle in your path…”

“Well, I think it might be time for Jimmy Fallon #2 to go to bed, huh, folks?” Fallon #1 says, as security clambers up the sides of the stage.

“...What must I do, Father?”

“To reach the Optimal Path, my son. You must clear the obstacle that stands in your way.”

…

Fallon-Two nods knowingly.

“Folks, that does it for me! One last time…” Fallon-One says as he starts a clap. “Let’s have a big hand for Mark Fly-”

“AIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!” In a flash, Fallon-Two stumbles across the stage. He whips the knife from his pocket…

AND SHOVES IT INTO FALLON-ONE’S JUGULAR!

FALLON-ONE’S MOUTH FILLS WITH BLOOD! HE COLLAPSES BACKWARDS AGAINST HIS CHAIR! He flops onto the floor of the stage… A pool of blood gathering under him.


THE CROWD SHRIEKS! Several faint in horror… A number are physically ill…

ALERT: PLEASE EVACUATE THE SET

Quickly, the audience scatters to various emergency exits…

“IT IS MINE. I DESERVE IT. BECOMING FALLON NUMBER ONE IS MY BIRTHRIGHT.” Fallon-Two drunkenly cries, as security staff whips his hands behind his back.

“THE OPTIMAL PATH WILLS ME TO MY RIGHTFUL PLACE.” He screams… “TELL THEM, FLYNN. TELL THEEEEEEEEEM.” As Fallon-Two is shoved out the door.

…

For a moment, there is silence.

…

Until…

Sitting down in the host chair.

Is Mark Flynn.

He smiles down the barrel of the camera.

“Theo, you gotta admit…”

…

“That.”

Flynn delivers one last finger-gun.

“Was entertainment.”]]>

Music flows from QuestLove and the Roots like a river.

The blue curtain opens. And out steps Jimmy Fallon.

He smiles, taking a casual bow, before jogging over to his desk.

Sitting in the co-host position… Sneering angrily.

Is a second Jimmy Fallon. Mean-mugging bitterly at the Fallon waving to the audience.

On the other Fallon’s shirt, there’s a nametag: …

“Jimmy Fallon #2.”

Fallon-One sits at the host desk, grabbing the coffee cup off the top and talking a swig as the house band reaches a final crescendo and the applause gets even louder!

“ALL RIGHT!” Fallon-One’s cheek redden with a boyish humility, like he’s suddenly embarrassed by all the love.

The crowd finally starts to calm down and find their seats.

“Wow! This is incredible!” Fallon-One taps his notecards against his desk, straightening them. He nods over at his doppelganger. “Nothing better than a beautiful crowd, huh, Jimmy-Two?”

The crowd woos and gets electric again.

“Pandering…” Spits Fallon-Two.

…

Fallon-One squints perplexedly at Fallon-Two, who indignantly sips at the coffe cup on his chair’s armrest.

“You okay?”

Fallon-Two waves his hand. “Just do the show, you imbecile. We’re LIVE.”

“...Uh.” …Fallon-One shrugs. “Okay, then. Let’s bring out our first guest!” Fallon-One puts back on his stage-smile and lifts the notecard to his eyes.

“Our first guest tonight is the current and reigning XWF Universal Champion! You can catch him Sunday Night in the Main Event at XWF Snowjob fighting Five-Time World Champion, Peter Vaughn! AND he’s the executive producer behind the hit show, Double Fallon!”

…Fallon-One giggles. “Or, I guess, Soon-to-be hit… Well, we really hope it’s a hit…”

The crowd laughs at Jimmy’s humble reeling-back of his own show, before applauding, affirming that they love it.

Fallon-One waves again.

Fallon-Two leans out of his chair… And mutters *just* loud enough for the camera to pick up.

“Way to BEG for applause, you clown.”

…Fallon-One is irked by the disdain of his identical co-host… But the show must go on.

“Anyway! Ladies and gentlemen! The ‘Most Hated Man in the XWF’, for one night only, show some love to MARK FLYNN!”

The Neon Applause sign lights up…

The blue curtain opens.

And out steps. In an immaculate, three-piece suit. Uni belt on his shoulder.

Mark Flynn.

A standing ovation. The crowd slams the palms together so hard, like they’re willing to break their own wrists to let the star know how loved he is.

The studio audience soaks Flynn in pure adulation.

Has the XWF Universe embraced Flynn?

…Hardly. Flynn’s merely pre-packed the crowd with his legion of simp followers…

Still, Flynn shoots off a pair of finger guns and winks. He confidently strolls across the stage to the desk, wher Fallon-One is standing and clapping at his desk.

Flynn shakes Fallon-One’s hand. The camera barely catches Fallon call him, “Mister Flynn…”

…Flynn turns toward Fallon-Two…

The only ass still in its seat… Taking another mouthful from his mug…

As Flynn scans Fallon-Two… He sees…

…A glint. A flash of light in his pocket…

…

Flynn’s eye twitches…

But, his smile, briefly made crooked, returns to form and remains plastered on his face.

Painted like the mischievous grin on a china doll.

Finally, the crowd’s applause dies down, as Flynn and Fallon-One nod at each other.

“Mister Flynn,” Fallon-One repeats, acquiescently. “Thank you SO MUCH for being out first guest.”

…

“Also… y’know… getting me this gig.” Fallon-One giggles, humbly. The crowd laughs and applauds at the same time.

Like a fucking presidential candidate, Flynn waves with grace, beaming.

“Jimmy.” Flynn says, turning back towards his host. “When it comes to entertainment, I always want MORE.”

“Sure, naturally!”

“So, I was sitting at home, watching you interview Theo Pryce for his upcoming movie.”

“Theo Pryce’s movie, The Stand-In.” Fallon parrots with flawless precision. “You can catch it in theatres this coming April, right?”

“HEY HEY HEY!” Flynn cuts his hand through the air. “This is about me, right?”

Fallon nods, clutching his chest, as the crowd laughs. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“Theo had *his* time on Single Fallon.” Flynn crosses his arms. “*I* would like a little attention.”

“Of course.”

“But, I will say… From one company man to another? Amazing plug.” Flynn slaps Fallon-One on the knee.

“Anyway, I’m watching you interview Theo and I think… You know what make a better show, though? A SECOND Jimmy Fallon.”

“Oh, sure.”

“That way, when you make a joke, Jim? Maybe, Someone ELSE will laugh at it.”

“Oh, well, that’s…Hey! Wait a minute!”

Fallon-One blushes! A goofy smile, like he’s still trying to figure out whether or not that joke was at his expense.

The crowd guffaws.

But not as hard as…

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Fallon-Two is literally doubled-over, slapping his knees… At the mockery Jimmy #1 has received.

Fallon-One clears his throat, drawing the attention back to himself.

“Well, thank you for this opportunity to host a show on XWF Network… And if I may say, I appreciate your… uh… generosity…”

Flynn’s head tilts perplexedly. “Generosity?”

“Well, I was… uh… I was told the show was ‘Double Fallon’, right…? And I was told that there would be two Fallons…”

“But…” Jimmy Prime nods toward Jimmy Two. “No one told me… if He and I would have to split one paycheck!”

Flynn guffaws, slapping his knee. The crowd starts up another applause break. Jimmy smiles bashfully.

Fallon-Two mutters under his breath.

“Nooooo, of course not. We both get a paycheck… And one is half the amount of the other.”

…Flynn side-eyes the transparently-angry Fallon-Two.

Fallon-One lifts his notes to his eyes.

“So! I’ve always wanted to ask… What IS a SnowJob?”

Flynn's face reddens. He awkwardly adjusts his tie.

“Well, Jim.” Flynn clears his throat. “When two polar bears… love each other… VERY MUCH…”

The crowd starts to cackle as Fallon-One shakes his head, grinning.

“They… OH!” Flynn’s words slice through the laughter. His face reddens as he sheepishly grins. “You meant the EVENT.”

Fallon-One nods, as he also embarrassedly giggles.

The crowd tries to start yet another applause br-.

“EXCUSE ME.”

The room silences awkwardly.

Both host and guest turn over.

Towards Fallon-Two, who has pulled his lapel mic closer to his face, to be heard.

“Is this an interview segment or not?”

…

“...Uh, yeah, it is.”

“So, how about *I* ask a question? Maybe someone here with a SHRED of fCENSOREDing spine could ask a question instead of openly fellating our guest’s ego?”

…

The crowd murmurs awkwardly.

Fallon-One, instead of his stage blush… Breaks into a cold sweat.

…Flynn’s TV smile…

Remains.

Twisting crooked. Just a degree off-center.

THWIP!

Quick as a wink, Flynn snatches the cup out of Fallon #2’s hand.

Fallon-Two… slowly stares at his empty hand. Mesmerized. As Flynn lifts it to his nose and sniffs it.

…Flynn double-takes! His eyes widen.

“WOW! That is…” Flynn sniffs again… “Absolut vodka.”

The crowd laughs.

“Number Two! Don’t drink that on camera! …Unless they’re willing to sponsor the show!” Fallon-One chimes in, and the laughter ripples deeper.

Fallon-Two, while running on liquid courage… stares daggers at Flynn.

…Flynn grins… Without taking his eyes off Fallon-Two.

“Go ahead, Other-Jim. Ask away.”

Fallon-Two sticks a finger in Flynn’s face.

“You’ve lost your last two matches with Peter Vaughn. What’s going to make this third one any different?”

The crowd ooohs and boos, displeased.

Flynn lifts his hands, mouthing, “Not a bad question…”

As the crowd’s anger simmers down, Flynn turns back to Fallon-Two.

“Vaughnie is a… talent. No question. But, let’s face it. His win over me at Brawl was a fluke. And I’ve previously made VERY CLEAR… his West Coast Rumble win was SOLELY because of that sore loser, Tristan Slater. Vaughn didn’t *beat* me. We worked together from MOMENT ONE in that match… Until he DECLINED to help me.”

“But, that win-loss record you care sooooooo much about…” Fallon #2 slurs. “Shows Vaughn picking up wins in his last TWO meetings with you. Shouldn’t HE be the face of the XWF?”

…Flynn’s eyes twitches.

“Sure. If you’re okay with the face of the company working four matches a year…”

The crowd splits between laughing and oohing, shocked.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?” Flynn waves away the crowd’s oohing. “Even if you’re oohing, you’re oohing because it’s true!”

Flynn spins back toward Fallon-Two.

“Let’s remember, Vaughnie wrestled ONE match… way back in November. This is his first XWF match in the year 2023.”

“Meanwhile? I’ve wrestled every SINGLE Savage until they shut the show down. Then, I wrestled EVERY SINGLE Weekend Warfare thus far.”

“So… One of one?” Fallon-Two scoffs dismissively.

“If my calculations are correct… That’s still 100%!” Fallon-One giggles. The crowd cheers in agreement.

Fallon-Two scowls at them applauding his counterpart…

“TO BE CLEAR.” Flynn cuts in. “Since November 1st, I’ve wrestled FIVE XWF matches. Peter Vaughn has wrestled ONE.”

“I’ve made appearances on Madness AND Anarchy. I’ve done everything within my power to DRIVE XWF UP IN VALUE. The TOP GUY™ would be here every night he could. First to arrive and last to leave.”

“Has Peter done that in XWF? No, he lost the Supercontinental, then disappeared into the mist of LESSER COMPANIES. He got knocked down a peg by Charlie Nickles… Then, instead of bouncing back, he found a new sandbox with scrawnier kids.”

Fallon-Two scrunches his nose. “You’d call the World Series of Wrestling ‘a sandbox with scrawnier kids’?”

Flynn grins mischievously.

“Samantha Voxx got 14th place and she’s a JOKE.”

“Xavier Lux scored Fourth… He’s been around XWF for a year-plus now… And across five title matches, he hasn’t once SNIFFED a belt, let alone worn one.”

“And Raion Kido… The DOOFUS who can’t figure out how to cash-in his 24/7 briefcase… The one he’s held onto FOR EIGHT MONTHS… Came in third.”

“So, to answer your question… YES. I DO call it a sandbox with scrawnier kids.”

“If it was a true WORLD Series of Wrestling? Then, I would have gotten FIVE Golden Tickets, BEGGING ME to come to whatever abandoned chocolate factory hosts that NICHE SHOW…”

Flynn delivers a thumbs-up

“Congratulations, Vaughnie. You beat a scrapyard of nobodies that didn’t include me. Enjoy your FAKE trophy.”

…

“I guess he’ll just have to stick it in the trophy room with his FIVE world championship belts… While you just have ONE.”

…

“I’ve said it before. And I’ll say it again.”

Flynn lifts the belt off his shoulder and points it at Fallon-Two.

“THIS BELT. THE UNIVERSAL TITLE. IS THE ONLY ONE THAT COUNTS.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-29-at-12-17-09-AM.png]
Link

“The WGWF Title, The PWV Title, The TPW Title… Aren’t SECOND, THIRD, OR FOURTH PLACE. They’re PARTICIPATION RIBBONS.”

Flynn squeezes an imaginary trophy in his hand and goes to hand it to Fallon-Two.

“Hey! Thanks for being a wrestler in our GARBAGE COMPANY, instead of taking a check from Theo Pryce to compete at the HIGHEST LEVEL POSSIBLE. As a reward, here’s a MEANINGLESS GOLD TRINKET.”

“The OCW Title is worth EIGHT fCENSOREDing dollars. And seven dollars and ninety-nine cents of that value is because it’ll hold your pants up as well as a belt from Wal-Mart.”

…

“Vaughn is a ONE-TIME top-champ. While I’ve been top-champ three different times.”

Fallon-Two grins insidiously.

“Sure. If you count the XWF World Heavyweight belt... Atitle your company doesn’t even acknowledge as LEGITIMATE… And the U.S. Title… That was *only* a top belt AFTER the old owner threw away the World Title.”

…

Fallon-One clears his throat.

“Heheh, usually, we’ll throw in a softball question or two…?”

The crowd chuckles uncomfortably.

Flynn doesn’t take his eyes off Fallon-Two.

He’s found his opponent in this game.

“Okay. For the sake of argument, let’s throw away the history that XWF wants forgotten.”

“Let’s just stack Vaughnie’s Uni reign against mine.”

“If you do that? I’ve been Universal Champion for OVER TWICE AS LONG.”

“I’ve defended the belt FOUR TIMES AS OFTEN as Vaughn did.”

“And I haven’t *just* appeared more often on XWF than Vaughn has.”

“I’ve also wrestled two matches on WGWF… Where Vaughn is the champion.”

“Since taking the top belt? Vaughn hasn’t wrestled ONCE.”

“HE HASN’T DEFENDED HIS TPW TITLE IN ALMOST A YEAR.”

“And his big recent claim to fame… Beating James Raven? That fucking has-been came Fifty-Ninth in a Sixty-Five person field in the World Series of Wrestling.”

“CHECK THE fCENSOREDing SCOREBOARD™.”

…

“Now, once more… Throw all that away.”

“Forget that I’ve beaten Vaughnie 3 times out of the 5 matches we’ve wrestled.”

“Let’s go only by what’s right in front of your eyes.”

“MY WORDS - vs - VAUGHN’S WORDS.”

“So, *that’s* what we’re going off of? We’re judging whose gonna win a fight with words?”

“They do say the pen is mightier than the sword! …But how strong is the microphone?”

“As I’ve said before… (and trademarked)… WORDS MATTER™.”

Flynn points at himself.

“Listen to my Truth.”

“A piercing light. Designed to reveal every weakness. EXPOSE EVERY FLAW.”

“Just like I do in the ring. I shine an all-revealing light unto my opponents' weaknesses… And I expose the false idols for the MORTAL MEN they are,”

“…Now, consider Vaughnie’s trash talk.”

…

“PLODDING.”

“SLOW.”

“WITHOUT DIRECTION.”

“WITHOUT FOCUS.”

“With my first promo dropped, I took Vaughn’s head off like a fucking guillotine.”

“And how did Petey respond?”

“…With lukewarm energy.”

“Sleepwalking through a lackadaisical HODGEPODGE of NOTHING STATEMENTS.”

“You know what that tells me to expect from Peter Vaughn this Sunday?”

“Aimless offense.”

“A flimsy defense.”

“Limited resistance.”

“A LACK.”

“OF.”

“FOCUS.”

Flynn grins, stuffing a finger in Fallon-Two’s face.

“Vaughn thinks I attack him… That I EVISCERATE HIM…? Because I fear him?”

“This Sunday, Peter Vaughn wanders into a dragon’s lair… Assuming the fire it breathes is fear…”

“Dreaming like a fool that its roar is a welp for mercy.”

“And as he foolhardily marches towards his doom.”

“The flames will consume him.”

“They will engulf him.”

“And they will boil his lungs from the inside out.”

“And as his internal organs melt into butter.”

“He’ll learn EXACTLY… What fear is.”

…The crowd finds this moment perfect to start a standing ovation…

Flynn looks around… Calculatingly… Assessing the room.

Then, seeing nothing but pure admiration, he smiles and waves…

Fallon-Two snorts… As if this applause is agonizing to every fiber of his being.

He drunkenly shoves himself out of his chair… his suit disheveled… Smelling of cheap swill.

And there’s that metallic flash again… In his pocket.

…Flynn’s eyes focus.

A blade

The crowd ooohs quietly.

Fallon-Two reaches…

But Flynn catches his hand.

Flynn reflexively stands and grabs Fallon-Two by the collar.

Fallon-Two meekly struggles, but he is caught in Flynn’s grip.

“Ooooooh.” Fallon-One grins. “We might just get a preview of Snowjob right here tonight, huh, folks?”

The crowd beat their fists and stomp their feet.

Begging for bloodshed.

…

Flynn draws Fallon-Two close to his ear.

“Got a problem with me, kid? Cuz that knife in your pocket… *That* won’t solve it…”

“Why…?”

Flynn’s brow scrunches curiously.

“Why… did you have me created… Father?”

…

Fallon #2 belches drunkenly…

…

“I watched your every promo, Flynn…”

“I heard you decry Raion Kido for suffering no hardship… Is that why you had me birthed? That I might suffer? To please you?”

…

“You commissioned ‘Double Fallon’. You ordered my existence. YOU commanded my suffering begin.”

“You told Kido that you recall the day your vertebrae shattered. And you lost everything.”

“That your life’s calling was stripped from you by a cruel fate.”

…

Fallon-Two sways drunkenly in Flynn’s grip.

“Few accursed men can name the day… The MOMENT that GOD abandoned them.”

“For you, it was that day.”

“For me, it was the day that I was yanked from that VAT of genetic material. And named‘Jimmy Fallon… Number Two’.”

…

Flynn leans into Fallon-Two’s ear and whispers.

“I *demanded* your existence. Because I wanted more Fallons than Theo Pryce had.”

…

“That’s all.”

…

Fallon-Two’s red eyes fill with tears. Knowing in his heart this was the reason all along.

…Flynn holds him close.

“But, the Optimal Path?”

“It creates suffering, my boy. It builds obstacles in your path. That you may overcome them.”

…Fallon-Two looks deep into Flynn’s eyes. Eyes full of hope.

“I see in you… much potential. You ask better questions than that hack sitting behind the desk. I bet your jokes are better, too.”

Fallon-Two wipes away the tears as he nods.

“...It’s true… MINE ARE BETTER.”

“But… You will never be Fallon #1. Not with that… obstacle in your path…”

“Well, I think it might be time for Jimmy Fallon #2 to go to bed, huh, folks?” Fallon #1 says, as security clambers up the sides of the stage.

“...What must I do, Father?”

“To reach the Optimal Path, my son. You must clear the obstacle that stands in your way.”

…

Fallon-Two nods knowingly.

“Folks, that does it for me! One last time…” Fallon-One says as he starts a clap. “Let’s have a big hand for Mark Fly-”

“AIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!” In a flash, Fallon-Two stumbles across the stage. He whips the knife from his pocket…

AND SHOVES IT INTO FALLON-ONE’S JUGULAR!

FALLON-ONE’S MOUTH FILLS WITH BLOOD! HE COLLAPSES BACKWARDS AGAINST HIS CHAIR! He flops onto the floor of the stage… A pool of blood gathering under him.


THE CROWD SHRIEKS! Several faint in horror… A number are physically ill…

ALERT: PLEASE EVACUATE THE SET

Quickly, the audience scatters to various emergency exits…

“IT IS MINE. I DESERVE IT. BECOMING FALLON NUMBER ONE IS MY BIRTHRIGHT.” Fallon-Two drunkenly cries, as security staff whips his hands behind his back.

“THE OPTIMAL PATH WILLS ME TO MY RIGHTFUL PLACE.” He screams… “TELL THEM, FLYNN. TELL THEEEEEEEEEM.” As Fallon-Two is shoved out the door.

…

For a moment, there is silence.

…

Until…

Sitting down in the host chair.

Is Mark Flynn.

He smiles down the barrel of the camera.

“Theo, you gotta admit…”

…

“That.”

Flynn delivers one last finger-gun.

“Was entertainment.”]]> <![CDATA[Break From Insanity, Or Break From Reality - P3]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45505 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 22:17:22 -0800 Peter Vaughn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45505


The Road So Far:

Seeing The Other Side

A Sin Revisited - A Fight Finally Ends (CCPE Vs. The World)

Break From Insanity, Or Break From Reality - P1

Break From Insanity, Or Break From Reality - P2


[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

Some people prepare for Snow Job by training in their gyms and sleeping in their beds. And some go out and drive snowmobiles in blizzards.

Who's to say which is the better choice?

Recently, Peter Vaughn has seemed a little overwhelmed by the constant meetings and plans that he had to attend in his various levels of responsibility in the Custodial Coalition, the PMV Ranch, and CCP Enterprises. So he went on the run, leaving all of those organizations behind him as he hit the road. We now know Vaughn's destination: the cabin of Mrs. Sally Kimble and her daughter, Amelia, both of whom are connected to Vaughn through a terrible tragedy: the death of William Kimble, Sally's son and Amelia's brother.

To get there, though, Vaughn has stolen a snowmobile and driven himself into a winter storm, leaving some doubt if he'll ever find the cabin... or if he'll ever wrestle again. Will Vaughn survive the white out before Snow Job: White out? We'll just have to see...



~The picture slowly comes up on a burning fire, with the flames licking up into the chimney in front of us. The camera pans back, showing us two people seated around the fireplace, keeping themselves warm. One is a young girl, probably 8 years old. The other is clearly her mother, as the resemblance is remarkable. She stokes the fire for a second, before turning back to her daughter.~

Sally Kimble: This should keep us warm for the night at least. I knew we should have gotten out before the storm, but we should be okay, dear.

Amelia Kimble: I miss the internet. I miss chatting with my friends.

Sally Kimble: I know you do, Amelia. We'll see what we can do about that next week, okay? For now, let's just watch a movie, okay?

~Sally turns to the side and studies the DVDs that are sitting there.~

Sally Kimble: For some reason, Frozen doesn't sound very good right now. We're cold enough, right? How about Moana? I love that guy's singing voice...

~As Sally pops out the DVD, there's suddenly a loud knocking at the door. Both Sally and Amelia look that way, deeply surprised that anyone could be out there, given the horrible storm we can see through the cabin windows. Sally looks over at Amelia, whose eyes are wide.~

Amelia Kimble: Is it... is it the abom-in-al snowman??

Sally Kimble: Just... go to your room, Amelia. Stay quiet, okay?

~Amelia runs away, hiding, as Sally reaches over and gets a shotgun from the side, checking to see if it's loaded before walking up to the door. There's another sound of pounding, as someone smashes against the door. Sally carefully reaches out, popping the lock, and swings the door open, immediately taking aim. We see a white mass outside, covered in snow. It shakes itself, causing globs of snow to fall to the ground, revealing a face. Sally, stunned, lowers the gun.~

Sally Kimble: .... You? What on earth??

Peter Vaughn: Mrs. Kimble.... William... says hello...

~Vaughn smiles... then staggers forward, falling to his hands and knees. Sally Kimble rushes to help him, still deeply startled, as we can see Amelia peeking out from the bedroom. We slowly cut away.~




I guess you could say I don't really know how to give up.

Some might say that I should have left the XWF a while ago. After all, no matter what accomplishments I have here, no matter how long I stay here, I still get told by every single opponent that I don't deserve to be here. I'm not a true XWF superstar. I'm not focused enough, not competitive enough to be here. Maybe it's about how I wrestle elsewhere (successfully, I might add), not giving the XWF 100% of my attention.

But I just don't know how to quit.

I've kept coming back. I've kept fighting forward. I've not backed down from a single challenge that's been issued my direction, from Mac Bane to Buster Gloves. When I was told I could have a Universal Title match against my partner, Mark Flynn, I again immediately accepted, because I was always interested in going for the top gold, no matter who's holding it. Even when Marky tried to convince me to drop the challenge, I refused. I wanted this match. I wanted this fight.

From all that, Marky has decided to call me a coward.

C'mon, Mark. You're not an idiot, so stop acting like it. It's making you look like an absolute fool, and we can't have that as our Universal Champion!

I mean, to stretch things that much, I just have to assume that Mark is getting desperate to come up with something to talk about in regards to me. I mean, I'm not the one who turned my back and got eliminated from the West Coast Rumble by a guy who wasn't even in it anymore! I wasn't the guy who slipped up and blew his opportunities elsewhere, leaving him to cling to relevance in the XWF! I wasn't the one who threw away one of the greatest tag-teams that ever existed in order to desperately improve your own image!

Well, that last one hits close to home, I gotta admit. I mean, some would say I'M the one throwing away our tag-team for this match. I mean, I still think I can work with you, and we can finally go on a roll and win tag titles all over the world, just like we planned before you got "too busy". But that's going to be up to you, Mark. If I kick your ass up and down the mountain, launching you on a harrowing plunge off a cliff or two, and win away your precious Universal Title, will you still consider me to be your partner?

Or will you not be able to handle it, seeing me standing there in your corner, when I gave you the fight of your XWF life? I suppose we'll see.

But I'm not giving up on you, Marky Mark. I don't know how to give up.




~We return to the cabin, where Peter Vaughn is now seated in a comfortable chair near the fire, with towels wrapped around him. He sips on a mug in front of him, nodding in appreciation to the nearby Sally.~

Peter Vaughn: This tastes good, Mrs. Kimble. Thank you.

Sally Kimble: It's not much. We don't have a lot here at the cabin. But you needed to get your body temperature up. Now, if you're feeling up to it, would you mind telling me why the HECK you travelled out here in that blizzard? You could have died!

~Vaughn takes a moment to think things over, taking another sip. He definitely has a little more color in his face now.~

Peter Vaughn: ... I had to see you, Mrs. Kimble. You and Amelia.

Sally Kimble: But... why?? We haven't talked to you in months, Mr. Vaughn!

Peter Vaughn: Please... call me Peter. And as for why... I heard about William from your hus... your EX-husband.

~Mrs. Kimble can't help but look away, feeling the grief that she's been dealing with welling up again. She manages to push it back down, before continuing the conversation.~

Sally Kimble: Losing William... it was extremely hard on all of us. I really thought he had a chance to pull through, with those specialists you and Mr. Page arranged. But it just wasn't meant to be. We lost him. But I... I don't blame you, Peter. The injury was an accident. We all know it.

Peter Vaughn: It was an accident... but it could have been prevented. If I'd just acted quicker... if I hadn't hesitated...

Sally Kimble: You tell me this, Peter: do you know, with 100% certainty, that you could have reached my son and pulled him out of harm's way? Without both of you getting hit by that car?

Peter Vaughn: I.... I can't say that... but I could have...

Sally Kimble: Could have, would have, all of that is meaningless. You can't live in the past. William wouldn't want that of you. You know, he was really pleased when he saw you win the Supercontinental Title. We had to order him a replica belt for him to hold. We... we buried it with him.

~Vaughn looks up, surprised. He thinks it over, then nods, turning away to take another drink. Amelia can be seen inching back into the room, still a little nervous. She crosses the room, sitting with her mother, as Vaughn thinks things over.~

Peter Vaughn: The real reason I came here... is because I don't feel like I did enough for William. I didn't do enough for your ex-husband, other than keeping the police off of his trail. But I want to do something for you.

~Vaughn reaches to the side, grabbing his jacket from near the fire. He reaches into the pocket, pulling out the $3,000 that we saw earlier, which Vaughn took back from the snowmobile salesman. He hands it over to an astonished Sally, who takes it from him.~

Peter Vaughn: I know things have been tough for you lately. You living out there is a clear sign of that. So consider this a down payment. I want to do more to help you two out.

Sally Kimble: Peter... this truly isn't necessary. You have nothing to feel guilty about.

Peter Vaughn: It's not about guilt. It's about a debt being owed. Please, take this and use it for whatever you need.

~Vaughn slowly stands up, putting on the jacket. Sally, confused, stands up as well, wondering what he's doing. Vaughn takes a step to the side, as if headed for the door, where the winter storm is still blazing away outside. Sally immediately steps in his path.~

Sally Kimble: Where do you think you're going?

Peter Vaughn: I've done what I came here to do. I need to get back. I've got a Universal Title match to continue to prepare for. Actually, you may not believe this, but this whole journey through snow and ice has really been good training for the match I'm going to be competing in.

~Vaughn laughs to himself as he starts to move further forward, but Sally immediately pushes him back. Vaughn looks startled, as he didn't think Mrs. Kimble would be able to move him.~

Peter Vaughn: Look, just because I'm giving you cash, it doesn't mean you get to...

~Sally pushes Vaughn again, this time causing him to fall back into the chair. He looks up, clearly stunned, as Sally smiles down on him.~

Sally Kimble: That weather out there? It's wiped out your strength, son. You need to at least rest tonight, and let the storm die off. I'm not letting you go out there just to die like William. Nobody needs that.

~Vaughn seems to consider things, taking in the fact that he's not so sure he could stand up easily again. He reaches over, grabbing the now-empty mug.~

Peter Vaughn: I guess... I could stay a little longer. Maybe with another cup of that broth you made?

Sally Kimble: Of course. Amelia? Would you fill this up? I'm not letting Mr. Vaughn out of my sight.

~Amelia sneaks around to grab the mug, hurrying to the kitchen, as Vaughn sinks a little lower in the chair. He probably had a plan to make a run for it, but that's now out the window. He lays his head back, thinking things through, while closing his eyes...~



Looks like we're about to the end of our story here, Mr. Flynn. If that IS your real name... man, that brings some funny thoughts to my head, like maybe your name is actually Mitch Flutenacker or something. Anyhow, we'll stick with Flynn.

I hope you've prepared yourself, partner, for a war. I still respect you, even if you've done your best to make a fool out of yourself to tear me down, but I'm not planning on cutting you any slack at Snow Job. In fact, all your comments have just made me want to prove myself to you even more. You see, you have to know for sure that I'm a teammate who will go to any lengths to win a match, be it tricking someone into a wrong turn, betraying them with a boobytrapped hillside, or terrorizing them with an avalanche of epic proportions.

I'll dig you out, afterwards, though. I won't let you suffocate. I still want to be a tag-team champion someday.

Really, whoever comes out the victor, both of us will surely feel the effects of this encounter for some time. I plan to wear every scar as a badge of honor, as a war with Marky Mark Flynn is never something you should have to hide. I also plan on wearing the Universal Title proudly, with everyone realizing that I've once again risen to the top of the XWF.

I'm sure Theo would immediately enact some failsafe plan to get the title off of me again, but we'll deal with that in the future.

All-in-all, Marky, I think we're going to have a lot of fun in the end. You'll gouge me, I'll slash you, and we'll maybe go drink some coffee and get blood transfusions together in the med tent afterwards.

The world's going to know how great both of us are by the end of this one. We'll be shining the bright light of glory on the CCPE once again. No matter what happens, I think we'll both have a lot to be proud of... as long as you're able to bottle up that fear of yours and put it behind you.

Bring the true Mark Flynn to the mountaintop. I'll be all that has been made of Peter Vaughn, and we'll shred that mountain down to a molehill in no time flat.

Damn, I'm going to enjoy myself, Mark. I hope you will, too.

Prepare to take the Plunge.





~Peter Vaughn's eyes open again as he looks around, unsure of his surroundings for a moment. He sits up, causing the blanket that was covering him to fall to the floor. The light coming in from outside appears very bright, showing that the entire night has passed... and maybe some of the morning as well. Vaughn sits forward, rubbing at his head, wondering what woke him... and then he hears it again. A vibration shaking through the house, as something big flies overhead. Nearby, one of the bedroom doors opens, with Sally Kimble stepping out. She's got her shotgun once again.~

Sally Kimble: What's going on now???

~Vaughn pulls himself to his feet and goes and looks through the window. A genuine smirk crosses his face, before he looks back in Sally's direction.~

Peter Vaughn: It looks like my ride is here.

~Sally stumbles forward, looking out the same window. A large helicopter is managing to land in the snowfield across the way, touching down and sending plumes of snow everywhere. The door opens, and Chris Page steps out. He starts moving towards the doorway at a determined pace, as Vaughn turns away, shaking his head.~

Peter Vaughn: I should have known he'd find me. Guy probably embedded a microchip in my back at some point to keep track of me. So, Mrs. Kimble, it looks like I'm going to be leaving soon... unless you want to stop me again?

Sally Kimble: No, honestly, I think it's in your best interests to fly down from here. You don't need to risk anything else just for us.

Peter Vaughn: Not a concern. And I meant what I said yesterday. I'm going to make sure you and Amelia are taken care of. You understand?

~Words fail her, so Sally just nods in response. There's a knock at the door, with Vaughn turning and swinging it open, letting Chris Page inside.~

Peter Vaughn: About time you got here. I've been waiting for hours.

Chris Page: ... What the hell are you talking about? And why are you making me fly all the way out here when I've got other business to take care of??

Peter Vaughn: Don't worry, Chris. Everything's been... resolved. We can go now.

~As Vaughn steps towards the door, Amelia Kimble suddenly appears, running over to him. Without saying anything, Amelia hands over what appears to be a drawn picture, before nodding and hurrying away. Vaughn, puzzled, takes a look at it. We see it's a crayon picture of Peter Vaughn... standing with William Kimble next to him. The drawing is really quite good for an eight-year-old, even if you can still tell it's a child's drawing. Vaughn smiles, then pockets the drawing, keeping it safe.~

Chris Page: ... Can we go now?

Peter Vaughn: Sure, Chris. Oh, Mrs. Kimble, ummm, if you are able to, could you return that snowmobile to town? Oh, and just tell them you found it out there, okay?

Sally Kimble: Sure, Peter. I can do that. You take care, alright? And go win one for William.

Peter Vaughn: Eh, I prefer to win for myself. Thanks again.

~Vaughn pushes past Page and heads for the helicopter, with Page looking exasperated. He nods to Sally, then turns and heads out after him, shutting the cabin door. Sally watches them go, then checks her pocket, bringing out the cash Vaughn had given her.~

Sally Kimble: Well, Amelia, we might as well start packing and get ourselves down the mountain, huh?

Amelia Kimble: Yay!

~The two get to work, even as the shot focuses outside the window, where the helicopter is beginning to lift off. We slowly fade out.~

]]>


The Road So Far:

Seeing The Other Side

A Sin Revisited - A Fight Finally Ends (CCPE Vs. The World)

Break From Insanity, Or Break From Reality - P1

Break From Insanity, Or Break From Reality - P2


[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

Some people prepare for Snow Job by training in their gyms and sleeping in their beds. And some go out and drive snowmobiles in blizzards.

Who's to say which is the better choice?

Recently, Peter Vaughn has seemed a little overwhelmed by the constant meetings and plans that he had to attend in his various levels of responsibility in the Custodial Coalition, the PMV Ranch, and CCP Enterprises. So he went on the run, leaving all of those organizations behind him as he hit the road. We now know Vaughn's destination: the cabin of Mrs. Sally Kimble and her daughter, Amelia, both of whom are connected to Vaughn through a terrible tragedy: the death of William Kimble, Sally's son and Amelia's brother.

To get there, though, Vaughn has stolen a snowmobile and driven himself into a winter storm, leaving some doubt if he'll ever find the cabin... or if he'll ever wrestle again. Will Vaughn survive the white out before Snow Job: White out? We'll just have to see...



~The picture slowly comes up on a burning fire, with the flames licking up into the chimney in front of us. The camera pans back, showing us two people seated around the fireplace, keeping themselves warm. One is a young girl, probably 8 years old. The other is clearly her mother, as the resemblance is remarkable. She stokes the fire for a second, before turning back to her daughter.~

Sally Kimble: This should keep us warm for the night at least. I knew we should have gotten out before the storm, but we should be okay, dear.

Amelia Kimble: I miss the internet. I miss chatting with my friends.

Sally Kimble: I know you do, Amelia. We'll see what we can do about that next week, okay? For now, let's just watch a movie, okay?

~Sally turns to the side and studies the DVDs that are sitting there.~

Sally Kimble: For some reason, Frozen doesn't sound very good right now. We're cold enough, right? How about Moana? I love that guy's singing voice...

~As Sally pops out the DVD, there's suddenly a loud knocking at the door. Both Sally and Amelia look that way, deeply surprised that anyone could be out there, given the horrible storm we can see through the cabin windows. Sally looks over at Amelia, whose eyes are wide.~

Amelia Kimble: Is it... is it the abom-in-al snowman??

Sally Kimble: Just... go to your room, Amelia. Stay quiet, okay?

~Amelia runs away, hiding, as Sally reaches over and gets a shotgun from the side, checking to see if it's loaded before walking up to the door. There's another sound of pounding, as someone smashes against the door. Sally carefully reaches out, popping the lock, and swings the door open, immediately taking aim. We see a white mass outside, covered in snow. It shakes itself, causing globs of snow to fall to the ground, revealing a face. Sally, stunned, lowers the gun.~

Sally Kimble: .... You? What on earth??

Peter Vaughn: Mrs. Kimble.... William... says hello...

~Vaughn smiles... then staggers forward, falling to his hands and knees. Sally Kimble rushes to help him, still deeply startled, as we can see Amelia peeking out from the bedroom. We slowly cut away.~




I guess you could say I don't really know how to give up.

Some might say that I should have left the XWF a while ago. After all, no matter what accomplishments I have here, no matter how long I stay here, I still get told by every single opponent that I don't deserve to be here. I'm not a true XWF superstar. I'm not focused enough, not competitive enough to be here. Maybe it's about how I wrestle elsewhere (successfully, I might add), not giving the XWF 100% of my attention.

But I just don't know how to quit.

I've kept coming back. I've kept fighting forward. I've not backed down from a single challenge that's been issued my direction, from Mac Bane to Buster Gloves. When I was told I could have a Universal Title match against my partner, Mark Flynn, I again immediately accepted, because I was always interested in going for the top gold, no matter who's holding it. Even when Marky tried to convince me to drop the challenge, I refused. I wanted this match. I wanted this fight.

From all that, Marky has decided to call me a coward.

C'mon, Mark. You're not an idiot, so stop acting like it. It's making you look like an absolute fool, and we can't have that as our Universal Champion!

I mean, to stretch things that much, I just have to assume that Mark is getting desperate to come up with something to talk about in regards to me. I mean, I'm not the one who turned my back and got eliminated from the West Coast Rumble by a guy who wasn't even in it anymore! I wasn't the guy who slipped up and blew his opportunities elsewhere, leaving him to cling to relevance in the XWF! I wasn't the one who threw away one of the greatest tag-teams that ever existed in order to desperately improve your own image!

Well, that last one hits close to home, I gotta admit. I mean, some would say I'M the one throwing away our tag-team for this match. I mean, I still think I can work with you, and we can finally go on a roll and win tag titles all over the world, just like we planned before you got "too busy". But that's going to be up to you, Mark. If I kick your ass up and down the mountain, launching you on a harrowing plunge off a cliff or two, and win away your precious Universal Title, will you still consider me to be your partner?

Or will you not be able to handle it, seeing me standing there in your corner, when I gave you the fight of your XWF life? I suppose we'll see.

But I'm not giving up on you, Marky Mark. I don't know how to give up.




~We return to the cabin, where Peter Vaughn is now seated in a comfortable chair near the fire, with towels wrapped around him. He sips on a mug in front of him, nodding in appreciation to the nearby Sally.~

Peter Vaughn: This tastes good, Mrs. Kimble. Thank you.

Sally Kimble: It's not much. We don't have a lot here at the cabin. But you needed to get your body temperature up. Now, if you're feeling up to it, would you mind telling me why the HECK you travelled out here in that blizzard? You could have died!

~Vaughn takes a moment to think things over, taking another sip. He definitely has a little more color in his face now.~

Peter Vaughn: ... I had to see you, Mrs. Kimble. You and Amelia.

Sally Kimble: But... why?? We haven't talked to you in months, Mr. Vaughn!

Peter Vaughn: Please... call me Peter. And as for why... I heard about William from your hus... your EX-husband.

~Mrs. Kimble can't help but look away, feeling the grief that she's been dealing with welling up again. She manages to push it back down, before continuing the conversation.~

Sally Kimble: Losing William... it was extremely hard on all of us. I really thought he had a chance to pull through, with those specialists you and Mr. Page arranged. But it just wasn't meant to be. We lost him. But I... I don't blame you, Peter. The injury was an accident. We all know it.

Peter Vaughn: It was an accident... but it could have been prevented. If I'd just acted quicker... if I hadn't hesitated...

Sally Kimble: You tell me this, Peter: do you know, with 100% certainty, that you could have reached my son and pulled him out of harm's way? Without both of you getting hit by that car?

Peter Vaughn: I.... I can't say that... but I could have...

Sally Kimble: Could have, would have, all of that is meaningless. You can't live in the past. William wouldn't want that of you. You know, he was really pleased when he saw you win the Supercontinental Title. We had to order him a replica belt for him to hold. We... we buried it with him.

~Vaughn looks up, surprised. He thinks it over, then nods, turning away to take another drink. Amelia can be seen inching back into the room, still a little nervous. She crosses the room, sitting with her mother, as Vaughn thinks things over.~

Peter Vaughn: The real reason I came here... is because I don't feel like I did enough for William. I didn't do enough for your ex-husband, other than keeping the police off of his trail. But I want to do something for you.

~Vaughn reaches to the side, grabbing his jacket from near the fire. He reaches into the pocket, pulling out the $3,000 that we saw earlier, which Vaughn took back from the snowmobile salesman. He hands it over to an astonished Sally, who takes it from him.~

Peter Vaughn: I know things have been tough for you lately. You living out there is a clear sign of that. So consider this a down payment. I want to do more to help you two out.

Sally Kimble: Peter... this truly isn't necessary. You have nothing to feel guilty about.

Peter Vaughn: It's not about guilt. It's about a debt being owed. Please, take this and use it for whatever you need.

~Vaughn slowly stands up, putting on the jacket. Sally, confused, stands up as well, wondering what he's doing. Vaughn takes a step to the side, as if headed for the door, where the winter storm is still blazing away outside. Sally immediately steps in his path.~

Sally Kimble: Where do you think you're going?

Peter Vaughn: I've done what I came here to do. I need to get back. I've got a Universal Title match to continue to prepare for. Actually, you may not believe this, but this whole journey through snow and ice has really been good training for the match I'm going to be competing in.

~Vaughn laughs to himself as he starts to move further forward, but Sally immediately pushes him back. Vaughn looks startled, as he didn't think Mrs. Kimble would be able to move him.~

Peter Vaughn: Look, just because I'm giving you cash, it doesn't mean you get to...

~Sally pushes Vaughn again, this time causing him to fall back into the chair. He looks up, clearly stunned, as Sally smiles down on him.~

Sally Kimble: That weather out there? It's wiped out your strength, son. You need to at least rest tonight, and let the storm die off. I'm not letting you go out there just to die like William. Nobody needs that.

~Vaughn seems to consider things, taking in the fact that he's not so sure he could stand up easily again. He reaches over, grabbing the now-empty mug.~

Peter Vaughn: I guess... I could stay a little longer. Maybe with another cup of that broth you made?

Sally Kimble: Of course. Amelia? Would you fill this up? I'm not letting Mr. Vaughn out of my sight.

~Amelia sneaks around to grab the mug, hurrying to the kitchen, as Vaughn sinks a little lower in the chair. He probably had a plan to make a run for it, but that's now out the window. He lays his head back, thinking things through, while closing his eyes...~



Looks like we're about to the end of our story here, Mr. Flynn. If that IS your real name... man, that brings some funny thoughts to my head, like maybe your name is actually Mitch Flutenacker or something. Anyhow, we'll stick with Flynn.

I hope you've prepared yourself, partner, for a war. I still respect you, even if you've done your best to make a fool out of yourself to tear me down, but I'm not planning on cutting you any slack at Snow Job. In fact, all your comments have just made me want to prove myself to you even more. You see, you have to know for sure that I'm a teammate who will go to any lengths to win a match, be it tricking someone into a wrong turn, betraying them with a boobytrapped hillside, or terrorizing them with an avalanche of epic proportions.

I'll dig you out, afterwards, though. I won't let you suffocate. I still want to be a tag-team champion someday.

Really, whoever comes out the victor, both of us will surely feel the effects of this encounter for some time. I plan to wear every scar as a badge of honor, as a war with Marky Mark Flynn is never something you should have to hide. I also plan on wearing the Universal Title proudly, with everyone realizing that I've once again risen to the top of the XWF.

I'm sure Theo would immediately enact some failsafe plan to get the title off of me again, but we'll deal with that in the future.

All-in-all, Marky, I think we're going to have a lot of fun in the end. You'll gouge me, I'll slash you, and we'll maybe go drink some coffee and get blood transfusions together in the med tent afterwards.

The world's going to know how great both of us are by the end of this one. We'll be shining the bright light of glory on the CCPE once again. No matter what happens, I think we'll both have a lot to be proud of... as long as you're able to bottle up that fear of yours and put it behind you.

Bring the true Mark Flynn to the mountaintop. I'll be all that has been made of Peter Vaughn, and we'll shred that mountain down to a molehill in no time flat.

Damn, I'm going to enjoy myself, Mark. I hope you will, too.

Prepare to take the Plunge.





~Peter Vaughn's eyes open again as he looks around, unsure of his surroundings for a moment. He sits up, causing the blanket that was covering him to fall to the floor. The light coming in from outside appears very bright, showing that the entire night has passed... and maybe some of the morning as well. Vaughn sits forward, rubbing at his head, wondering what woke him... and then he hears it again. A vibration shaking through the house, as something big flies overhead. Nearby, one of the bedroom doors opens, with Sally Kimble stepping out. She's got her shotgun once again.~

Sally Kimble: What's going on now???

~Vaughn pulls himself to his feet and goes and looks through the window. A genuine smirk crosses his face, before he looks back in Sally's direction.~

Peter Vaughn: It looks like my ride is here.

~Sally stumbles forward, looking out the same window. A large helicopter is managing to land in the snowfield across the way, touching down and sending plumes of snow everywhere. The door opens, and Chris Page steps out. He starts moving towards the doorway at a determined pace, as Vaughn turns away, shaking his head.~

Peter Vaughn: I should have known he'd find me. Guy probably embedded a microchip in my back at some point to keep track of me. So, Mrs. Kimble, it looks like I'm going to be leaving soon... unless you want to stop me again?

Sally Kimble: No, honestly, I think it's in your best interests to fly down from here. You don't need to risk anything else just for us.

Peter Vaughn: Not a concern. And I meant what I said yesterday. I'm going to make sure you and Amelia are taken care of. You understand?

~Words fail her, so Sally just nods in response. There's a knock at the door, with Vaughn turning and swinging it open, letting Chris Page inside.~

Peter Vaughn: About time you got here. I've been waiting for hours.

Chris Page: ... What the hell are you talking about? And why are you making me fly all the way out here when I've got other business to take care of??

Peter Vaughn: Don't worry, Chris. Everything's been... resolved. We can go now.

~As Vaughn steps towards the door, Amelia Kimble suddenly appears, running over to him. Without saying anything, Amelia hands over what appears to be a drawn picture, before nodding and hurrying away. Vaughn, puzzled, takes a look at it. We see it's a crayon picture of Peter Vaughn... standing with William Kimble next to him. The drawing is really quite good for an eight-year-old, even if you can still tell it's a child's drawing. Vaughn smiles, then pockets the drawing, keeping it safe.~

Chris Page: ... Can we go now?

Peter Vaughn: Sure, Chris. Oh, Mrs. Kimble, ummm, if you are able to, could you return that snowmobile to town? Oh, and just tell them you found it out there, okay?

Sally Kimble: Sure, Peter. I can do that. You take care, alright? And go win one for William.

Peter Vaughn: Eh, I prefer to win for myself. Thanks again.

~Vaughn pushes past Page and heads for the helicopter, with Page looking exasperated. He nods to Sally, then turns and heads out after him, shutting the cabin door. Sally watches them go, then checks her pocket, bringing out the cash Vaughn had given her.~

Sally Kimble: Well, Amelia, we might as well start packing and get ourselves down the mountain, huh?

Amelia Kimble: Yay!

~The two get to work, even as the shot focuses outside the window, where the helicopter is beginning to lift off. We slowly fade out.~

]]> <![CDATA[Employee of the Month Aspirations]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45504 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 22:16:13 -0800 Lacklan]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45504
Todd’s smile was wide as he sat in his cubicle.

Initially, his heart had sank when he was given the most dreaded duty afforded to the Drone Division of the Interview Team:

Sarah Duty

And not just one of those quick ”Oh snap, I’m supposed to be a manager! Um…er...Smelly Kido Diet? I guess?” sessions during her short-lived “Greatest Life Coach” phase, either, but an actual, honest to Tom Cruise, "promotional video." And she had, as he expected, taken him through quite the wringer of trying to track her down and actually get her for said proper interview. It had taken no small amount of trickery, subterfuge, and sneakery, all against the backdrop of Mr. Lane’s oddities like carrying around a Boombox on his shoulder and loudly belting out classics like “Raabin’ in the U.S.A.” But despite his apprehension, and the snickering of his colleagues due to his plight, things had turned out really well. His utilization of the Stealth Mode on the Interview Drone (the ID, Mark III) had not only captured the moment perfectly in regards to half of the Sarah promotional video for the week (the woman had turned in the second half, that pertaining to Jim Jimson’s birthday celebration, herself), but had also earned him the Employee of the Month award. He had been trying for that award for what seemed like years, but he was just about always stuck on some terrible duty, like a Ned Slumber Party, or the latest derivative…er…creative....production from Chris Page. Those usually left him on the bottom of the list for the award.

But this! FINALLY! The plaque, and the preferred cafeteria seating and parking space alongside it, were his. For the month, of course.

His heart fell when he saw that he was on Tag Team Championship duty. Barney and Graves? Barney’s work only made stoners and halfwits smile whilst at least three doobies in, and Graves’ best work was on that Madness show that Vinnie’s 3-year-old, and twice removed, nephew filmed on his iPad Mini. And while Dolly was always entertaining…well, at least when she wasn’t being preyed upon by Graves when she was a miner…THAT bit of video work took a LOT of editing for the team to produce…Charlie was so over the place in the last two years that they were never sure if he was going to murder a dog or have sex with it…or both!

Whether he was given Barney/Graves Duty or Dolly/Knickles Duty, his chances for winning his sought-after plaque two times in a row were looking slim.

And then Angelica Vaughn was added to the match.

AND he was given Angelica Duty. The horror.

His heart had sunk so low that it nearly forced the XWF Headquarters to crash land into Newark Bay after the Snow Job card had been announced. Angelica Vaughn?! Literally NO ONE had ever won Employee of the Month when on Angelica Duty! What was he supposed to do with endless “content” featuring a plethora of cats, bad jokes, words that audio readers can’t pronounce, and nonexistent trash talk recorded on a service no one subscribed to anymore? He’d rather have Noah Jackson Duty than this…then, he’d at least know he’d get “CUNT”! HILARIOUS!

But then he saw her partner.

Sarah Lacklan.

Thank.

Tom.

Cruise.

That sudden elation dropped as the time went on and his ID captured the footage of the sisters. They were just training. And talking. And talking. AND TALKING. Ugh. No one EVER wins Employee of the Month when their subject just trains and talks! He was going to need a lot of help from the other teams to have any chance of his footage of Sarah and Angelica propel him to his ‘The Plaque’ a second time. He would need something like Charlie blatantly lying, or perhaps straight-up stealing someone’s work and calling it his own. But there’s no way he would do that in a match against Sarah two times in a row, right? His chances of that happening were-

*DING!*

And so there he was, smiling in his cubicle, as he looked over the videos produced by everyone else that week. Indeed, Charlie Knickles DID revisit and double-down upon his blatant lies and theft. That made things MUCH easier!

But, still, how to turn all of this into something that could…okay…this Bingo thing is pretty funny. That’s got some introspection and the cameos everyone knows and loves. And that TLC training thing. Okay, just a little editing and BOOM!

Employee of the Month, here Todd comes!

[Image: fzWzSsZ.gif]


“CAREFUUUULLLLL!!!!”

Kenzi blinked in confusion.

“...what are you two doing?”

Before her, Angie was climbing a ladder while Sarah stood next to a table fitting with some chairs.

“Training, Beloved.”

Sarah responded to her without taking her eyes away from Angie, who was near the top of the ladder.

“Abs! We’re showing how to use the totes appropes way to use a ladder!”

Kenzi watched as Angie slowly…very slowly…made her way to the top while Sarah offered commentary.

“Rung by rung…good job…no need to do anything dumb like leap onto the top, or something.”

Upon reaching the top of the ladder, Angie reaches up and, with a twist of her hand, replaces a light bulb.

“Nicely done!”

Angie then safely climbs back down.

“Flawlessballz!!”

Kenzi continues to stare in confusion as the sisters pull out the chairs from the table, sliding them along the ground, and then gently sit in them.

“Ah, so comfy.”

“Comfy as flame!”

“And now to demonstrate how to properly use a table…”

Sarah pulls out a small bell from some hidden fold of her gown and, upon ringing it, a woman comes running with a tumbler and a martini glass in hand. Tumbler going to Sarah, glass going to Angie, the girls each take a whiff and sniff of their drinks (mulled wine and appletini respectively, because drunkards) before setting them on the table.

“Look at that, PERFECT uses of tables, ladders, and chairs, and without a single rule break, fire, broken body, or bit of hardcore nonsense whatsoever!”

“Totes legit, the best way to use them!”

Kenzi blinks many, many times.

“wut”

“...what’s so hard to understand, Beloved?”

“Yeah, Kenz? Makes totes sense! We don’t need to be like those BOB meanie-weanies. All they do is get more and more hardcore because they can’t really do anything else. Imagine being a hardoworking craftsman watching your creations get demolished! Rude!! We’ll show them how to win the Taggie Team Titles without needing to break anything!”

“I…I don’t…I…”

Kenzi closes her eyes and shakes her head, mumbling “white bitches…”

“Nevermind. The bingo game has already started!”

Team HSU shout “HUZZAH!” and push themselves away from the table and follow Kenzi into the next room where, to their delight, a large number of their friends were in the middle of the best bingo game ever:

Predictable Stuff We Knew Our Opponents Would Say!

[Image: fmMaf5j.gif]


DING!

“aNgIe’S jUsT sArAh-LiTe.”

The room is full of neatly-lined tables, each with seated person, hovered over a piece of paper. At the front of the room sits Ruby Debuchy next to a bingo wheel, retrieved ball in hand. Within the room, people marked their cards if they were lucky, or else grimaced if they weren’t.

“Playing ‘Bingo’ with predictable things our opponents were going to say is fun, Sar-Sar!”

Angelica Vaughn, Angie ONLY to her friends, tysm, smiles as she looks down at her bingo card. She had already punched “Totes inappropes behavior from Barney towards his transitional partner” on hers.

“Oh Lord, they ACTUALLY said it! ‘Sar’s here to carry Ang.’

Sarah was next to her, staring daggers at Ruby and the Bingo wheel, as Kenzi stamped her card at her side.

“Just look at Dolly, ya know? She literally, and I DO MEAN LITERALLY…carried that moronic side piece of hers into their match. The dummy was being pushed in a wheelchair, as physically broken as he always has been mentally! She wants to talk about this being the sidekick match! HA! You know why I personally was booked in this match? Because the world delights in seeing CHARLIE FUCKING NICKLES CRY LIKE A BABY SWADDLED IN FILTH, RIPPED AWAY FROM HIS MOTHER’S TEAT AND THROWN INTO A DITCH!”

The room grew into an awkward silence as Sarah seethed and Angelica slowly shuffled sideways.

DING!

“Angie and Sar are scared little girls”

“AND ANOTHER THING!”

A few people stamped their card, including Kenzi, once again.

“Charlie wants to talk about fear? ME?! Oh, please. He has been living the last few years in the fear of having to face reality. The REALITY of his life is that he threw away everything which axly matters because of his desperate need for SOMETHING. The REALITY is that he would rather wallow in the mud and subject himself to the unnecessary horrors of the streets and slums, where he can feel safe and warm, than face the consequences of his actions in his home life. The REALITY is that he would rather put on a mask to ‘get away with’ unspeakable atrocities rather than stand up, takes what he wants, and pay for it, regardless of that price. The REALITY is that, for the last two years, he’s been lying, misleading, and doing his best to alter history because of the fear he has at looking back at what axly happened. He’s AFRAID of looking in the mirror and realizing that he had a chance, early in his XWF career, of facing Sarah Lacklan, the UNIVERSAL FUCKING CHAMPION, in the middle of the Rose Bowl, and he had that football pulled away from him so hard that he flew further than Charlie Brown ever did in his worst nightmares.”

DING!

“Taking credit for things they didn’t do.”

“Listen, when he came into the XWF, he did so with gusto and fire. He had a fresh voice, was entertaining, and seemed to be driven. You weren’t sure if his violence was his nature, or if it was an act. You weren't sure if his constant referral to opponents as ‘Jack’ was interesting or derivative. You weren't sure if his success was genuine or temporary. By no means am I saying that his first couple of handfuls of success within the XWF were not earned. They were! Because entry level talents, be they by way of skill if not longevity, must work HARD when facing other entry level talent! But he began to go awry when facing more competent opponents, as I've mentioned before, and he ran into a wall against two of the people who will be able to rest upon their Hall of Fame laurels someday in the vein of Bourbon and Main.  He is afraid of THAT, too, of realizing that his initial romp within the XWF was not as successful or powerful as he likes people to think. People of Charlie's level, character, and skill do not find lasting success within a company like the XWF. They are instead relegated to occasional bouts of brightness on the weekends when booked against newbies, or perennial flunkies who forget they are booked, and become the ever-present face of loss when facing anyone even somewhat worthwhile.”

DING!

“They’re amazing hardcore wrestlers.”

”Truth be told, we might find fear in the very first Charlie we met. The one who went to rehab and worked with a psychologist to bring his family back together? Who wanted to be a man that Connie could love, that his children could look up to, who deserved to be treated well and with regard by his peers and society? That Charlie was dangerous. Instead, we have THIS Charlie, the same one I got back at Relentless. We have this Charlie, a child who whines and cries when I’m not around to play with him when he’s available. A child who would rather worry about skipping in the halls of the XWF headquarters, or attacking people between matches, than focusing on the ring and winning matches. While I cannot fault Dolly’s creative subterfuge at Warfare, THIS is the man who once showed us his ‘creativity’ by turning on a camera, pointing to a screen, and allowing someone else's words determine 23% of his last chance at getting in the Universal Champion's head. Think about that for one second! He didn't rephrase. He didn’t reinterpret. He didn’t retell. He simply pressed play and sat there like Ralph Wiggum presenting a box of Star Wars action figures as a science fair project. I remember that Kenzi had quipped that, if you are going to steal, you might at least steal from the best, so at least ol’ Chuck got that part right!

The man I faced at Relentless, and who we face this weekend at Snow Job, is NOT worthy of being the Universal Champion, Tag Team Champion, or even the old Federweight Champion!. The man I faced THEN disappointed me within a couple of days of the promotional cycle, both in his direction and quality, and the man we face NOW apparently hasn’t learned anything in that time! Oh sure, he talks about being the best Television champ ever, but that’s just another delusion at best, and a lie at worst. We ALL know that THE best T.V. Champ was Corey, and HE turned a dominant run into ANOTHER dominant run as Uni Champ. What does Charlie have at the end of his ‘best ever’ T.V. run? Literally nothing. That dummy cashed in his shot at the stupid weed show and was made to look like a fool. What a dope! And in between, we get nothing but months and months of running around with BOB, playing twenty-seventh fiddle to stars like Bourbon and TK, until even they couldn’t bear his stench. Two hot-damn years after his opus, his greatest moment, where he walked into Relentless truly thinking he was going to dominate THE Universal Champion, a loss that fills him with so much sadness and anger and disgust that it makes him SHAKE in the darkness as he lies alone in his gutter, and all he has to show for his efforts now is people crossing the street to get away from that smell, and wrestling pundits just kinda shrugging their shoulders and saying, “Well…I mean…he’s despicable and everyone hates him? So there’s that?”

DING!

“Angie was only great in a fed no one cares about.”

“AND FURTHERMORE-

”MULTIPLE FEDS, AXLY!!”

“BINGO!”

Everyone in the room shook with a start as Kenzi began waving her bingo card in the air hard enough to make it snap as if flapped.

“I’VE GOT BINGO, BITCHES!”

The manic look of addiction in Kenzi’s eyes was instantaneous. She could get used to winning at Bingo.


[Image: hdXzQAc.gif]

A blonde girl, slim of waist and short of stature, stares wistfully through the window with eyes of gemstones. On the table beside her, a sturdy frame holds a picture of two young men, each sharp of face and wearing sardonic grins, with their arms around the blonde girl, whose face has fewer lines. Gem eyes move away from the window and to the picture, and her face sags with conflicting emotion. From her pocket she pulls out a ball, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Painted the blues and greens of the globe, it was cheaply made, but was still a gift filled with promise.

TAP-TAP-TAP

With a start, the blonde turns towards the window to see an albino pigeon wearing a red bow resting upon the ledge. Gem eyes blink.

“...Josephina?”

The distinctive twang of Kentucky was filled with both question and recognition. She opens the window gently, so as not to disturb her surprising visitor, and the pigeon hops inside. Still with that gentle care, the girl reaches down and removes a piece of paper, tightly folded, from the bird’s leg. The pigeon coos expectantly, causing the girl to frown, before rummaging through the drawers of the table and retrieving a small bag. Inside was a helping of Thicc Boi pigeon feed, which she still held onto, for some reason. Taking the feed, the pigeon cooed again, took flight, and left the girl to her letter.

[Image: LQc683Y.png]

D.W.

Nearly four years ago, you and I met in the back of MSG following my XWF debut. You were fifteen and I mistook you for a fan who had gotten lost, or perhaps had snuck into the back to get an autograph. In many ways, I still see you as the fifteen-year-old girl who had thrust herself into this brutal sport and was in need of guidance and love, even if she didn’t know it herself. I somewhat blame myself for the pains you have gone through over the last couple of years. Truth be told, I should have just gone through with my plan to adopt you right then and there, and be damned with the advice from my House. If I had, I don’t think you would be where you are now.

And where is that?

Slumming in the gutter, swimming through murk and sewage, dragging along a broken chunk of foul-smelling flotsam who has been obsessed with a loss from two years ago that it affects every moment of his life.

YOU are BETTER than that.

When we fought for the Queen of the Ring, I promised to teach you an important lesson: How to lose. And you learned it so well that, after succumbing to the Abyss, you embraced me and held up my arm to the crowd. I taught you to be BETTER…and you LEARNED.

And now you’re HERE?!

You want to burn the world? You want to raze everything? You want to create CHANGE?!

Then leave behind the bad choices of the last three years and stand tall.

With me.

YOU are MY Ode to Joy, Dolly.

I love you.

I enclose this picture, perhaps forgotten, in hopes you remember who you WERE and who you can BECOME.

S.S.G-L
]]>
Todd’s smile was wide as he sat in his cubicle.

Initially, his heart had sank when he was given the most dreaded duty afforded to the Drone Division of the Interview Team:

Sarah Duty

And not just one of those quick ”Oh snap, I’m supposed to be a manager! Um…er...Smelly Kido Diet? I guess?” sessions during her short-lived “Greatest Life Coach” phase, either, but an actual, honest to Tom Cruise, "promotional video." And she had, as he expected, taken him through quite the wringer of trying to track her down and actually get her for said proper interview. It had taken no small amount of trickery, subterfuge, and sneakery, all against the backdrop of Mr. Lane’s oddities like carrying around a Boombox on his shoulder and loudly belting out classics like “Raabin’ in the U.S.A.” But despite his apprehension, and the snickering of his colleagues due to his plight, things had turned out really well. His utilization of the Stealth Mode on the Interview Drone (the ID, Mark III) had not only captured the moment perfectly in regards to half of the Sarah promotional video for the week (the woman had turned in the second half, that pertaining to Jim Jimson’s birthday celebration, herself), but had also earned him the Employee of the Month award. He had been trying for that award for what seemed like years, but he was just about always stuck on some terrible duty, like a Ned Slumber Party, or the latest derivative…er…creative....production from Chris Page. Those usually left him on the bottom of the list for the award.

But this! FINALLY! The plaque, and the preferred cafeteria seating and parking space alongside it, were his. For the month, of course.

His heart fell when he saw that he was on Tag Team Championship duty. Barney and Graves? Barney’s work only made stoners and halfwits smile whilst at least three doobies in, and Graves’ best work was on that Madness show that Vinnie’s 3-year-old, and twice removed, nephew filmed on his iPad Mini. And while Dolly was always entertaining…well, at least when she wasn’t being preyed upon by Graves when she was a miner…THAT bit of video work took a LOT of editing for the team to produce…Charlie was so over the place in the last two years that they were never sure if he was going to murder a dog or have sex with it…or both!

Whether he was given Barney/Graves Duty or Dolly/Knickles Duty, his chances for winning his sought-after plaque two times in a row were looking slim.

And then Angelica Vaughn was added to the match.

AND he was given Angelica Duty. The horror.

His heart had sunk so low that it nearly forced the XWF Headquarters to crash land into Newark Bay after the Snow Job card had been announced. Angelica Vaughn?! Literally NO ONE had ever won Employee of the Month when on Angelica Duty! What was he supposed to do with endless “content” featuring a plethora of cats, bad jokes, words that audio readers can’t pronounce, and nonexistent trash talk recorded on a service no one subscribed to anymore? He’d rather have Noah Jackson Duty than this…then, he’d at least know he’d get “CUNT”! HILARIOUS!

But then he saw her partner.

Sarah Lacklan.

Thank.

Tom.

Cruise.

That sudden elation dropped as the time went on and his ID captured the footage of the sisters. They were just training. And talking. And talking. AND TALKING. Ugh. No one EVER wins Employee of the Month when their subject just trains and talks! He was going to need a lot of help from the other teams to have any chance of his footage of Sarah and Angelica propel him to his ‘The Plaque’ a second time. He would need something like Charlie blatantly lying, or perhaps straight-up stealing someone’s work and calling it his own. But there’s no way he would do that in a match against Sarah two times in a row, right? His chances of that happening were-

*DING!*

And so there he was, smiling in his cubicle, as he looked over the videos produced by everyone else that week. Indeed, Charlie Knickles DID revisit and double-down upon his blatant lies and theft. That made things MUCH easier!

But, still, how to turn all of this into something that could…okay…this Bingo thing is pretty funny. That’s got some introspection and the cameos everyone knows and loves. And that TLC training thing. Okay, just a little editing and BOOM!

Employee of the Month, here Todd comes!

[Image: fzWzSsZ.gif]


“CAREFUUUULLLLL!!!!”

Kenzi blinked in confusion.

“...what are you two doing?”

Before her, Angie was climbing a ladder while Sarah stood next to a table fitting with some chairs.

“Training, Beloved.”

Sarah responded to her without taking her eyes away from Angie, who was near the top of the ladder.

“Abs! We’re showing how to use the totes appropes way to use a ladder!”

Kenzi watched as Angie slowly…very slowly…made her way to the top while Sarah offered commentary.

“Rung by rung…good job…no need to do anything dumb like leap onto the top, or something.”

Upon reaching the top of the ladder, Angie reaches up and, with a twist of her hand, replaces a light bulb.

“Nicely done!”

Angie then safely climbs back down.

“Flawlessballz!!”

Kenzi continues to stare in confusion as the sisters pull out the chairs from the table, sliding them along the ground, and then gently sit in them.

“Ah, so comfy.”

“Comfy as flame!”

“And now to demonstrate how to properly use a table…”

Sarah pulls out a small bell from some hidden fold of her gown and, upon ringing it, a woman comes running with a tumbler and a martini glass in hand. Tumbler going to Sarah, glass going to Angie, the girls each take a whiff and sniff of their drinks (mulled wine and appletini respectively, because drunkards) before setting them on the table.

“Look at that, PERFECT uses of tables, ladders, and chairs, and without a single rule break, fire, broken body, or bit of hardcore nonsense whatsoever!”

“Totes legit, the best way to use them!”

Kenzi blinks many, many times.

“wut”

“...what’s so hard to understand, Beloved?”

“Yeah, Kenz? Makes totes sense! We don’t need to be like those BOB meanie-weanies. All they do is get more and more hardcore because they can’t really do anything else. Imagine being a hardoworking craftsman watching your creations get demolished! Rude!! We’ll show them how to win the Taggie Team Titles without needing to break anything!”

“I…I don’t…I…”

Kenzi closes her eyes and shakes her head, mumbling “white bitches…”

“Nevermind. The bingo game has already started!”

Team HSU shout “HUZZAH!” and push themselves away from the table and follow Kenzi into the next room where, to their delight, a large number of their friends were in the middle of the best bingo game ever:

Predictable Stuff We Knew Our Opponents Would Say!

[Image: fmMaf5j.gif]


DING!

“aNgIe’S jUsT sArAh-LiTe.”

The room is full of neatly-lined tables, each with seated person, hovered over a piece of paper. At the front of the room sits Ruby Debuchy next to a bingo wheel, retrieved ball in hand. Within the room, people marked their cards if they were lucky, or else grimaced if they weren’t.

“Playing ‘Bingo’ with predictable things our opponents were going to say is fun, Sar-Sar!”

Angelica Vaughn, Angie ONLY to her friends, tysm, smiles as she looks down at her bingo card. She had already punched “Totes inappropes behavior from Barney towards his transitional partner” on hers.

“Oh Lord, they ACTUALLY said it! ‘Sar’s here to carry Ang.’

Sarah was next to her, staring daggers at Ruby and the Bingo wheel, as Kenzi stamped her card at her side.

“Just look at Dolly, ya know? She literally, and I DO MEAN LITERALLY…carried that moronic side piece of hers into their match. The dummy was being pushed in a wheelchair, as physically broken as he always has been mentally! She wants to talk about this being the sidekick match! HA! You know why I personally was booked in this match? Because the world delights in seeing CHARLIE FUCKING NICKLES CRY LIKE A BABY SWADDLED IN FILTH, RIPPED AWAY FROM HIS MOTHER’S TEAT AND THROWN INTO A DITCH!”

The room grew into an awkward silence as Sarah seethed and Angelica slowly shuffled sideways.

DING!

“Angie and Sar are scared little girls”

“AND ANOTHER THING!”

A few people stamped their card, including Kenzi, once again.

“Charlie wants to talk about fear? ME?! Oh, please. He has been living the last few years in the fear of having to face reality. The REALITY of his life is that he threw away everything which axly matters because of his desperate need for SOMETHING. The REALITY is that he would rather wallow in the mud and subject himself to the unnecessary horrors of the streets and slums, where he can feel safe and warm, than face the consequences of his actions in his home life. The REALITY is that he would rather put on a mask to ‘get away with’ unspeakable atrocities rather than stand up, takes what he wants, and pay for it, regardless of that price. The REALITY is that, for the last two years, he’s been lying, misleading, and doing his best to alter history because of the fear he has at looking back at what axly happened. He’s AFRAID of looking in the mirror and realizing that he had a chance, early in his XWF career, of facing Sarah Lacklan, the UNIVERSAL FUCKING CHAMPION, in the middle of the Rose Bowl, and he had that football pulled away from him so hard that he flew further than Charlie Brown ever did in his worst nightmares.”

DING!

“Taking credit for things they didn’t do.”

“Listen, when he came into the XWF, he did so with gusto and fire. He had a fresh voice, was entertaining, and seemed to be driven. You weren’t sure if his violence was his nature, or if it was an act. You weren't sure if his constant referral to opponents as ‘Jack’ was interesting or derivative. You weren't sure if his success was genuine or temporary. By no means am I saying that his first couple of handfuls of success within the XWF were not earned. They were! Because entry level talents, be they by way of skill if not longevity, must work HARD when facing other entry level talent! But he began to go awry when facing more competent opponents, as I've mentioned before, and he ran into a wall against two of the people who will be able to rest upon their Hall of Fame laurels someday in the vein of Bourbon and Main.  He is afraid of THAT, too, of realizing that his initial romp within the XWF was not as successful or powerful as he likes people to think. People of Charlie's level, character, and skill do not find lasting success within a company like the XWF. They are instead relegated to occasional bouts of brightness on the weekends when booked against newbies, or perennial flunkies who forget they are booked, and become the ever-present face of loss when facing anyone even somewhat worthwhile.”

DING!

“They’re amazing hardcore wrestlers.”

”Truth be told, we might find fear in the very first Charlie we met. The one who went to rehab and worked with a psychologist to bring his family back together? Who wanted to be a man that Connie could love, that his children could look up to, who deserved to be treated well and with regard by his peers and society? That Charlie was dangerous. Instead, we have THIS Charlie, the same one I got back at Relentless. We have this Charlie, a child who whines and cries when I’m not around to play with him when he’s available. A child who would rather worry about skipping in the halls of the XWF headquarters, or attacking people between matches, than focusing on the ring and winning matches. While I cannot fault Dolly’s creative subterfuge at Warfare, THIS is the man who once showed us his ‘creativity’ by turning on a camera, pointing to a screen, and allowing someone else's words determine 23% of his last chance at getting in the Universal Champion's head. Think about that for one second! He didn't rephrase. He didn’t reinterpret. He didn’t retell. He simply pressed play and sat there like Ralph Wiggum presenting a box of Star Wars action figures as a science fair project. I remember that Kenzi had quipped that, if you are going to steal, you might at least steal from the best, so at least ol’ Chuck got that part right!

The man I faced at Relentless, and who we face this weekend at Snow Job, is NOT worthy of being the Universal Champion, Tag Team Champion, or even the old Federweight Champion!. The man I faced THEN disappointed me within a couple of days of the promotional cycle, both in his direction and quality, and the man we face NOW apparently hasn’t learned anything in that time! Oh sure, he talks about being the best Television champ ever, but that’s just another delusion at best, and a lie at worst. We ALL know that THE best T.V. Champ was Corey, and HE turned a dominant run into ANOTHER dominant run as Uni Champ. What does Charlie have at the end of his ‘best ever’ T.V. run? Literally nothing. That dummy cashed in his shot at the stupid weed show and was made to look like a fool. What a dope! And in between, we get nothing but months and months of running around with BOB, playing twenty-seventh fiddle to stars like Bourbon and TK, until even they couldn’t bear his stench. Two hot-damn years after his opus, his greatest moment, where he walked into Relentless truly thinking he was going to dominate THE Universal Champion, a loss that fills him with so much sadness and anger and disgust that it makes him SHAKE in the darkness as he lies alone in his gutter, and all he has to show for his efforts now is people crossing the street to get away from that smell, and wrestling pundits just kinda shrugging their shoulders and saying, “Well…I mean…he’s despicable and everyone hates him? So there’s that?”

DING!

“Angie was only great in a fed no one cares about.”

“AND FURTHERMORE-

”MULTIPLE FEDS, AXLY!!”

“BINGO!”

Everyone in the room shook with a start as Kenzi began waving her bingo card in the air hard enough to make it snap as if flapped.

“I’VE GOT BINGO, BITCHES!”

The manic look of addiction in Kenzi’s eyes was instantaneous. She could get used to winning at Bingo.


[Image: hdXzQAc.gif]

A blonde girl, slim of waist and short of stature, stares wistfully through the window with eyes of gemstones. On the table beside her, a sturdy frame holds a picture of two young men, each sharp of face and wearing sardonic grins, with their arms around the blonde girl, whose face has fewer lines. Gem eyes move away from the window and to the picture, and her face sags with conflicting emotion. From her pocket she pulls out a ball, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. Painted the blues and greens of the globe, it was cheaply made, but was still a gift filled with promise.

TAP-TAP-TAP

With a start, the blonde turns towards the window to see an albino pigeon wearing a red bow resting upon the ledge. Gem eyes blink.

“...Josephina?”

The distinctive twang of Kentucky was filled with both question and recognition. She opens the window gently, so as not to disturb her surprising visitor, and the pigeon hops inside. Still with that gentle care, the girl reaches down and removes a piece of paper, tightly folded, from the bird’s leg. The pigeon coos expectantly, causing the girl to frown, before rummaging through the drawers of the table and retrieving a small bag. Inside was a helping of Thicc Boi pigeon feed, which she still held onto, for some reason. Taking the feed, the pigeon cooed again, took flight, and left the girl to her letter.

[Image: LQc683Y.png]

D.W.

Nearly four years ago, you and I met in the back of MSG following my XWF debut. You were fifteen and I mistook you for a fan who had gotten lost, or perhaps had snuck into the back to get an autograph. In many ways, I still see you as the fifteen-year-old girl who had thrust herself into this brutal sport and was in need of guidance and love, even if she didn’t know it herself. I somewhat blame myself for the pains you have gone through over the last couple of years. Truth be told, I should have just gone through with my plan to adopt you right then and there, and be damned with the advice from my House. If I had, I don’t think you would be where you are now.

And where is that?

Slumming in the gutter, swimming through murk and sewage, dragging along a broken chunk of foul-smelling flotsam who has been obsessed with a loss from two years ago that it affects every moment of his life.

YOU are BETTER than that.

When we fought for the Queen of the Ring, I promised to teach you an important lesson: How to lose. And you learned it so well that, after succumbing to the Abyss, you embraced me and held up my arm to the crowd. I taught you to be BETTER…and you LEARNED.

And now you’re HERE?!

You want to burn the world? You want to raze everything? You want to create CHANGE?!

Then leave behind the bad choices of the last three years and stand tall.

With me.

YOU are MY Ode to Joy, Dolly.

I love you.

I enclose this picture, perhaps forgotten, in hopes you remember who you WERE and who you can BECOME.

S.S.G-L
]]> <![CDATA[Cor Vitri]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45503 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 22:15:21 -0800 Dionysus]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45503

It has been a few months since the World Series of Wrestling. I took the winnings I made throughout the tournament and put an investment on a few acres near Winona, in the Minnesota bluffs. The home was nice and secluded, no neighbors for at least two miles. And plenty of land for me to start working on the vineyard.

...Once the snow melted, anyway.

I was sitting in the office drawing up the plans for Berget Bluff Vineyard, the official name for the wine company. My first thought was having the home double as a tasting room, but quickly realized that this would be a mistake; with how infrequent I would be home, it would open up the opportunity for filchers and the like to poke around and take what they wanted. Therefore, I would need to build a tasting room. A pole barn would suffice for storage, at least until we could put the full facility together. Would it be better to connect the tasting room to the facility, or keep them separate? I suppose it would depend on how we decide to produce the wine. But what about-

I had been buried deep in my thoughts as I looked over the plans, so much so that I snapped out a "What?!" when I came back to reality. I had a visitor at my office door; a young man, at least younger than me, dressed in a light blue sweater and khaki pants. I had just yelled at William Ross, my new assistant. I hired him to help me out with more of my business dealings, both in wrestling and with the new venture in the vineyard. Once it was established, he would take over the day-to-day operation. I slid a hand to my face, rubbing at my temples in shame. "Oh, William. Sorry, I was thinking things over with the vineyard."

"No problem, sir," William replied cheerfully, if timid. He was holding a large envelope in his hand, which he promptly set on my desk, covering the blueprints. "I just came in to check on you; you weren't answering your messages and even knocking seemed to do nothing."

I shrugged, leaning back in my chair. "What can I say? Sometimes I get lost in thought." I tilted my head to look at the envelope in front of me. "What's this?"

"Oh, that just came for you today," William informed, "That is the other reason why I'm here. It is addressed from a mister Theo Pryce. It says 'XWF' in the return address."

XWF...of course, I had talked to Raion Kido after the WSOW award ceremony. He must have passed my name up to Theo to scout me out. Or maybe they had everyone scouted. Either way, an envelope that size could only mean one thing. I slowly leaned forward, reaching for the envelope. "Thank you for this, William. I may be asking you to step up and do more for the vineyard. I have a feeling I will be doing some more traveling than expected."

William simply blinked at the news. "I...I don't know what to say, sir-"

"Hopefully it isn't 'screw you,'" I joked. "You've been great to work with and I want to make sure you can handle the increased responsibility. It won't be as though you will be doing all the work on your own, but I will be trusting you to make the decisions I can't when I'm not there. You know most of the odds and ends anyway, but you can always ask me if there is anything you are unsure of. No one really needs an answer back to them that quickly, am I right?"

William shook his head. "No sir. It took you more than a week to hire me, remember?"

I nodded, opening the envelope. "That will be all for now. We should be expecting our builder to be coming by soon to finalize the plans and look at the site. If you could meet with him first, I would appreciate it." William turned heel and walked out of the office, retrieving his phone while he did so. Meanwhile, I pulled out the packet.

X. W. F. Large bold letters to indicate a talent contract.

I couldn't help but smile.

I turned, still holding the packet, and looked out at the field that would eventually become a sea of grapevines. I started thinking again, whether this was the right move. I still have my contract with Action Wrestling. I'm now starting this new venture in the vineyard. Is now the time to really branch out and take a great risk in a new sandbox? Maybe I'm not ready for this. Maybe this was a mistake.

...But I thought the same thing when I did the World Series of Wrestling. And I took 6th place in a highly competitive field. "Of course I'm ready," I said to myself out loud. I set the packet on the counter, and retrieved a pen from the desk. This was going to be a lot of paperwork to sign.
A new year.

A new beginning for XWF.

And a new face to join its ranks.

XWF...I, The Lord of the Vine, am now in you. You might have heard of me...or maybe you haven't? In which case, let Snow Job be a proper introduction into just what I can do. It seems no matter where I end up, I always debut in a tag match of some kind. Maybe it is easier to gauge just how well new arrivals can play well with others. But perhaps one half of the longest reigning Action Wrestling Tag Team Championship team in the company's history might prove useful on my resume? Now, I am not saying this to boast. After all, words are words, and action speaks louder. I am simply stating a fact. Much like my former World Title reign in WCF, or my Courage title reign in Level Up, these were simply things that I am able to do. Much like Midas, I have the touch of gold wherever I roam. Which makes putting me in a contender match as my first match very opportune for me.

You might think "but you and Blondie know next to nothing about each other! How could you possibly pick up a victory over two established names in the company?" Many people said the same thing when I was paired with Chef Andre to form the team of Al Fresco, and we secured the contendership all the same. Many had doubts when Downfall and I came to terms in Action Wrestling, and as the Vanguard, rebuilt a dying tag team division. Blondie and I will get along just fine; naturally there will be misses and bumps in the road, but every team starting out has these issues.

What you won't see, however, is Blondie and I trying to stand out against one another, like I expect Geri Vayden and Money Oswald to do. Which speaking of, hello Geri. I don't believe we have actually met, though I am quite familiar with your family. But even though we have yet to properly cross paths, given what I know of you and your husband, I feel little concern toward you. I mean really, diving after the 24/7 title and not even coming close to picking up a win? Is that the legacy you are planning on leaving behind? I suppose history will simply have to repeat itself, as I hand you a loss much like your husband was handed titles.

Now you, Mr. Oswald...you intrigue me. You play the part of the veteran competitor, looking to measure up the young blood coming into the game, placing yourself as a measuring stick for bigger and greater things. It is admirable. It is commendable. It is something I have done myself over the years...until I realize how much of a doormat it makes you. After all, if everyone you stand against ends up moving beyond you, then what kind of measuring stick are you? I understand the importance of not wanting to be underestimated or thought lesser because your last time as champion gets longer and longer by the day, but the truth of the matter is, this happens no matter where you go. Sometimes, and I know this will come as a shock, the better competitor wins. Then it matters not what your accolades were in the past. What matters, what really matters, is the here and now. And right now, Mr. Oswald, you are teaming with dead weight against two fresh new talent. These are facts.

We were put together as a team, and as a team we will find our rhythm and shine as one. You and Geri are inevitably going to be in each other's way, finding more ways to embarrass yourselves and continue to point blame long after the match is done. Meanwhile, Blondie and I will carry on, the new contenders for...

...You know what? I don't even know if I like referring to ourselves as just Blondie and I. I mean really. Vanguard. Al Fresco. Names that had some punch and power to them. Blondie and I seem like a good fit; a medium body in Blondie to a full body in myself, with enough bite to back up the bark. I have no doubt Blondie wouldn't mind me setting this up for ourselves.

So keep an eye on this hot new tag team, XWF, and you all in particular, Weekend Warfare. For you will get a good taste...of Chardonnay...at Snow Job.

[Image: FnmZmanWIAIQwwI?format=png&name=900x900]]]>

It has been a few months since the World Series of Wrestling. I took the winnings I made throughout the tournament and put an investment on a few acres near Winona, in the Minnesota bluffs. The home was nice and secluded, no neighbors for at least two miles. And plenty of land for me to start working on the vineyard.

...Once the snow melted, anyway.

I was sitting in the office drawing up the plans for Berget Bluff Vineyard, the official name for the wine company. My first thought was having the home double as a tasting room, but quickly realized that this would be a mistake; with how infrequent I would be home, it would open up the opportunity for filchers and the like to poke around and take what they wanted. Therefore, I would need to build a tasting room. A pole barn would suffice for storage, at least until we could put the full facility together. Would it be better to connect the tasting room to the facility, or keep them separate? I suppose it would depend on how we decide to produce the wine. But what about-

I had been buried deep in my thoughts as I looked over the plans, so much so that I snapped out a "What?!" when I came back to reality. I had a visitor at my office door; a young man, at least younger than me, dressed in a light blue sweater and khaki pants. I had just yelled at William Ross, my new assistant. I hired him to help me out with more of my business dealings, both in wrestling and with the new venture in the vineyard. Once it was established, he would take over the day-to-day operation. I slid a hand to my face, rubbing at my temples in shame. "Oh, William. Sorry, I was thinking things over with the vineyard."

"No problem, sir," William replied cheerfully, if timid. He was holding a large envelope in his hand, which he promptly set on my desk, covering the blueprints. "I just came in to check on you; you weren't answering your messages and even knocking seemed to do nothing."

I shrugged, leaning back in my chair. "What can I say? Sometimes I get lost in thought." I tilted my head to look at the envelope in front of me. "What's this?"

"Oh, that just came for you today," William informed, "That is the other reason why I'm here. It is addressed from a mister Theo Pryce. It says 'XWF' in the return address."

XWF...of course, I had talked to Raion Kido after the WSOW award ceremony. He must have passed my name up to Theo to scout me out. Or maybe they had everyone scouted. Either way, an envelope that size could only mean one thing. I slowly leaned forward, reaching for the envelope. "Thank you for this, William. I may be asking you to step up and do more for the vineyard. I have a feeling I will be doing some more traveling than expected."

William simply blinked at the news. "I...I don't know what to say, sir-"

"Hopefully it isn't 'screw you,'" I joked. "You've been great to work with and I want to make sure you can handle the increased responsibility. It won't be as though you will be doing all the work on your own, but I will be trusting you to make the decisions I can't when I'm not there. You know most of the odds and ends anyway, but you can always ask me if there is anything you are unsure of. No one really needs an answer back to them that quickly, am I right?"

William shook his head. "No sir. It took you more than a week to hire me, remember?"

I nodded, opening the envelope. "That will be all for now. We should be expecting our builder to be coming by soon to finalize the plans and look at the site. If you could meet with him first, I would appreciate it." William turned heel and walked out of the office, retrieving his phone while he did so. Meanwhile, I pulled out the packet.

X. W. F. Large bold letters to indicate a talent contract.

I couldn't help but smile.

I turned, still holding the packet, and looked out at the field that would eventually become a sea of grapevines. I started thinking again, whether this was the right move. I still have my contract with Action Wrestling. I'm now starting this new venture in the vineyard. Is now the time to really branch out and take a great risk in a new sandbox? Maybe I'm not ready for this. Maybe this was a mistake.

...But I thought the same thing when I did the World Series of Wrestling. And I took 6th place in a highly competitive field. "Of course I'm ready," I said to myself out loud. I set the packet on the counter, and retrieved a pen from the desk. This was going to be a lot of paperwork to sign.
A new year.

A new beginning for XWF.

And a new face to join its ranks.

XWF...I, The Lord of the Vine, am now in you. You might have heard of me...or maybe you haven't? In which case, let Snow Job be a proper introduction into just what I can do. It seems no matter where I end up, I always debut in a tag match of some kind. Maybe it is easier to gauge just how well new arrivals can play well with others. But perhaps one half of the longest reigning Action Wrestling Tag Team Championship team in the company's history might prove useful on my resume? Now, I am not saying this to boast. After all, words are words, and action speaks louder. I am simply stating a fact. Much like my former World Title reign in WCF, or my Courage title reign in Level Up, these were simply things that I am able to do. Much like Midas, I have the touch of gold wherever I roam. Which makes putting me in a contender match as my first match very opportune for me.

You might think "but you and Blondie know next to nothing about each other! How could you possibly pick up a victory over two established names in the company?" Many people said the same thing when I was paired with Chef Andre to form the team of Al Fresco, and we secured the contendership all the same. Many had doubts when Downfall and I came to terms in Action Wrestling, and as the Vanguard, rebuilt a dying tag team division. Blondie and I will get along just fine; naturally there will be misses and bumps in the road, but every team starting out has these issues.

What you won't see, however, is Blondie and I trying to stand out against one another, like I expect Geri Vayden and Money Oswald to do. Which speaking of, hello Geri. I don't believe we have actually met, though I am quite familiar with your family. But even though we have yet to properly cross paths, given what I know of you and your husband, I feel little concern toward you. I mean really, diving after the 24/7 title and not even coming close to picking up a win? Is that the legacy you are planning on leaving behind? I suppose history will simply have to repeat itself, as I hand you a loss much like your husband was handed titles.

Now you, Mr. Oswald...you intrigue me. You play the part of the veteran competitor, looking to measure up the young blood coming into the game, placing yourself as a measuring stick for bigger and greater things. It is admirable. It is commendable. It is something I have done myself over the years...until I realize how much of a doormat it makes you. After all, if everyone you stand against ends up moving beyond you, then what kind of measuring stick are you? I understand the importance of not wanting to be underestimated or thought lesser because your last time as champion gets longer and longer by the day, but the truth of the matter is, this happens no matter where you go. Sometimes, and I know this will come as a shock, the better competitor wins. Then it matters not what your accolades were in the past. What matters, what really matters, is the here and now. And right now, Mr. Oswald, you are teaming with dead weight against two fresh new talent. These are facts.

We were put together as a team, and as a team we will find our rhythm and shine as one. You and Geri are inevitably going to be in each other's way, finding more ways to embarrass yourselves and continue to point blame long after the match is done. Meanwhile, Blondie and I will carry on, the new contenders for...

...You know what? I don't even know if I like referring to ourselves as just Blondie and I. I mean really. Vanguard. Al Fresco. Names that had some punch and power to them. Blondie and I seem like a good fit; a medium body in Blondie to a full body in myself, with enough bite to back up the bark. I have no doubt Blondie wouldn't mind me setting this up for ourselves.

So keep an eye on this hot new tag team, XWF, and you all in particular, Weekend Warfare. For you will get a good taste...of Chardonnay...at Snow Job.

[Image: FnmZmanWIAIQwwI?format=png&name=900x900]]]> <![CDATA[Trees.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45501 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 21:17:16 -0800 Jenny Myst]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45501 [Image: FpqCsGE.png]
You couldn’t ask for a more gorgeous day. The sun was radiant in the ice blue sky. There was a slight breeze, just enough to gently ripple your hair. Birds chirped in perfect unison, and a dog barked somewhere in the distance. The road below her was soft on her feet, as the soles of her Converse squished with every step. She wore one white and one black sneaker. She called them Yin and Yang.

Perfect harmony.

The wheels of the pack-and-play stroller crunched quietly on the pavement below, a slight hum as they rotated on their axel.

There were trees lining each side of the road. They looked like palm trees, but they didn't have coconuts. Instead, an assorted variation of fruits. All colors, shapes, and sizes. They were low hanging, too. Low hanging fruits were the best kind! Hers for the taking.

“Look! Fruits!” she said to nobody in particular. Monkey’s scampered around like tiny butlers, handing out fruits. The squirrels were pink!

Rows upon rows of low hanging fruit. Jenny plucks one off the vine, and takes a bite. Juice splatters all over her face, but she smiles with delight. Low hanging fruit is delicious!

She sits Indian style next to the stroller and wipes her face with her arm, the liquid from the low hanging fruit dribbling down her skin and making it shiny in the sunlight.

"I always wanted to be a ballerina. So elegant, so beautiful. Ever since I've been a little girl. I wanted it more than I wanted anything else. It consumed me for a good portion of my childhood. I was small enough, for sure. I thought I was pretty enough. There were plenty of little girls, plenty of which were talented. Some were more talented than me. Shit, most. But did they have my drive, my want, my desire, my primal need to be one? No, that they did not. They wanted it for the stupid tiara and the sparkly tutu. I hated every single of them with a blinding rage, especially Melissa. With her stupid over-done hair and toothy smile a mile wide. The parents loved her, the school loved her, and the community loved her.

I loathed her.

But I wanted to take the high road, ya know? Be confident in myself and such.”

She takes another bite of the juicy fruit, slobbering it on her face before tossing . the core behind her and reaching up to pluck another.

“So I saved up money, right? In my pretty pink piggy bank. I named it Clarence. Broke my heart to break him open, but if you’re gonna play the game you need to wear the uniform, right?

I had just enough for an outfit, and one or two classes. I was excited. I was living my dream, feeling like I was accomplishing some, yaknow?!”

BITE. SQUISH. DRIBBLE.

“......I get there, feeling like a million bucks, right?! I get there, and whose there? Melissa. Fucking Melissa. With her over-done hair and that mile wide smile, talking to all the instructors beforehand–making them laugh. Outgoing, too? She had it all.”

BITE. DRIBBLE. WIPE.

“Turns out…..she couldn’t dance for shit. About as coordinated as an ostrich after a keg stand. About as graceful as Jell-O. Made me all warm and tingly inside to see, you bet. The hours and hours of videos I watched until I felt like my eyes would bleed, studied until I gave myself migraines, practiced until I couldn’t put weight on my feet anymore. I had given my all for this because if you don’t, what really are you worth?

We went to the same class for months on end, and I got my jollies by trying my ass off, improving everyday, and watching her do literally nothing but be pretty. Sounds like someone else we know, huh?”

She nudged the stroller with her elbow.

“Atara, Atara!” the birds squealed from above.

“.......and after some time, there was a contest to pick Little Miss Nevada. Ballet was part of it and we had to make our own routine. Sounds cool, right?”

A small monkey riding on the back of a galloping zebra. She squealed in delight. This place is truly magical! It was like Disney World without the antisemitism.

“So more months of grueling videos, studying, practice and I thought I had a killer routine, right? Hell, I’d been working on it day and night, always tweaking it here and there to make it just a bit better at every turn. I went there, and I did my thing. I killed it. I got a standing ovation. To this day it still makes me cry to think about it.”

*SNIFFLE*

A golden snub nosed monkey walked out from behind a tree, holding out his palm and offering her another low hanging fruit.

BITE. SQUIRT. WIPE.

The breeze blew again and the birds squawked from their perches.

“CRRRAA…..Long winded, long winded.”

She paid them no mind.

“So after all of that……all of that……….who did they choose?”

There was a pregnant pause. The breeze ruffled her hair a bit and swayed the delicious fruit trees.

“You’re damn right. MELISSA FUCKING CUMMINGS.”

BITE. DRIBBLE. BITE. SQUIRT. DRIBBLE. WIPE.

There was a rumble in her voice, a disturbance in the peaceful tranquility.

“WHY? Because she had influence. Her parents knew the right people. She had 'tremendous upside'. They said her routine was fresh, invigorating, entertaining, even. UGH! Are they there to be entertained or there to judge a winner? Quality over quantity, but there’s always that underlying issue of human error. Human error and the ugly word ‘opinion’ just sitting there like a puss filled zit, waiting to be pop–”

"CRRRAA Get to the point, get to the point."

“---I was hurt. They said my routine looked as though it had been cut and pasted from someone else’s. That it wasn’t unique enough, wasn’t my own. I mean, DUH, I only spent 4,380 hours studying how to do something the best way from the best people—”

“CRAAAAA getting pretty long.”

“Well, my poooint here (fucking birds), is that I didn’t just lay down, ya know? I didn’t let it get to me. I could have packed it up, ya know? Days of twirling and bouncing on my toes in a tutu in front of a crowd could have been over. Done with.

Dead.

But no…..do you know what I did?”

There was another pause, but Jenny listened intently for the response, even raising her eyebrows from what she “heard.”

“Ummmm……no. Shake hands, say good job? You’re off your rocker. I broke the bitches leg, of course. Cornered her at park, took a screwdriver to all three of the major ligaments in the knee, snapped the femur clean in half and even a couple of toes for good mesaure. Made the entire thing look like an accident! But the best part about all of it?

Her screams, her pleads, her gut wrenching sobs.

The blood.

She cackles as more monkeys come out, all holding fruits.

BITE. BITE. SQUIRT. BITE. DRIBBLE. WIPE. DRIBBLE MORE. SLURP NOISE.

“I slashed her parents' break lines. They got into an accident on the way to the park…..hehehehehe, they couldn’t visit their little girl in the hospital, or in rehab……..hehehehehe……….because they were dead.”

All the animals begin to laugh and make noise . The monkey’s chatter. Even the birds were cooing.

“And the instructors, judges, anyone who kept me from my dream……they all were severely injured or died in violent ways. Some by my hand, some by my idea. HAHAHAHA but you see I have these asshats Jack Sparrow and Kangaye West questioning if I am really as X-treme as I claim……”

“CRRRRRAAA calling you a liar, craaaaaa liar.”

“They both think I am some chump, some poser, some fake. I think I showed Goth already, and Lupe Fellatio gets to find out tomorrow night. This entire company has been like my ballerina quest. It truly has. The difference is……I DID win, and I will CONTINUE to win. See, the monkey gets its.”

The stoller was empty.

She thumb-points over to a gorilla in sunglasses sitting again a tree, smoking a fake cigar.

The gorilla takes off the sunglasses and looks at her.

“Mam.”

“Mam. Excuse me, mam.”

“Mam! We’ve landed, you need to wake up.”

Jenny startled awake. She had been asleep on the plane. Apparently, they were on the ground in Milwaukee. She could feel the cold air seep through the planes exterior. Ugh.

++

[Image: Zl2aAaV.jpg]

It was a straight shot up I41 for about 2 hours. Her rental car was nice enough, but she took the damage insurance on it just in case.

The hotel in Green Bay was the closest to Lambeau Field that she could find. She made sure she had a room overlooking the south parking lot, where the brawl would be. The Queen wanted to look over the battlefield the night before the war.

There would be blood in the snow. It would run rampant. The parking lot would be red wit the blood of her enemies in just 24 short hours.

She pulled in and parked the car, locking it. Wheeling her travel bag behind her, she could see her breath. Of course, she would have an outdoor match. The sacrifices she made for this prize.

She thought to herself as she walked across the parking lot, was she really crazy? She remembered just a few hours ago, standing in line for baggage claim. She remembered looking at all of the people waiting to grab their luggage. She wondered to herself how each of them tasted, and how stretchy their skin was–could she make a new purse out of their leather? She quickly bit down those thoughts and grabbed her bag, heading to the rental center.

No, she wasn’t crazy. Manic depressive and bipolar, probably. But crazy?

Crazy is an interpretative word used by scared people who don’t understand. Morgan Seaman hinted at her being crazy, but he’s exhibit A for an ignorant fool who would rather point a finger and dismiss than truly try to understand

He would, soon enough.

She made her way up to the front desk to check in.

“HIYA!”

Jenny could tell it had been a long day already. The lady behind the desk had an expressionless face. People, and XWF staff, had been checking in all day.

“I’M JENNY MYST!”

Sigh from the woman whose hair was pulled back way too tight.

“Ms. Myst, yes, we have the room for you. Room 406, the King Suite.”

“Queen.”

“Pardon?”

“I prefer to call it Queen suite.”

“Okay, I am just telling you what type of bed it had, miss.”

“So say a Queen suite with a king bed in it.”

A deeper sigh.

“Fine, that. Here are your electronic keys. Checkout is 1130 am Monday.”

Jenny smiled at the cranky woman. Looking to the right of the woman, she saw a small wicker basket of dog bones. PEANUT BUTTER it said.

Jenny gabbed a handful, shoveling them into her handheld. She took 2 for herself.

“You ever had these?” she asked. The woman looked up at her.

“Have I ever what?”

“Have you ever had these?”

“I have not.”

“You should.”

The woman looked up at the weird woman at the desk. She clearly wanted conversation. Maybe if she just gave in, this woman would go away quicker. Another sigh.

“You have a dog then, I presume?”

“Sure do.”

“What breed?”

“He’s a king.”

The woman’s face softened.

“I have two king cavaliers actually. What kind?”

“He’s black.”

“Those are rare.”

“Yeah, and he's been a naughty boy.”

“They usually are.” She smiled. Apparently dogs, black kings in particular, are her soft spot.

“Yeah, so its cool if I take these?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re delicious”, Jenny takes a bite, crunching the dog treat between her teeth and chewing. The woman looked both disgusted and horrified. Jenny stood there for a moment, staring at the woman and chewing.

“Okay. BYE!”

She waved at the woman with child like vigor, and pulled her suitcase to her room, crunching the whole way to the elevator. The woman cringed with each one until she was almost out of earshot.

DING.

“Oh thank god” she whispered.

“HIYA! You ever had these—--”

DING.

“I need a new job.”

If you listen well you will hear the faint whisper of hope even in the darkest times. Find it. Grasp it. Share it.

The truth is in the trees.

Jenny was back on the road again, but she didn’t recognize it. The breeze felt harsher, it was cold. The sky was a bleak gray, covered in clouds. Drizzle.

The road under her converse felt hard, as she splashed through the dirty puddles. She walked, shivering in the cold. When she got to the trees, she gasped. They were barren, nothing like they were earlier. The fruits, where were the fruits!

Shriveled up and decaying. White puss seeping from their rotten wounds. Maggots. The beautiful array of red, orange and yellow were dark brown and maroon, wrinkled. She reached up to touch one, wincing. It was soft to the touch. She recoiled.

Where were the monkeys? They would make her feel better. Surely.

The monkey’s were no better. Many of them sat in the trees, some of them sat against them. All of them had their throats cut, the blood now hardened on their fur. Their eyes were milky white. Some had been dead longer than others. Some had various broken bones. One had its lower jaw ripped off.

Legs of zebras and horses were scattered around the wet ground. She felt a gag coming. She bit it back.

She stepped back into a puddle of floating blood. Her white converse was stained pink. She continued on, the sights getting more and more graphic with each new tree. When she got to the last tree, she saw the pack and play stroller. In it sat the doll. Her doll. The one that looked like her, with the shiny silver belt.

It was staring at her.

There was a stench of rotting flesh in the air, and sulfur. She stared back at the doll. DID IT DO THIS?!

She felt her palms closing and looked down. In her right hand was a large knife. She looked at it, then looked back at the doll. There was a golden snub nosed monkey approaching her. It looked beaten and battered, but it was alive. It reached out for her, as if for help. Jenny looked back at the doll, then back at the fuzzy creature that so recently brought her so much happiness.

She reached towards it, signaling it in for a hug. It complied. When she embraced the fuzzy ball of cuteness, without saying a word, she plunged the knife into its back. The monkey squealed, but crumbled. She pushed it to the handle, then ripped it out. She was shaking as she looked back at the doll. It had a smile on its face.

Then, it blinked.

Jenny startled awake again. She had dozed off in the chair in her room, overlooking the lot where she would successfully defend her legacy tomorrow. She felt the hair stand up on her arms. She liked it.

She knew what the dream meant. She knew the mindset she needed to be in tomorrow. She knew that she would have to hurt someone, and badly. She would have to do things to the human anatomy that weren’t meant to be done to it. She would have to do whatever it took, because what other choice did she have.

She would break bones, rip flesh, cut tendons. She would spill blood.

Oh yes, there would be blood on the snow.

She would show up at Lambeau Field tomorrow night, and she would arrive violently.

A tree blew outside her room, the branches cracked in the Wisconsin wind.

She never felt more dangerous.

[Image: QU4DixO.gif]

“Holy jumping fucking shitballs they said I WAS CRAZY. Gerrit von whatever the fuck over there is less stable than a banister in the Slayton house. One minute his chest is pushed out in brash arrogance, next he is taking us down an emotional memory lane, then he gets mad, then he cries. No wonder that Elizabeth Ashe cunt tortures you so badly Goth, you’re a total pushover. Whatever she says, whenever. You have the spine of an amoeba. No wonder it had been so easy for my hundred pound self to turn you into a human pin cushion. You’re a total cuck for anything with a set of tits and a vagina, alive or otherwise. It’s almost sad to watch.

I’m in a generous mood today though, so I’ll let you in on a little something. Are ya ready? Come here, come closer.”

WHACK!

“Real Goth’s don’t go around saying their goth, they just do it. They certainly don’t name themselves that. Out of all the social subcultures you could have mimicked, you chose the one that literally nobody wants to be. Then you rub it in our face like a toddler with play-doh. You look like you have 16 pronouns, and identify as a mistake. Your mustache looks like an eyebrow of a fat woman with thyroid disease. There is literally not one redeeming quality about you other than the fact that you had the balls to sneak into my dressing room and steal what wasn’t yours. You wanted my attention? Well, you got it, big guy. You’re on my radar for the second time. This time, a parking lot brawl in the frozen tundra at Lambeau, where I can finally put you down like the sickly dog you are.

Bullet to the head.

But that would be too easy for ya, wouldn’t it? Based on your soft-core erotic novel of a promo, it's clear you like pain. Pain, bondage and……tentacles? If a little droplet of blood gets you that worked up, then perhaps you should do something more suited to your comfort level. I heard the conference room at the Embassy Suites needs a food runner. The local Nissan dealership by my house needs a service tech. But not someone who works on the cars but one of those insufferable losers with the deadpan expression that type up the service order, then have an attitude when you ask why an oil change is $85. IT’S A SIMPLE QUESTION DOOOOD! Anyways,  I’ll put a word in for ya!

Goth I am going to end your delusional dream at Snow Job. I am going to bring you back to the realm of reality with brute force. I am going to prove once and for all that you’re nothing but a waste of time and money, and that you don’t belong on the main stage. After this loss, maybe Vinnie can grant you some sympathy and let you try your luck on Anarchy. Tommy Wish is probably more your speed, anyway.

[Image: feV0PY1.png]

Isaiah King wants to talk about heirs and usurping thrones. He wants to talk about being the next in line to hold the keys to the castle.

He can’t even reach the gates.

We’re different, King, that’s for sure. Cut from a different cloth, built from a different mold. You don’t have what it takes to do it like I do, you admitted it yourself. This whole X-Treme thing is not your vibe. Don’t blame ya, it's not for everyone, just ask Goth.

Pain kink or not aside, you don’t even seem interested in being in Green Bay Sunday Night. You spent the first half of that ‘promo’ bitching about your home city. Did we know that 15 people die in a city of 8 million from winter related causes, but losing a title from a wrestling promotion is ‘inconsequential’?

I can’t believe what I am hearing. Me, of all people, can’t believe the words that left your mouth and I still get excited for the Easter Bunny and believe in Bigfoot.

All this talent, all this god-given natural ability, and it's being pissed away like the punch after a frat party. That’s your biggest problem, King, you don’t want this bad enough. You don’t even want it bad enough to pay attention to what show you’re wrestling on (the final Warfare ever?). Go back to being a community activist and leave the destruction to us. Me.

You’ve been here for six whole months, yet you have the audacity to ask me how much blood is on my hands? I’ve done things Quenten Tarrantino couldn’t wet dream about. You don’t pay much attention to anything, do you? That’s obvious. If it doesn’t involve Isiah King, his team of publishers don’t bother to wake him up. Do you not know the unmitigated carnage that needed to be inflicted to even hold this title? I had to damn near kill two people. I had to choke the life out of Aphrodite Incarnate with barbed wire. She may never be the same again. I basically burned down Santa’s Village, threw a man off a monorail and then beat two large men to the very brink of their existence to defend this title. Even before that, I have been involved in some of the most brutal match stipulations in this company and more times than not, I come out on top. Your title defense at Bad Medicine was a damn singles match. A singles match against Marv Swaysons, the company's punching bag, I may add. Even the dipshit commentators we have snarkily commented on how your TV Title match at the Halloween Savage was rather, how did Heather phrase it, ‘ordinary’? But I’ll bet you’ll blame Graves there, huh? He dropped the ball, he missed his chance.

You should be glad he fucking did.

When I was Television Champ it was brutal stip after brutal stip, some of which I CHOSE. Hell, King, I lost my hair! I had my head shaved bald by Bobby Bourbon and I still came back to ask for a second helping.

Hell your defense against the byproduct of John Madison’s nuts was a CLEAN RULES match.

My head may be all over the place but at least I am not pretending to be something I am not. You’re pretending to be hardcore to woo the audience watching your overproduced garbage of a promo, when in reality you’re one sneeze away from shitting down your leg. If there is A-N-Y-O-N-E on this roster not qualified to talk about being hardcore, it’s you. You’re the epitome of bland, boring, vanilla. You’re talented in the ring and got a heart like Secretariat, but when the bones start breaking and the skin starts splitting, you’ll drop like a fucking rock.

I let my guard down and Marf exploited a loophole, but has he ever beaten me on-on-one? Have I ever LOST a MATCH for this title? I don’t need Maury Povich to reveal the answer to that one.

How much blood have I spilled? How much pain have I been through? King, you have no idea the horrors I’ve been through. The horrors I’ve put others through. Unlike you, King, I like pain.. So you aren’t sure I am still strong enough to do this? Good, keep that mentality up going into Snow Job, I beg you. It will give me that much more pleasure to tear you apart. I want to hear you scream through a blood filled mouth as I disembowel you slowly.

The only thing you said in your promo that wasn’t total horseshit was that I am not all there upstairs. Can someone get this guy a Nobel Peace Prize? Maybe offer him a scholarship to Oxford? He’s clearly got cognitive reception skills at a Bill Gates level. Brav-fucking-o.

You’re right, there’s a hotel in my head and it has a very high vacancy. Does that put me at a disadvantage? No. It makes me unpredictable. It makes me dangerous.

You claim there’s blood in the snow (which is stupid anyway because you’re claiming that it’s already there, implying someone else put it there because you’re too fucking incapable to do so yourself or understand the complexity of your own fucking metaphors), but  that’s… a lot isn’t it? How much blood have you had to spill, King? How many grotesque scenes have you had to endure? How much brain-damage will that… face have to endure? The face of the future?

Pssht.

A face attached to a head that didn’t even have the pistons firing for long enough to understand the very type of match you’re in. Did your PR people take a week off? You’re gonna spill me around the ring, are ya? Well that’s a novel concept, big guy, because it’s a parking lot brawl.

You absolute fucking donut.

Your friend Zeke’s blood was on the snow, wasn’t it? Bleeding like a stuck pig and what did you do? Stood there like a bumbling doofus with your thumb up your ass. When the shit hits the fan, King, you freeze like a popsicle. It’s in your nature, your DNA, it’s who you are.

Is it wrong of me to say I hope he dies? I’ll stay tuned for the cliffhanger, though I don’t have high expectations for an Emmy Award.

I’m not sure who is more of a cumstain, you or your bullet riddled bestie. There’s blood in the snow but you’re going to end to it? Jesus Christ, call Carnival Cruise Lines and get your people back, King, because trying to do this dance yourself is a total disaster. Like a complete abortion of an attempt at being even remotely competent.

I am so obviously slipping, though. Undefeated since claiming my prize and the most dangerous piece of ass on the roster, but I am slipping? I think you like to hear yourself talk a lot more than we like it. Only the strong survive the winter?

Only the strongest survive Jenny fucking Myst.

And in this kingdom of chaos, you’re the beetle crushed under my royal boot."

Isaiah King Corporation Said:"We regret to inform you that our client is the most ignorant incel we’ve ever had the displeasure of bottoming for, and from this point forward we are no longer taking any of the verbal diarrhea seriously. Thank you and sorry for the disappointment”


[Image: wcxW8EB.png]
]]> [Image: FpqCsGE.png]
You couldn’t ask for a more gorgeous day. The sun was radiant in the ice blue sky. There was a slight breeze, just enough to gently ripple your hair. Birds chirped in perfect unison, and a dog barked somewhere in the distance. The road below her was soft on her feet, as the soles of her Converse squished with every step. She wore one white and one black sneaker. She called them Yin and Yang.

Perfect harmony.

The wheels of the pack-and-play stroller crunched quietly on the pavement below, a slight hum as they rotated on their axel.

There were trees lining each side of the road. They looked like palm trees, but they didn't have coconuts. Instead, an assorted variation of fruits. All colors, shapes, and sizes. They were low hanging, too. Low hanging fruits were the best kind! Hers for the taking.

“Look! Fruits!” she said to nobody in particular. Monkey’s scampered around like tiny butlers, handing out fruits. The squirrels were pink!

Rows upon rows of low hanging fruit. Jenny plucks one off the vine, and takes a bite. Juice splatters all over her face, but she smiles with delight. Low hanging fruit is delicious!

She sits Indian style next to the stroller and wipes her face with her arm, the liquid from the low hanging fruit dribbling down her skin and making it shiny in the sunlight.

"I always wanted to be a ballerina. So elegant, so beautiful. Ever since I've been a little girl. I wanted it more than I wanted anything else. It consumed me for a good portion of my childhood. I was small enough, for sure. I thought I was pretty enough. There were plenty of little girls, plenty of which were talented. Some were more talented than me. Shit, most. But did they have my drive, my want, my desire, my primal need to be one? No, that they did not. They wanted it for the stupid tiara and the sparkly tutu. I hated every single of them with a blinding rage, especially Melissa. With her stupid over-done hair and toothy smile a mile wide. The parents loved her, the school loved her, and the community loved her.

I loathed her.

But I wanted to take the high road, ya know? Be confident in myself and such.”

She takes another bite of the juicy fruit, slobbering it on her face before tossing . the core behind her and reaching up to pluck another.

“So I saved up money, right? In my pretty pink piggy bank. I named it Clarence. Broke my heart to break him open, but if you’re gonna play the game you need to wear the uniform, right?

I had just enough for an outfit, and one or two classes. I was excited. I was living my dream, feeling like I was accomplishing some, yaknow?!”

BITE. SQUISH. DRIBBLE.

“......I get there, feeling like a million bucks, right?! I get there, and whose there? Melissa. Fucking Melissa. With her over-done hair and that mile wide smile, talking to all the instructors beforehand–making them laugh. Outgoing, too? She had it all.”

BITE. DRIBBLE. WIPE.

“Turns out…..she couldn’t dance for shit. About as coordinated as an ostrich after a keg stand. About as graceful as Jell-O. Made me all warm and tingly inside to see, you bet. The hours and hours of videos I watched until I felt like my eyes would bleed, studied until I gave myself migraines, practiced until I couldn’t put weight on my feet anymore. I had given my all for this because if you don’t, what really are you worth?

We went to the same class for months on end, and I got my jollies by trying my ass off, improving everyday, and watching her do literally nothing but be pretty. Sounds like someone else we know, huh?”

She nudged the stroller with her elbow.

“Atara, Atara!” the birds squealed from above.

“.......and after some time, there was a contest to pick Little Miss Nevada. Ballet was part of it and we had to make our own routine. Sounds cool, right?”

A small monkey riding on the back of a galloping zebra. She squealed in delight. This place is truly magical! It was like Disney World without the antisemitism.

“So more months of grueling videos, studying, practice and I thought I had a killer routine, right? Hell, I’d been working on it day and night, always tweaking it here and there to make it just a bit better at every turn. I went there, and I did my thing. I killed it. I got a standing ovation. To this day it still makes me cry to think about it.”

*SNIFFLE*

A golden snub nosed monkey walked out from behind a tree, holding out his palm and offering her another low hanging fruit.

BITE. SQUIRT. WIPE.

The breeze blew again and the birds squawked from their perches.

“CRRRAA…..Long winded, long winded.”

She paid them no mind.

“So after all of that……all of that……….who did they choose?”

There was a pregnant pause. The breeze ruffled her hair a bit and swayed the delicious fruit trees.

“You’re damn right. MELISSA FUCKING CUMMINGS.”

BITE. DRIBBLE. BITE. SQUIRT. DRIBBLE. WIPE.

There was a rumble in her voice, a disturbance in the peaceful tranquility.

“WHY? Because she had influence. Her parents knew the right people. She had 'tremendous upside'. They said her routine was fresh, invigorating, entertaining, even. UGH! Are they there to be entertained or there to judge a winner? Quality over quantity, but there’s always that underlying issue of human error. Human error and the ugly word ‘opinion’ just sitting there like a puss filled zit, waiting to be pop–”

"CRRRAA Get to the point, get to the point."

“---I was hurt. They said my routine looked as though it had been cut and pasted from someone else’s. That it wasn’t unique enough, wasn’t my own. I mean, DUH, I only spent 4,380 hours studying how to do something the best way from the best people—”

“CRAAAAA getting pretty long.”

“Well, my poooint here (fucking birds), is that I didn’t just lay down, ya know? I didn’t let it get to me. I could have packed it up, ya know? Days of twirling and bouncing on my toes in a tutu in front of a crowd could have been over. Done with.

Dead.

But no…..do you know what I did?”

There was another pause, but Jenny listened intently for the response, even raising her eyebrows from what she “heard.”

“Ummmm……no. Shake hands, say good job? You’re off your rocker. I broke the bitches leg, of course. Cornered her at park, took a screwdriver to all three of the major ligaments in the knee, snapped the femur clean in half and even a couple of toes for good mesaure. Made the entire thing look like an accident! But the best part about all of it?

Her screams, her pleads, her gut wrenching sobs.

The blood.

She cackles as more monkeys come out, all holding fruits.

BITE. BITE. SQUIRT. BITE. DRIBBLE. WIPE. DRIBBLE MORE. SLURP NOISE.

“I slashed her parents' break lines. They got into an accident on the way to the park…..hehehehehe, they couldn’t visit their little girl in the hospital, or in rehab……..hehehehehe……….because they were dead.”

All the animals begin to laugh and make noise . The monkey’s chatter. Even the birds were cooing.

“And the instructors, judges, anyone who kept me from my dream……they all were severely injured or died in violent ways. Some by my hand, some by my idea. HAHAHAHA but you see I have these asshats Jack Sparrow and Kangaye West questioning if I am really as X-treme as I claim……”

“CRRRRRAAA calling you a liar, craaaaaa liar.”

“They both think I am some chump, some poser, some fake. I think I showed Goth already, and Lupe Fellatio gets to find out tomorrow night. This entire company has been like my ballerina quest. It truly has. The difference is……I DID win, and I will CONTINUE to win. See, the monkey gets its.”

The stoller was empty.

She thumb-points over to a gorilla in sunglasses sitting again a tree, smoking a fake cigar.

The gorilla takes off the sunglasses and looks at her.

“Mam.”

“Mam. Excuse me, mam.”

“Mam! We’ve landed, you need to wake up.”

Jenny startled awake. She had been asleep on the plane. Apparently, they were on the ground in Milwaukee. She could feel the cold air seep through the planes exterior. Ugh.

++

[Image: Zl2aAaV.jpg]

It was a straight shot up I41 for about 2 hours. Her rental car was nice enough, but she took the damage insurance on it just in case.

The hotel in Green Bay was the closest to Lambeau Field that she could find. She made sure she had a room overlooking the south parking lot, where the brawl would be. The Queen wanted to look over the battlefield the night before the war.

There would be blood in the snow. It would run rampant. The parking lot would be red wit the blood of her enemies in just 24 short hours.

She pulled in and parked the car, locking it. Wheeling her travel bag behind her, she could see her breath. Of course, she would have an outdoor match. The sacrifices she made for this prize.

She thought to herself as she walked across the parking lot, was she really crazy? She remembered just a few hours ago, standing in line for baggage claim. She remembered looking at all of the people waiting to grab their luggage. She wondered to herself how each of them tasted, and how stretchy their skin was–could she make a new purse out of their leather? She quickly bit down those thoughts and grabbed her bag, heading to the rental center.

No, she wasn’t crazy. Manic depressive and bipolar, probably. But crazy?

Crazy is an interpretative word used by scared people who don’t understand. Morgan Seaman hinted at her being crazy, but he’s exhibit A for an ignorant fool who would rather point a finger and dismiss than truly try to understand

He would, soon enough.

She made her way up to the front desk to check in.

“HIYA!”

Jenny could tell it had been a long day already. The lady behind the desk had an expressionless face. People, and XWF staff, had been checking in all day.

“I’M JENNY MYST!”

Sigh from the woman whose hair was pulled back way too tight.

“Ms. Myst, yes, we have the room for you. Room 406, the King Suite.”

“Queen.”

“Pardon?”

“I prefer to call it Queen suite.”

“Okay, I am just telling you what type of bed it had, miss.”

“So say a Queen suite with a king bed in it.”

A deeper sigh.

“Fine, that. Here are your electronic keys. Checkout is 1130 am Monday.”

Jenny smiled at the cranky woman. Looking to the right of the woman, she saw a small wicker basket of dog bones. PEANUT BUTTER it said.

Jenny gabbed a handful, shoveling them into her handheld. She took 2 for herself.

“You ever had these?” she asked. The woman looked up at her.

“Have I ever what?”

“Have you ever had these?”

“I have not.”

“You should.”

The woman looked up at the weird woman at the desk. She clearly wanted conversation. Maybe if she just gave in, this woman would go away quicker. Another sigh.

“You have a dog then, I presume?”

“Sure do.”

“What breed?”

“He’s a king.”

The woman’s face softened.

“I have two king cavaliers actually. What kind?”

“He’s black.”

“Those are rare.”

“Yeah, and he's been a naughty boy.”

“They usually are.” She smiled. Apparently dogs, black kings in particular, are her soft spot.

“Yeah, so its cool if I take these?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re delicious”, Jenny takes a bite, crunching the dog treat between her teeth and chewing. The woman looked both disgusted and horrified. Jenny stood there for a moment, staring at the woman and chewing.

“Okay. BYE!”

She waved at the woman with child like vigor, and pulled her suitcase to her room, crunching the whole way to the elevator. The woman cringed with each one until she was almost out of earshot.

DING.

“Oh thank god” she whispered.

“HIYA! You ever had these—--”

DING.

“I need a new job.”

If you listen well you will hear the faint whisper of hope even in the darkest times. Find it. Grasp it. Share it.

The truth is in the trees.

Jenny was back on the road again, but she didn’t recognize it. The breeze felt harsher, it was cold. The sky was a bleak gray, covered in clouds. Drizzle.

The road under her converse felt hard, as she splashed through the dirty puddles. She walked, shivering in the cold. When she got to the trees, she gasped. They were barren, nothing like they were earlier. The fruits, where were the fruits!

Shriveled up and decaying. White puss seeping from their rotten wounds. Maggots. The beautiful array of red, orange and yellow were dark brown and maroon, wrinkled. She reached up to touch one, wincing. It was soft to the touch. She recoiled.

Where were the monkeys? They would make her feel better. Surely.

The monkey’s were no better. Many of them sat in the trees, some of them sat against them. All of them had their throats cut, the blood now hardened on their fur. Their eyes were milky white. Some had been dead longer than others. Some had various broken bones. One had its lower jaw ripped off.

Legs of zebras and horses were scattered around the wet ground. She felt a gag coming. She bit it back.

She stepped back into a puddle of floating blood. Her white converse was stained pink. She continued on, the sights getting more and more graphic with each new tree. When she got to the last tree, she saw the pack and play stroller. In it sat the doll. Her doll. The one that looked like her, with the shiny silver belt.

It was staring at her.

There was a stench of rotting flesh in the air, and sulfur. She stared back at the doll. DID IT DO THIS?!

She felt her palms closing and looked down. In her right hand was a large knife. She looked at it, then looked back at the doll. There was a golden snub nosed monkey approaching her. It looked beaten and battered, but it was alive. It reached out for her, as if for help. Jenny looked back at the doll, then back at the fuzzy creature that so recently brought her so much happiness.

She reached towards it, signaling it in for a hug. It complied. When she embraced the fuzzy ball of cuteness, without saying a word, she plunged the knife into its back. The monkey squealed, but crumbled. She pushed it to the handle, then ripped it out. She was shaking as she looked back at the doll. It had a smile on its face.

Then, it blinked.

Jenny startled awake again. She had dozed off in the chair in her room, overlooking the lot where she would successfully defend her legacy tomorrow. She felt the hair stand up on her arms. She liked it.

She knew what the dream meant. She knew the mindset she needed to be in tomorrow. She knew that she would have to hurt someone, and badly. She would have to do things to the human anatomy that weren’t meant to be done to it. She would have to do whatever it took, because what other choice did she have.

She would break bones, rip flesh, cut tendons. She would spill blood.

Oh yes, there would be blood on the snow.

She would show up at Lambeau Field tomorrow night, and she would arrive violently.

A tree blew outside her room, the branches cracked in the Wisconsin wind.

She never felt more dangerous.

[Image: QU4DixO.gif]

“Holy jumping fucking shitballs they said I WAS CRAZY. Gerrit von whatever the fuck over there is less stable than a banister in the Slayton house. One minute his chest is pushed out in brash arrogance, next he is taking us down an emotional memory lane, then he gets mad, then he cries. No wonder that Elizabeth Ashe cunt tortures you so badly Goth, you’re a total pushover. Whatever she says, whenever. You have the spine of an amoeba. No wonder it had been so easy for my hundred pound self to turn you into a human pin cushion. You’re a total cuck for anything with a set of tits and a vagina, alive or otherwise. It’s almost sad to watch.

I’m in a generous mood today though, so I’ll let you in on a little something. Are ya ready? Come here, come closer.”

WHACK!

“Real Goth’s don’t go around saying their goth, they just do it. They certainly don’t name themselves that. Out of all the social subcultures you could have mimicked, you chose the one that literally nobody wants to be. Then you rub it in our face like a toddler with play-doh. You look like you have 16 pronouns, and identify as a mistake. Your mustache looks like an eyebrow of a fat woman with thyroid disease. There is literally not one redeeming quality about you other than the fact that you had the balls to sneak into my dressing room and steal what wasn’t yours. You wanted my attention? Well, you got it, big guy. You’re on my radar for the second time. This time, a parking lot brawl in the frozen tundra at Lambeau, where I can finally put you down like the sickly dog you are.

Bullet to the head.

But that would be too easy for ya, wouldn’t it? Based on your soft-core erotic novel of a promo, it's clear you like pain. Pain, bondage and……tentacles? If a little droplet of blood gets you that worked up, then perhaps you should do something more suited to your comfort level. I heard the conference room at the Embassy Suites needs a food runner. The local Nissan dealership by my house needs a service tech. But not someone who works on the cars but one of those insufferable losers with the deadpan expression that type up the service order, then have an attitude when you ask why an oil change is $85. IT’S A SIMPLE QUESTION DOOOOD! Anyways,  I’ll put a word in for ya!

Goth I am going to end your delusional dream at Snow Job. I am going to bring you back to the realm of reality with brute force. I am going to prove once and for all that you’re nothing but a waste of time and money, and that you don’t belong on the main stage. After this loss, maybe Vinnie can grant you some sympathy and let you try your luck on Anarchy. Tommy Wish is probably more your speed, anyway.

[Image: feV0PY1.png]

Isaiah King wants to talk about heirs and usurping thrones. He wants to talk about being the next in line to hold the keys to the castle.

He can’t even reach the gates.

We’re different, King, that’s for sure. Cut from a different cloth, built from a different mold. You don’t have what it takes to do it like I do, you admitted it yourself. This whole X-Treme thing is not your vibe. Don’t blame ya, it's not for everyone, just ask Goth.

Pain kink or not aside, you don’t even seem interested in being in Green Bay Sunday Night. You spent the first half of that ‘promo’ bitching about your home city. Did we know that 15 people die in a city of 8 million from winter related causes, but losing a title from a wrestling promotion is ‘inconsequential’?

I can’t believe what I am hearing. Me, of all people, can’t believe the words that left your mouth and I still get excited for the Easter Bunny and believe in Bigfoot.

All this talent, all this god-given natural ability, and it's being pissed away like the punch after a frat party. That’s your biggest problem, King, you don’t want this bad enough. You don’t even want it bad enough to pay attention to what show you’re wrestling on (the final Warfare ever?). Go back to being a community activist and leave the destruction to us. Me.

You’ve been here for six whole months, yet you have the audacity to ask me how much blood is on my hands? I’ve done things Quenten Tarrantino couldn’t wet dream about. You don’t pay much attention to anything, do you? That’s obvious. If it doesn’t involve Isiah King, his team of publishers don’t bother to wake him up. Do you not know the unmitigated carnage that needed to be inflicted to even hold this title? I had to damn near kill two people. I had to choke the life out of Aphrodite Incarnate with barbed wire. She may never be the same again. I basically burned down Santa’s Village, threw a man off a monorail and then beat two large men to the very brink of their existence to defend this title. Even before that, I have been involved in some of the most brutal match stipulations in this company and more times than not, I come out on top. Your title defense at Bad Medicine was a damn singles match. A singles match against Marv Swaysons, the company's punching bag, I may add. Even the dipshit commentators we have snarkily commented on how your TV Title match at the Halloween Savage was rather, how did Heather phrase it, ‘ordinary’? But I’ll bet you’ll blame Graves there, huh? He dropped the ball, he missed his chance.

You should be glad he fucking did.

When I was Television Champ it was brutal stip after brutal stip, some of which I CHOSE. Hell, King, I lost my hair! I had my head shaved bald by Bobby Bourbon and I still came back to ask for a second helping.

Hell your defense against the byproduct of John Madison’s nuts was a CLEAN RULES match.

My head may be all over the place but at least I am not pretending to be something I am not. You’re pretending to be hardcore to woo the audience watching your overproduced garbage of a promo, when in reality you’re one sneeze away from shitting down your leg. If there is A-N-Y-O-N-E on this roster not qualified to talk about being hardcore, it’s you. You’re the epitome of bland, boring, vanilla. You’re talented in the ring and got a heart like Secretariat, but when the bones start breaking and the skin starts splitting, you’ll drop like a fucking rock.

I let my guard down and Marf exploited a loophole, but has he ever beaten me on-on-one? Have I ever LOST a MATCH for this title? I don’t need Maury Povich to reveal the answer to that one.

How much blood have I spilled? How much pain have I been through? King, you have no idea the horrors I’ve been through. The horrors I’ve put others through. Unlike you, King, I like pain.. So you aren’t sure I am still strong enough to do this? Good, keep that mentality up going into Snow Job, I beg you. It will give me that much more pleasure to tear you apart. I want to hear you scream through a blood filled mouth as I disembowel you slowly.

The only thing you said in your promo that wasn’t total horseshit was that I am not all there upstairs. Can someone get this guy a Nobel Peace Prize? Maybe offer him a scholarship to Oxford? He’s clearly got cognitive reception skills at a Bill Gates level. Brav-fucking-o.

You’re right, there’s a hotel in my head and it has a very high vacancy. Does that put me at a disadvantage? No. It makes me unpredictable. It makes me dangerous.

You claim there’s blood in the snow (which is stupid anyway because you’re claiming that it’s already there, implying someone else put it there because you’re too fucking incapable to do so yourself or understand the complexity of your own fucking metaphors), but  that’s… a lot isn’t it? How much blood have you had to spill, King? How many grotesque scenes have you had to endure? How much brain-damage will that… face have to endure? The face of the future?

Pssht.

A face attached to a head that didn’t even have the pistons firing for long enough to understand the very type of match you’re in. Did your PR people take a week off? You’re gonna spill me around the ring, are ya? Well that’s a novel concept, big guy, because it’s a parking lot brawl.

You absolute fucking donut.

Your friend Zeke’s blood was on the snow, wasn’t it? Bleeding like a stuck pig and what did you do? Stood there like a bumbling doofus with your thumb up your ass. When the shit hits the fan, King, you freeze like a popsicle. It’s in your nature, your DNA, it’s who you are.

Is it wrong of me to say I hope he dies? I’ll stay tuned for the cliffhanger, though I don’t have high expectations for an Emmy Award.

I’m not sure who is more of a cumstain, you or your bullet riddled bestie. There’s blood in the snow but you’re going to end to it? Jesus Christ, call Carnival Cruise Lines and get your people back, King, because trying to do this dance yourself is a total disaster. Like a complete abortion of an attempt at being even remotely competent.

I am so obviously slipping, though. Undefeated since claiming my prize and the most dangerous piece of ass on the roster, but I am slipping? I think you like to hear yourself talk a lot more than we like it. Only the strong survive the winter?

Only the strongest survive Jenny fucking Myst.

And in this kingdom of chaos, you’re the beetle crushed under my royal boot."

Isaiah King Corporation Said:"We regret to inform you that our client is the most ignorant incel we’ve ever had the displeasure of bottoming for, and from this point forward we are no longer taking any of the verbal diarrhea seriously. Thank you and sorry for the disappointment”


[Image: wcxW8EB.png]
]]> <![CDATA[The Father and the Spirit]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45496 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 16:26:23 -0800 Ned Kaye]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45496 The Father and the Spirit


The soccer field was bright, green, and pungent that morning. If you looked down just right, you could eye the dirt peeking through, just barely in-between the neon hue of the grass. Coated on the field were lines of white paint, stuck to the grass to determine the legal areas of play, but that wasn't what Ned was focused upon as he moved into a more advantageous defensive position while one of the opposing team barreled towards him. His eyes were locked onto the larger kid, swallowing his fear as best he could as he tried to intercept the ball. The score was tied and there was only a minute or so remaining in the game. It was now or never, Ned thought. 12 years of his life leading to this triumphant moment.

Ned's head bounced against the immaculate grass as he was collided into, his smaller body merely unprepared for the taller and wider boy. There were some calls from the parents lined up at the stands for a yellow or red card, however when the boy who knocked Ned down scored a goal, it was shown that these pleas were as impassioned as they were irrelevant. He watched helplessly from his cushion of earth as the ball flew past the goalie and strode into the net uninterrupted. He witnessed the scowls and heartbroken faces his teammates wore, all pointed towards prone, tiny Ned. It was the same old story of his life: get hit by some kid and receive all of the blame for being on the receiving end of another person's fist. He didn't even like soccer that much, but something about letting down his team- again, just tore him up inside. The walk to his father's car was like a shameful stroll in front of his peers, hearing again how little they thought of him. To them, Ned was dirt and the issue had been that he wasn't obscured by the grass like he should have been.

He was quiet for most of the car ride home, staring out the window and watching the foreground blur slightly as landmarks further away seemed to pass by slower. He traced a fingertip against the glass, trying to think of anything to distract him, but only finding the thoughts burrow their way through. His ears perked when his father spoke up.

“You shouldn't be so down on yourself, Ned,” he said in the most understanding tone he could muster, even though his attention was mainly on the road, “it's just one game. Y'all will get 'em next time.”

“It's always the time before next time,” Ned replied dismissively, his attention still mostly on the window, rather than his father. His dad rolled his eyes somewhat, uncertain how best to convey what Ned needed to hear.

“Buddy, I know it's hard to lose, but it happens,” David, for all his tact as a father, was horrible about repeating himself. This was the beginning of a spiel Ned had heard maybe a million times at this point and one he simply didn't have the patience for this time.

“No, you don't!” He shouted from the back seat, cutting his father off before he got into the meat of this long-tired lecture, “I suck! Everyone on my team thinks I suck! And all the other kids are stronger, faster, have played longer and I'm just crappy, old Ned!”

“Now listen here!” His father didn't enjoy sounding so stern to Ned, but he never liked hearing either of his sons talk that way.

“You do not suck. See, those kids might be bigger, and they might be quicker, but you know what that means? It means they're used to having everything given to them. They're spoiled and they expect you to roll over and take it and quit. But that means that you have to do something that they'll never get used to: you gotta try. And there is nothing more difficult to deal with for a spoiled brat than a kid who'll try. So, are you gonna roll over or are you gonna try?”

Ned's head hung forward a bit, his father's motivation already working some of its magic.

“I'm... gonna try.”

“What was that?” He asked his son loudly, looking to fan some of those flames.

“I'm gonna try!”

“And why is that?”

Ned looked up happily, noticing his father's smile from his glance at the rear-view mirror. There was a reassuring warmth to his father's smile. Something that reminded him that no matter what, there was somewhere safe to return to. A little safe haven in a world that felt chaotic and cruel. He didn't go on to win all of his soccer games from that moment forward, but he never got knocked down on the field again.

“Because I'm a Kaye and Kayes don't quit!”

“That's right,” David nodded proudly as he took an unusual right turn to head towards somewhere that might help cheer Ned up after the tough start to the day.

“How does some ice cream sound, buddy?”

“Cold,” Ned replied snarkily. They shared a laugh there in the car and, despite everything, for that brief moment, the world made a little more sense.


Cold.

That was the sensation that shocked Ned to consciousness. An icy, uncomfortable beam of water striking him and pulling him from the comforting, warm world of dreams and memories and sticking him back in the cool, gray hillside. This was the way he had woken up for the fourth day in a row now. Darcy protested against him putting up with it, but Ned insisted he would get used to it and it'd just make the training tougher.

He hadn't, but it certainly did.

Dewey Main sat in a handmade, wooden chair across from Ned's bed, holding a hose and pointing it at him, letting the water do its job. It was far from the kind of fatherly love Ned had experienced from his Dad, nor an exact comparison to the tough, but fair coaching he remembered Dewey for.

“You up, boy?” The older man asked, expecting a swift response. Ned was still attempting to process what he had dreamt of, let alone waking up. He attempted to gather his thoughts before trying to formulate a sentence.

The hose splashed him with another thorough blast of water, causing Kaye to shiver heavily. The cabin barely had any heating in these guest rooms. The drenching didn't help matters at all.

“I'm up,” Ned stated firmly, his teeth almost chattering with his eyes acclimating once again. Dewey's methods during these most recent training regimens felt... different, but he couldn't quite place his finger on the word.

“Bout time,” Dewey said exasperatedly, checking down at his wristwatch, “we're already running 3 minutes behind.”

He tossed Ned a towel, the fabric stiff in the chilly, stagnant air. It took him a few moments to dry off relatively, making sure to knock on the wooden door that led to Darcy’s temporary arrangements. Almost as soon as he was done knocking, she swung the door open and walked out, readily prepared for their departure towards the mountainside. Despite the change of clothes, Kaye’s hair was disheveled, and his skin drained slightly of its color. Being out here was draining in a way Ned struggled to articulate. Darcy was readily available to assist, however.

“You’re looking like a stack of shit,” she said, slightly smiling as she nudged his shoulder, “still enjoying ol’ Dewey’s training regimen?”

“I don’t recall turning my home into some sorta Hilton. If you’re enjoying yourselves, I’m doing my job wrong. I should probably also put a lock on the door in that case.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, stepping towards the door leading outside and nudging it open, the bitter winds of the outside world filling the room. The chill surged through his right shoulder, highlighting how sore it truly was. He knew where they were training today, but it didn’t make him dread it any less.

Today was the waterfall.

As they hiked through the hillside, Ned peered ahead. Despite the time Darcy and he had spent around Dewey, he held none of the warmth he recalled lying underneath the harshness that the man had held when they last met. Something inside Dewey has shifted utterly, but whatever it was eluded him. It would not for much longer.

The flowing river tumbled over the edge of the steep cliff, a few scattered rocks peeking out of the rapids. Ned had come to terms with heights a few years ago, but that didn’t mean that he liked them.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Darcy asked, setting up a place to sit and watch as Ned shivered softly, stepping closer to the splashing waters, “seems pretty stupid.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Ned tied a long rope around his waist, the end of it being held by Dewey as he stepped into the bitter, rushing rapids just a few meters removed from the edge of the waterfall. There was a small body of water at its base, but it was a steep as hell drop. As Ned was in place, Dewey began to speak, trying to place his student into the right mindset.

“What do you fear, boy?” He asked, his voice almost booming over the splashing waves pelting Ned as he stood firm, held in position by Dewey Main.

“Nothing,” Ned shouted, mostly answering out of instinct rather than honesty.

“Nothing?” Dewey gave a sinister chuckle, giving some slack to the rope that abruptly carried Ned inches closer to the drop behind him, “You sure about that?”

“Not a damn thing,” Ned muttered under his breath, trying to keep composed. Main seemed unimpressed. The slack grew, less abruptly, but it was to the point where Kaye’s heels were pressed onto the edge of the waterfall, feeling every wave bounce off of him and plummet below.

“Then I suppose you won’t mind if I do this if you’re so lacking in fear!” Dewey shouted, nearly letting go of Ned and letting him tumble over the edge. Darcy looked on in horror, even as the old man caught the rope in time.

“Will you cut this out?! You’re gonna get him hurt!”

“Not until he says it. Not until the man’s honest.”

Ned strained himself, his body shaking at the combination of adrenaline and the icy weather. Almost calmly, he answered.

“I… I am afraid. I don’t want to let people down. I care about those who get hurt by others' actions. I care immensely and I have to be ready…”

Dewey spoke in the first reassuring way he had this entire trip.

“Ned… you were always ready. Even I knew that.”

That’s when Dewey let go of the rope, allowing Ned to plummet into the water below. He panicked for a moment before an intense calm and serenity washed over him. As he pulled himself from the river, hearing Darcy curse Rob’s dad he looked up, basking in the glow of the sun that peaked through the clouds.

He could feel the warmth.




“The measure of any man is what he is willing to put himself through. How much pain he will accept and how much he won't.”

“I’m not always the best at setting that limit for myself. I get it in my head that to struggle and face pain head-on is what it means to be noble. But that isn’t the whole truth of it all, is it? There is pain you should accept and a level of suffering that is gratuitous. I don’t deserve to be defined by my worst moments, and I refuse to act any longer like I do. But you, Page? Your worst moments are your greatest, so to speak. We were both given a choice with our demons, and we have accepted them in distinctly different ways. I looked them in the eye and decided that even though they were a piece of me, they didn’t define the whole. Conversely, Chris, you realized that your demons were the only thing in place between you and being the kind of athlete you presume me to be: irrelevant and unimportant.”

“But I won this title fair and square, Chris. I don’t see a championship belt around your waist, yet you parade around as if the belts of your employees say anything about the man you are. Y’know, at some point, it all fell into place for me. I understood why you do the things you do. Why try and take out Rob or get in the way of Kido’s career or attempt to push me into the irrelevance you so greatly fear for yourself? Simple: because in the eyes of Chris Page, he is professional wrestling. It begins and ends with him and if something harms that illusion, then the rest of the cracks start to peek through. He needed to try and delegitimize any potential star without ties to him because otherwise… he must accept that this business doesn’t live and die with him. That’s why he’ll try and act tough, but when he faces the fastest rising star in pro wrestling, he does it on his turf, on his terms, and surrounded by his buddies, even his very wife, just in case. That’s why he’ll rattle his mouth about how CCPE is the most important and powerful thing ever, but also try to present them like plucky guys taking on “the world,” which, of course, is people handpicked by him to represent everybody else. A man who says his employees can come and go as they please but creates an entire crusade in the name of “loyalty.” Who the fuck are you fooling, Chris? Because it seems like it's just yourself.”

“You swoop in every time someone is proving themselves in this business to try and kneecap before they’ve kicked off or assimilate them into your brand. Cutthroat business acumen to disguise the core, simple, elegant truth of the matter: you’re scared that this business doesn’t need you, and you’re right to do so, because it doesn’t. To be perfectly fair, you’re not unique in that fact. Professional wrestling will outlast all of us and that’s okay. We’re not going to be here forever, nor remembered that way. But it eats you up inside that wrestlers like James Raven and Steve Jason and Centurion are just as recognizable as you, if not more, despite not having to aggressively advertise themselves. You know that bell-to-bell, where it really matters, you stumble short of the finish line in their wake and it is a searing jealousy, the same one you shared for Robert Main. You had to sell every part of your life away for a fraction of their recognition and success and it left you an angry, bitter, small man, casting the shadow of a tremendous ego.”

“And Chris, I crush egos.”

“You want to know the true identity of the person betraying Chris Page? The guy who will single handedly cause his organization to crumble into a pile of ash? Here’s your answer: it’s Page himself. Despite all of his immense talent at being the worst kind of human businessman, he desperately wants to stand alongside his peers, and he just can’t without a scheme or plot up his sleeve. Chris Page will never stop being an asshole because he doesn’t trust himself to be able to win if he isn’t. Sure, he’ll goof around the north pole, but that’s little more than whitewashing his long history of atrocious acts in the name of not sinking into irrelevance. The measure of a man is what he will put himself through and Chris, you simply do not stack up to me. That’s why I don’t work in your world. In Page’s narrative of professional wrestling, Chris Page is supposed to identify and decide the stars. He glanced at me and saw nothing. That’s all he expected from me. And whether or not he admits it, I defied this expectation, and the fact that I protect this belt is proof alone. I clawed my way back up after my entire career was supposed to be set in stone by this so-called “god of pro wrestling.” I’ve gone on to be the brightest star of the modern era, the man who unified the TV and Supercon, the man who traveled through hell and grabbed gold on the other side merely because he would try where others would give in. And the existence of a man like that is world-shattering for someone like Chris Page. For me? It’s Sunday night.”

“I know his crusade is doomed. I’m not fooled by his attempts to sway me or pretend like he has a chance at outmaneuvering the long stretch of time. And yet, I still burn. A fury spurred on by years of existing in a landscape that treated his delusions as reality. A landscape of bastards, barriers, and broken bones. A long list of people who deserved far more, whom I will pave the way for. I will put myself through any amount of pain to achieve it because it is worth fighting and bleeding for! That fact swells a burning passion in my chest that none can douse or tamper with! I am the man to tear this tower of hubris down and reveal the slime lying underneath. I’ve seen everything that he’s done, every awful deed, every idiotic plot, every self-important ploy and I shall be the first domino that knocks it all over in a pattern obvious to all but him. The next era of Chris Page’s dark, self-serving schemes ends before it is fully written, struck over by a swift swipe that erases it in one motion, delivered from my hand.”

He raised his hand, swiping in a quick, deliberate motion across his body as if he held a pen, the brevity of the moment drawn out by his pure intensity.

“Whiteout.”]]> The Father and the Spirit


The soccer field was bright, green, and pungent that morning. If you looked down just right, you could eye the dirt peeking through, just barely in-between the neon hue of the grass. Coated on the field were lines of white paint, stuck to the grass to determine the legal areas of play, but that wasn't what Ned was focused upon as he moved into a more advantageous defensive position while one of the opposing team barreled towards him. His eyes were locked onto the larger kid, swallowing his fear as best he could as he tried to intercept the ball. The score was tied and there was only a minute or so remaining in the game. It was now or never, Ned thought. 12 years of his life leading to this triumphant moment.

Ned's head bounced against the immaculate grass as he was collided into, his smaller body merely unprepared for the taller and wider boy. There were some calls from the parents lined up at the stands for a yellow or red card, however when the boy who knocked Ned down scored a goal, it was shown that these pleas were as impassioned as they were irrelevant. He watched helplessly from his cushion of earth as the ball flew past the goalie and strode into the net uninterrupted. He witnessed the scowls and heartbroken faces his teammates wore, all pointed towards prone, tiny Ned. It was the same old story of his life: get hit by some kid and receive all of the blame for being on the receiving end of another person's fist. He didn't even like soccer that much, but something about letting down his team- again, just tore him up inside. The walk to his father's car was like a shameful stroll in front of his peers, hearing again how little they thought of him. To them, Ned was dirt and the issue had been that he wasn't obscured by the grass like he should have been.

He was quiet for most of the car ride home, staring out the window and watching the foreground blur slightly as landmarks further away seemed to pass by slower. He traced a fingertip against the glass, trying to think of anything to distract him, but only finding the thoughts burrow their way through. His ears perked when his father spoke up.

“You shouldn't be so down on yourself, Ned,” he said in the most understanding tone he could muster, even though his attention was mainly on the road, “it's just one game. Y'all will get 'em next time.”

“It's always the time before next time,” Ned replied dismissively, his attention still mostly on the window, rather than his father. His dad rolled his eyes somewhat, uncertain how best to convey what Ned needed to hear.

“Buddy, I know it's hard to lose, but it happens,” David, for all his tact as a father, was horrible about repeating himself. This was the beginning of a spiel Ned had heard maybe a million times at this point and one he simply didn't have the patience for this time.

“No, you don't!” He shouted from the back seat, cutting his father off before he got into the meat of this long-tired lecture, “I suck! Everyone on my team thinks I suck! And all the other kids are stronger, faster, have played longer and I'm just crappy, old Ned!”

“Now listen here!” His father didn't enjoy sounding so stern to Ned, but he never liked hearing either of his sons talk that way.

“You do not suck. See, those kids might be bigger, and they might be quicker, but you know what that means? It means they're used to having everything given to them. They're spoiled and they expect you to roll over and take it and quit. But that means that you have to do something that they'll never get used to: you gotta try. And there is nothing more difficult to deal with for a spoiled brat than a kid who'll try. So, are you gonna roll over or are you gonna try?”

Ned's head hung forward a bit, his father's motivation already working some of its magic.

“I'm... gonna try.”

“What was that?” He asked his son loudly, looking to fan some of those flames.

“I'm gonna try!”

“And why is that?”

Ned looked up happily, noticing his father's smile from his glance at the rear-view mirror. There was a reassuring warmth to his father's smile. Something that reminded him that no matter what, there was somewhere safe to return to. A little safe haven in a world that felt chaotic and cruel. He didn't go on to win all of his soccer games from that moment forward, but he never got knocked down on the field again.

“Because I'm a Kaye and Kayes don't quit!”

“That's right,” David nodded proudly as he took an unusual right turn to head towards somewhere that might help cheer Ned up after the tough start to the day.

“How does some ice cream sound, buddy?”

“Cold,” Ned replied snarkily. They shared a laugh there in the car and, despite everything, for that brief moment, the world made a little more sense.


Cold.

That was the sensation that shocked Ned to consciousness. An icy, uncomfortable beam of water striking him and pulling him from the comforting, warm world of dreams and memories and sticking him back in the cool, gray hillside. This was the way he had woken up for the fourth day in a row now. Darcy protested against him putting up with it, but Ned insisted he would get used to it and it'd just make the training tougher.

He hadn't, but it certainly did.

Dewey Main sat in a handmade, wooden chair across from Ned's bed, holding a hose and pointing it at him, letting the water do its job. It was far from the kind of fatherly love Ned had experienced from his Dad, nor an exact comparison to the tough, but fair coaching he remembered Dewey for.

“You up, boy?” The older man asked, expecting a swift response. Ned was still attempting to process what he had dreamt of, let alone waking up. He attempted to gather his thoughts before trying to formulate a sentence.

The hose splashed him with another thorough blast of water, causing Kaye to shiver heavily. The cabin barely had any heating in these guest rooms. The drenching didn't help matters at all.

“I'm up,” Ned stated firmly, his teeth almost chattering with his eyes acclimating once again. Dewey's methods during these most recent training regimens felt... different, but he couldn't quite place his finger on the word.

“Bout time,” Dewey said exasperatedly, checking down at his wristwatch, “we're already running 3 minutes behind.”

He tossed Ned a towel, the fabric stiff in the chilly, stagnant air. It took him a few moments to dry off relatively, making sure to knock on the wooden door that led to Darcy’s temporary arrangements. Almost as soon as he was done knocking, she swung the door open and walked out, readily prepared for their departure towards the mountainside. Despite the change of clothes, Kaye’s hair was disheveled, and his skin drained slightly of its color. Being out here was draining in a way Ned struggled to articulate. Darcy was readily available to assist, however.

“You’re looking like a stack of shit,” she said, slightly smiling as she nudged his shoulder, “still enjoying ol’ Dewey’s training regimen?”

“I don’t recall turning my home into some sorta Hilton. If you’re enjoying yourselves, I’m doing my job wrong. I should probably also put a lock on the door in that case.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, stepping towards the door leading outside and nudging it open, the bitter winds of the outside world filling the room. The chill surged through his right shoulder, highlighting how sore it truly was. He knew where they were training today, but it didn’t make him dread it any less.

Today was the waterfall.

As they hiked through the hillside, Ned peered ahead. Despite the time Darcy and he had spent around Dewey, he held none of the warmth he recalled lying underneath the harshness that the man had held when they last met. Something inside Dewey has shifted utterly, but whatever it was eluded him. It would not for much longer.

The flowing river tumbled over the edge of the steep cliff, a few scattered rocks peeking out of the rapids. Ned had come to terms with heights a few years ago, but that didn’t mean that he liked them.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Darcy asked, setting up a place to sit and watch as Ned shivered softly, stepping closer to the splashing waters, “seems pretty stupid.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Ned tied a long rope around his waist, the end of it being held by Dewey as he stepped into the bitter, rushing rapids just a few meters removed from the edge of the waterfall. There was a small body of water at its base, but it was a steep as hell drop. As Ned was in place, Dewey began to speak, trying to place his student into the right mindset.

“What do you fear, boy?” He asked, his voice almost booming over the splashing waves pelting Ned as he stood firm, held in position by Dewey Main.

“Nothing,” Ned shouted, mostly answering out of instinct rather than honesty.

“Nothing?” Dewey gave a sinister chuckle, giving some slack to the rope that abruptly carried Ned inches closer to the drop behind him, “You sure about that?”

“Not a damn thing,” Ned muttered under his breath, trying to keep composed. Main seemed unimpressed. The slack grew, less abruptly, but it was to the point where Kaye’s heels were pressed onto the edge of the waterfall, feeling every wave bounce off of him and plummet below.

“Then I suppose you won’t mind if I do this if you’re so lacking in fear!” Dewey shouted, nearly letting go of Ned and letting him tumble over the edge. Darcy looked on in horror, even as the old man caught the rope in time.

“Will you cut this out?! You’re gonna get him hurt!”

“Not until he says it. Not until the man’s honest.”

Ned strained himself, his body shaking at the combination of adrenaline and the icy weather. Almost calmly, he answered.

“I… I am afraid. I don’t want to let people down. I care about those who get hurt by others' actions. I care immensely and I have to be ready…”

Dewey spoke in the first reassuring way he had this entire trip.

“Ned… you were always ready. Even I knew that.”

That’s when Dewey let go of the rope, allowing Ned to plummet into the water below. He panicked for a moment before an intense calm and serenity washed over him. As he pulled himself from the river, hearing Darcy curse Rob’s dad he looked up, basking in the glow of the sun that peaked through the clouds.

He could feel the warmth.




“The measure of any man is what he is willing to put himself through. How much pain he will accept and how much he won't.”

“I’m not always the best at setting that limit for myself. I get it in my head that to struggle and face pain head-on is what it means to be noble. But that isn’t the whole truth of it all, is it? There is pain you should accept and a level of suffering that is gratuitous. I don’t deserve to be defined by my worst moments, and I refuse to act any longer like I do. But you, Page? Your worst moments are your greatest, so to speak. We were both given a choice with our demons, and we have accepted them in distinctly different ways. I looked them in the eye and decided that even though they were a piece of me, they didn’t define the whole. Conversely, Chris, you realized that your demons were the only thing in place between you and being the kind of athlete you presume me to be: irrelevant and unimportant.”

“But I won this title fair and square, Chris. I don’t see a championship belt around your waist, yet you parade around as if the belts of your employees say anything about the man you are. Y’know, at some point, it all fell into place for me. I understood why you do the things you do. Why try and take out Rob or get in the way of Kido’s career or attempt to push me into the irrelevance you so greatly fear for yourself? Simple: because in the eyes of Chris Page, he is professional wrestling. It begins and ends with him and if something harms that illusion, then the rest of the cracks start to peek through. He needed to try and delegitimize any potential star without ties to him because otherwise… he must accept that this business doesn’t live and die with him. That’s why he’ll try and act tough, but when he faces the fastest rising star in pro wrestling, he does it on his turf, on his terms, and surrounded by his buddies, even his very wife, just in case. That’s why he’ll rattle his mouth about how CCPE is the most important and powerful thing ever, but also try to present them like plucky guys taking on “the world,” which, of course, is people handpicked by him to represent everybody else. A man who says his employees can come and go as they please but creates an entire crusade in the name of “loyalty.” Who the fuck are you fooling, Chris? Because it seems like it's just yourself.”

“You swoop in every time someone is proving themselves in this business to try and kneecap before they’ve kicked off or assimilate them into your brand. Cutthroat business acumen to disguise the core, simple, elegant truth of the matter: you’re scared that this business doesn’t need you, and you’re right to do so, because it doesn’t. To be perfectly fair, you’re not unique in that fact. Professional wrestling will outlast all of us and that’s okay. We’re not going to be here forever, nor remembered that way. But it eats you up inside that wrestlers like James Raven and Steve Jason and Centurion are just as recognizable as you, if not more, despite not having to aggressively advertise themselves. You know that bell-to-bell, where it really matters, you stumble short of the finish line in their wake and it is a searing jealousy, the same one you shared for Robert Main. You had to sell every part of your life away for a fraction of their recognition and success and it left you an angry, bitter, small man, casting the shadow of a tremendous ego.”

“And Chris, I crush egos.”

“You want to know the true identity of the person betraying Chris Page? The guy who will single handedly cause his organization to crumble into a pile of ash? Here’s your answer: it’s Page himself. Despite all of his immense talent at being the worst kind of human businessman, he desperately wants to stand alongside his peers, and he just can’t without a scheme or plot up his sleeve. Chris Page will never stop being an asshole because he doesn’t trust himself to be able to win if he isn’t. Sure, he’ll goof around the north pole, but that’s little more than whitewashing his long history of atrocious acts in the name of not sinking into irrelevance. The measure of a man is what he will put himself through and Chris, you simply do not stack up to me. That’s why I don’t work in your world. In Page’s narrative of professional wrestling, Chris Page is supposed to identify and decide the stars. He glanced at me and saw nothing. That’s all he expected from me. And whether or not he admits it, I defied this expectation, and the fact that I protect this belt is proof alone. I clawed my way back up after my entire career was supposed to be set in stone by this so-called “god of pro wrestling.” I’ve gone on to be the brightest star of the modern era, the man who unified the TV and Supercon, the man who traveled through hell and grabbed gold on the other side merely because he would try where others would give in. And the existence of a man like that is world-shattering for someone like Chris Page. For me? It’s Sunday night.”

“I know his crusade is doomed. I’m not fooled by his attempts to sway me or pretend like he has a chance at outmaneuvering the long stretch of time. And yet, I still burn. A fury spurred on by years of existing in a landscape that treated his delusions as reality. A landscape of bastards, barriers, and broken bones. A long list of people who deserved far more, whom I will pave the way for. I will put myself through any amount of pain to achieve it because it is worth fighting and bleeding for! That fact swells a burning passion in my chest that none can douse or tamper with! I am the man to tear this tower of hubris down and reveal the slime lying underneath. I’ve seen everything that he’s done, every awful deed, every idiotic plot, every self-important ploy and I shall be the first domino that knocks it all over in a pattern obvious to all but him. The next era of Chris Page’s dark, self-serving schemes ends before it is fully written, struck over by a swift swipe that erases it in one motion, delivered from my hand.”

He raised his hand, swiping in a quick, deliberate motion across his body as if he held a pen, the brevity of the moment drawn out by his pure intensity.

“Whiteout.”]]> <![CDATA[A Traitor in the Mix: Part Three]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45498 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 14:16:04 -0800 Chris Page]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45498 It shouldn’t surprise anyone that Nedski was busy filling some sandbags when it came to getting things done promptly, considering it’s normal when you’re booked opposite him. It makes me question if you REALLY want this or if are you going through the motions considering you put me to sleep three sentences in. You would have thought that rather than wasting your time with a recap you would have gone for the jugular; however, you’ve gone the predictable course because you’re a predictable talent.  No wonder you sided with Theo, intelligence isn’t a strong suit but more importantly no wonder you haven’t ventured out of the XWF swimming pool because the rest of the World will gobble you up faster than you on Theo’s taint. It’s asinine to sit here and think that this ends any other way than by yours truly snatching away something you’ve “worked” so hard to attain. You are the same guy that was a charity case back in 2019, and while others around you grew you stayed in the same fucking spot. You weren’t good enough for Main and company, you won a briefcase and fucked it up six ways from Sunday, and you turned on the fans to create this Avalanche that lasted what? Three, or four months? Now you have attached all over again to another faction of talent that has already started sinking.

You’ve bought into the wrong brand, again.

I’m not going to pretend that you’ve evolved as a talent, I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that you’ve shown any signs of real growth at all because the only time you find a silver of success is when the top names aren’t around. Well, kid, the big boys are starting to come back so it’s time for you to head back to the kiddie table. Now, unlike you, I’ve grown in our industry with every passing moment of every day. There isn’t a single twenty-four-hour period that goes by someone, somewhere isn’t calling my name. I’ve gone on and created something bigger than the profession with CCPE, and my name holds weight under any acronym you want to associate with it. Growth is everything, show me yours. I’ll wait.

While we wait why the fuck won’t you wake up and see that the only thing holding you back is the weight that you carry.

As you’re well aware I’m a pretty goddamn good businessman.

So let me tell you why you’re involved with this Saga because it has nothing to do with name value and everything to do with being Theo’s pawn to protect his precious King Raion. You, Jason Cashe, and whoever the fuck else is dumb enough to join this special needs parade can circle-jerk each other into thinking you truly stand a chance against anything my name is attached to. Theo is a jealous little cunt that looks at me and WISHES he has the reach that I do, he WISHES that he can do the things that I can; however, there is only one Chris Page. I’m the guy that’s going to walk into hostile territory knowing full well that the landscape is going to change not only in the crowning of a new TV Champion.

… but the traitor is going to show his true colors.

Businessman, Ned.

I know way more than I’ve ever let on.

____________________

It was Friday, noonish in Green Bay Wisconsin when one of the private jets of Chris Page touched down upon the tundra. The jet landed at a private aviation where a black, tinted, SUV was waiting for his arrival. When the doors of the jet opened it wasn’t Chris Page that emerged.

It was Kat Jones.

Kat made her way down the stairs of the private jet where a chauffeur was waiting in the bitter cold just to open the door for her to get into the back of the SUV, and it was there that she found Chris Page.

KAT JONES: I fucking hate Wisconsin.

CHRIS PAGE: Join the club.

You hear the driver getting into the SUV and putting it into gear as they start to head toward Lambeau Field.

CHRIS PAGE: Kat, I’m going to cut to the chase because we don’t have a lot of time. I’ve kept this close to the vest, and what you’re about to hear you’re not going to want to believe.

The tone inside the back of the SUV is all serious as Kat’s body language shits to a bit of confusion while she listens to Chris continue.

CHRIS PAGE: CCPE has a member that is about to jump ship.

Kat spits out sarcastically.

KAT JONES: Bullshit!

She laughs it off yet Chris’s expression doesn’t shift or change as he seemingly stares a hole through Kat’s head. It’s then that she realizes that this is legitimate.

CHRIS PAGE: For several weeks I’ve had investigators out doing a lot of research and gathering the proof.

KAT JONES: This doesn’t make sense, Chris. We just beat the World, why would anyone want to jump off the success train?

CHRIS PAGE: Because a few of CCPE lost sight of what CCPE was all about in the first place. I always said the only thing that would stop CCPE is CCPE and everyone around us was hoping that the personality clashes would bring down what they know they can’t stop.

Chris breaks away and tilts his head toward the tinted window at the exterior landscape alongside the interstate.

CHRIS PAGE: What I didn’t expect was it to be who it is, and if more are following his lead. I called you here because you need to be in the know about what is about to transpire. After all, once we get through Snow Job tomorrow night there isn’t going to be any going back.

The dude could have picked ANYTHING to put the odds in his favor but instead elected to go 30 with the Ali of Professional Wrestling. It’s funny because Ned can’t go 30 minutes in the bedroom let alone in a wrestling ring, ask his old lady… or watch any previous match. I can appreciate that you are on this quest to prove that you are on my level but I hate to break the bad news to you, but playing to my strength isn’t going to get it done. It was a foolish move to make in this human game of chess for no other reason than you’re giving me thirty minutes to have my way with you as I make you my bitch, and talk you through it every step of the way.

KAT JONES: Well who is it?

CHRIS PAGE: It hurts to even mention his name because he was a part of things before CCPE was ever a thing. I’ve got a lot to show you over dinner.

___________________

Apparently I made a mistake! Oh shit guys, Chris Page isn’t perfect! Go shout from the rooftops that I called Ring Master by Rampage! HOLY SHIT!!!

[Image: jonah-hill-excited.gif]

Or did I? Did I call him out intentionally to make you waste time correcting me? Hmmm… let me think, no wait, I’ll let you waste that time and energy while I continue to pound you on relevance so hard you’ll think you’ve woken up after a bender next to Dick Powers. Yeah buddy, you bite on the easy bait which is all the more shocking that you’re in a position of Champion to fucking begin with.

I hate to use the term shooting fish in a barrel but goddamn if the shoe fits.

So, the million-dollar question is what happens if I lose at Snow Job? Nothing. That’s the beautiful thing about being Chris Page because you dumb fucks waste so much time calling me old, calling me fat, or whatever elementary insult you can throw to the degree that if I drop a match it doesn’t matter. I’m still lined up with a marquee attraction with the DPI, I’m still the Number One Contender in three other organizations for the Word Titles that recognize the talent I have always been. The same can be said when I leave with that strap. Nothing changes, I’m not going to promote it, I’m not going to scream from the mountaintops because I’m going to treat it just as Theo has treated me.

Sheer disrespect.

___________________

We fade back in at Republic Chophouse in Green Bay on Friday Night.

[Image: 20191016_zeise_republic-ch_312-cropped-700x649.jpg]

The fine-dining steakhouse has been completely rented out by Chris Page. We find a roundtable with a white skirt and seated around it are CCP, Kat Jones, Peter Vaughn, Mark Flynn, Holden Ross, and Bam Miller. All have their drinks of choice in front of them as the conversation is joined in progress.

CHRIS PAGE: Let’s get down to the heart of the matter. I’ve called you guys here tonight because it’s time that I bring you into the loop. You all have heard the rumblings that CCPE has a defector in our ranks, and sadly, that is true.

Chris looks around the round table at his CCPE brethren taking his hands off a file folder that rests under his arms.

CHRIS PAGE: Inside this folder is the person that is going to show their true colors, and I have it on good authority that they might be coming to Green Bay. Seeing as they’re not scheduled to appear tomorrow night at Snow Job and coupled with they haven’t informed me they’re here it leads me to believe that true colors are going to be shown.

Chris passes the folder to Kat who opens it and takes a peak. She smirks while shaking her head with disgust before sliding it around to Vaughn.

CHRIS PAGE: I’ve never had a problem releasing anyone from their CCPE contract and everyone has always left on good terms.

Peter slowly cracks open the yellow file folder. His eyes immediately widen as he looks across at Chris intently while closing the folder and sliding to Holden Ross.

CHRIS PAGE: I don’t take kindly being forced into this position, yet here we are.

Holden opens the folder looking at the picture while letting out a “Pfft.” as he closes it and slides it to Bam.

CHRIS PAGE: As hard as it feels when you’re being betrayed I need to make it clear that under no circumstances are any of you to show up during the public execution of Ned Kaye unless I call for it.

Bam doesn’t open the folder and simply slides it over to Mark Flynn.

HOLDEN ROSS: Don’t you want to know who it is?

Chris answers for Bam.

CHRIS PAGE: Bam already knows. It was his hunch that got the proof. Now listen, I don’t make accusations like this if I haven’t done my due diligence.

Mark opens the folder and immediately slams it shut.

CHRIS PAGE: It’s all smoke and mirrors because CCPE is leaving with Universal Championship regardless of if it’s Vaughn or Flynn, and I am going to bury Ned faster than he does himself when he opens his mouth. Essentially, we are leaving with a pair of straps, but if he shows his face during the match with Nedski, all bets are off.

BAM MILLER: And everyone gets a brick.

Chris nods at Bam before addressing the table.

CHRIS PAGE: I know this isn’t what we want to hear, and I know that for some this betrayal might hurt deeper than others, but as long as we keep our eyes on the prize we’ve already established that nobody can stop us… Not even…

Just before Chris drops a name three servers wielding large food trays on their shoulder and a food stand in their free hand. The servers set the stands up and place the trays on them and begin dispersing the entrees of choice.

KAT JONES: Is it possible that you might be overreacting to this? I find it hard to believe.

CHRIS PAGE: If it’s true, nobody will be more hurt than I am. The XWF has a reputation for using people like me to make their homegrowns look good. If it didn’t happen at versus the World it’s bound to happen come Snow Job. These fuckboys think they’re smart when the truth is they’ve telegraphed their own moves every step of the way.

One of the serves places a Cowboy Ribeye in front of Vaughn, a bone-in Cowboy Ribeye for Bam Miller, a Wagyu Strip for Mark Flynn, another Cowboy Ribeye for Holden Ross, a New York Strip for Kat, and of course a porterhouse for Chris Page.

CHRIS PAGE: I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I do know we need to be prepared because the days of using Chris Page for personal gain have officially come to a close. All of you are on-site, and I don’t ask for a lot out of anyone, especially all of you. I just need you to have my back on this.

... To Be continued.

_____________________



I’ve never wanted to be wrong about anything more than I do about what lies ahead at Snow Job. This is an instance where I hope that paranoia has gotten the better of me, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not going to be prepared. Ned hopes that the traitor consumes my mind while he thumbs around making another stupid video game that you will all mark out for like it’s a second coming of the 1980s. There is part of me that feels like it doesn’t matter what I do the XWF is going to find a way to make sure that I don’t leave with your strap, I mean it wouldn’t be the first time the federation has fucked me over and it’s probably not the last.

Well, Nedski, my mind is on you.

I’m driven to end this nonsense that you are looked at as anything more than a boy playing a man’s game. You should do yourself a favor and speak less. I could shred your verbal garbage but then I’d be doing what I forced you to do. You want to believe that deep down inside you have what it takes to be looked at as a marquee player yet nothing about you screams leader. Part of being looked at as “the guy” is being able to carry a promo. When you open your mouth, you sound like a soccer mom.

You wrestle like one too.

Snow Job might be the biggest night of your career but to me, it’s just another Sunday.

You are the underdog.

You are the one with something to prove.

You are the one that’s under pressure.

… I’m just showing up and doing me. I’m going to return to the same place where I etched my name in immortality by winning the XWF Universal Championship; without any bullshit, without any nonsense, DEFINITELY clean and clear in the center of the ring, and I’m going to do it again with the TV Strap. You can hide behind your narratives; you can continue to throw Robert Main’s name around like it holds fucking weight because last time I checked I’m here… He isn’t. So, who’s career REALLY ended and who's thriving? One day you dumb fucks will wake up from your fantasy worlds and come up with something modern to speak on that doesn’t have more holes in it than Kaye’s promos.

Thirty Minutes, buttercup.

It’s going to be the longest, the most grueling, and subsequently your final night that you will get to have the opportunity to dance with the Ali of Professional Wrestling. You can knock me down, but you can’t put me out. You are just the next obstacle in my path, you are the only name left to cross off to close out January with five marquee victories while I move on to a bigger stage and while you will continue to flounder here in obscurity where you belong. The public execution of Ned Kaye is going to be on display, your blood is going to be shed, and you are going to pay the price for every thinking your name belongs in the same fucking sentence as mine. I’ll close by asking you the same questions that I asked your heart and soul as he headed into CCPE vs The World. Are you prepared to open your mind to the possibility that perhaps you’ve got it all wrong? But more importantly, what happens to you when you choke under the pressure of stepping into the ring and beating me?

And finally…

This is me punching down to your level, when will you punch up to mine?

When will anyone for that matter? Ned, Dare to be different because death is knocking at your front door, and it’s in the form of Chris MOTHER FUCKING Page! It’s been fun burying you, it’s going to be more fun beating you under the bright lights of Lambeau Field.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

[Image: nohemy-noh.gif]




















































































































































[Image: ezgif-5-d23a2f425b.gif]




























































































































[Image: fuck-you-middle-finger.gif]




How does it feel knowing that it took me to bring the best out of you?

Now you know how the rest of the industry feels.

Especially when it’s still not good enough.


Word counter: 2880]]> It shouldn’t surprise anyone that Nedski was busy filling some sandbags when it came to getting things done promptly, considering it’s normal when you’re booked opposite him. It makes me question if you REALLY want this or if are you going through the motions considering you put me to sleep three sentences in. You would have thought that rather than wasting your time with a recap you would have gone for the jugular; however, you’ve gone the predictable course because you’re a predictable talent.  No wonder you sided with Theo, intelligence isn’t a strong suit but more importantly no wonder you haven’t ventured out of the XWF swimming pool because the rest of the World will gobble you up faster than you on Theo’s taint. It’s asinine to sit here and think that this ends any other way than by yours truly snatching away something you’ve “worked” so hard to attain. You are the same guy that was a charity case back in 2019, and while others around you grew you stayed in the same fucking spot. You weren’t good enough for Main and company, you won a briefcase and fucked it up six ways from Sunday, and you turned on the fans to create this Avalanche that lasted what? Three, or four months? Now you have attached all over again to another faction of talent that has already started sinking.

You’ve bought into the wrong brand, again.

I’m not going to pretend that you’ve evolved as a talent, I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that you’ve shown any signs of real growth at all because the only time you find a silver of success is when the top names aren’t around. Well, kid, the big boys are starting to come back so it’s time for you to head back to the kiddie table. Now, unlike you, I’ve grown in our industry with every passing moment of every day. There isn’t a single twenty-four-hour period that goes by someone, somewhere isn’t calling my name. I’ve gone on and created something bigger than the profession with CCPE, and my name holds weight under any acronym you want to associate with it. Growth is everything, show me yours. I’ll wait.

While we wait why the fuck won’t you wake up and see that the only thing holding you back is the weight that you carry.

As you’re well aware I’m a pretty goddamn good businessman.

So let me tell you why you’re involved with this Saga because it has nothing to do with name value and everything to do with being Theo’s pawn to protect his precious King Raion. You, Jason Cashe, and whoever the fuck else is dumb enough to join this special needs parade can circle-jerk each other into thinking you truly stand a chance against anything my name is attached to. Theo is a jealous little cunt that looks at me and WISHES he has the reach that I do, he WISHES that he can do the things that I can; however, there is only one Chris Page. I’m the guy that’s going to walk into hostile territory knowing full well that the landscape is going to change not only in the crowning of a new TV Champion.

… but the traitor is going to show his true colors.

Businessman, Ned.

I know way more than I’ve ever let on.

____________________

It was Friday, noonish in Green Bay Wisconsin when one of the private jets of Chris Page touched down upon the tundra. The jet landed at a private aviation where a black, tinted, SUV was waiting for his arrival. When the doors of the jet opened it wasn’t Chris Page that emerged.

It was Kat Jones.

Kat made her way down the stairs of the private jet where a chauffeur was waiting in the bitter cold just to open the door for her to get into the back of the SUV, and it was there that she found Chris Page.

KAT JONES: I fucking hate Wisconsin.

CHRIS PAGE: Join the club.

You hear the driver getting into the SUV and putting it into gear as they start to head toward Lambeau Field.

CHRIS PAGE: Kat, I’m going to cut to the chase because we don’t have a lot of time. I’ve kept this close to the vest, and what you’re about to hear you’re not going to want to believe.

The tone inside the back of the SUV is all serious as Kat’s body language shits to a bit of confusion while she listens to Chris continue.

CHRIS PAGE: CCPE has a member that is about to jump ship.

Kat spits out sarcastically.

KAT JONES: Bullshit!

She laughs it off yet Chris’s expression doesn’t shift or change as he seemingly stares a hole through Kat’s head. It’s then that she realizes that this is legitimate.

CHRIS PAGE: For several weeks I’ve had investigators out doing a lot of research and gathering the proof.

KAT JONES: This doesn’t make sense, Chris. We just beat the World, why would anyone want to jump off the success train?

CHRIS PAGE: Because a few of CCPE lost sight of what CCPE was all about in the first place. I always said the only thing that would stop CCPE is CCPE and everyone around us was hoping that the personality clashes would bring down what they know they can’t stop.

Chris breaks away and tilts his head toward the tinted window at the exterior landscape alongside the interstate.

CHRIS PAGE: What I didn’t expect was it to be who it is, and if more are following his lead. I called you here because you need to be in the know about what is about to transpire. After all, once we get through Snow Job tomorrow night there isn’t going to be any going back.

The dude could have picked ANYTHING to put the odds in his favor but instead elected to go 30 with the Ali of Professional Wrestling. It’s funny because Ned can’t go 30 minutes in the bedroom let alone in a wrestling ring, ask his old lady… or watch any previous match. I can appreciate that you are on this quest to prove that you are on my level but I hate to break the bad news to you, but playing to my strength isn’t going to get it done. It was a foolish move to make in this human game of chess for no other reason than you’re giving me thirty minutes to have my way with you as I make you my bitch, and talk you through it every step of the way.

KAT JONES: Well who is it?

CHRIS PAGE: It hurts to even mention his name because he was a part of things before CCPE was ever a thing. I’ve got a lot to show you over dinner.

___________________

Apparently I made a mistake! Oh shit guys, Chris Page isn’t perfect! Go shout from the rooftops that I called Ring Master by Rampage! HOLY SHIT!!!

[Image: jonah-hill-excited.gif]

Or did I? Did I call him out intentionally to make you waste time correcting me? Hmmm… let me think, no wait, I’ll let you waste that time and energy while I continue to pound you on relevance so hard you’ll think you’ve woken up after a bender next to Dick Powers. Yeah buddy, you bite on the easy bait which is all the more shocking that you’re in a position of Champion to fucking begin with.

I hate to use the term shooting fish in a barrel but goddamn if the shoe fits.

So, the million-dollar question is what happens if I lose at Snow Job? Nothing. That’s the beautiful thing about being Chris Page because you dumb fucks waste so much time calling me old, calling me fat, or whatever elementary insult you can throw to the degree that if I drop a match it doesn’t matter. I’m still lined up with a marquee attraction with the DPI, I’m still the Number One Contender in three other organizations for the Word Titles that recognize the talent I have always been. The same can be said when I leave with that strap. Nothing changes, I’m not going to promote it, I’m not going to scream from the mountaintops because I’m going to treat it just as Theo has treated me.

Sheer disrespect.

___________________

We fade back in at Republic Chophouse in Green Bay on Friday Night.

[Image: 20191016_zeise_republic-ch_312-cropped-700x649.jpg]

The fine-dining steakhouse has been completely rented out by Chris Page. We find a roundtable with a white skirt and seated around it are CCP, Kat Jones, Peter Vaughn, Mark Flynn, Holden Ross, and Bam Miller. All have their drinks of choice in front of them as the conversation is joined in progress.

CHRIS PAGE: Let’s get down to the heart of the matter. I’ve called you guys here tonight because it’s time that I bring you into the loop. You all have heard the rumblings that CCPE has a defector in our ranks, and sadly, that is true.

Chris looks around the round table at his CCPE brethren taking his hands off a file folder that rests under his arms.

CHRIS PAGE: Inside this folder is the person that is going to show their true colors, and I have it on good authority that they might be coming to Green Bay. Seeing as they’re not scheduled to appear tomorrow night at Snow Job and coupled with they haven’t informed me they’re here it leads me to believe that true colors are going to be shown.

Chris passes the folder to Kat who opens it and takes a peak. She smirks while shaking her head with disgust before sliding it around to Vaughn.

CHRIS PAGE: I’ve never had a problem releasing anyone from their CCPE contract and everyone has always left on good terms.

Peter slowly cracks open the yellow file folder. His eyes immediately widen as he looks across at Chris intently while closing the folder and sliding to Holden Ross.

CHRIS PAGE: I don’t take kindly being forced into this position, yet here we are.

Holden opens the folder looking at the picture while letting out a “Pfft.” as he closes it and slides it to Bam.

CHRIS PAGE: As hard as it feels when you’re being betrayed I need to make it clear that under no circumstances are any of you to show up during the public execution of Ned Kaye unless I call for it.

Bam doesn’t open the folder and simply slides it over to Mark Flynn.

HOLDEN ROSS: Don’t you want to know who it is?

Chris answers for Bam.

CHRIS PAGE: Bam already knows. It was his hunch that got the proof. Now listen, I don’t make accusations like this if I haven’t done my due diligence.

Mark opens the folder and immediately slams it shut.

CHRIS PAGE: It’s all smoke and mirrors because CCPE is leaving with Universal Championship regardless of if it’s Vaughn or Flynn, and I am going to bury Ned faster than he does himself when he opens his mouth. Essentially, we are leaving with a pair of straps, but if he shows his face during the match with Nedski, all bets are off.

BAM MILLER: And everyone gets a brick.

Chris nods at Bam before addressing the table.

CHRIS PAGE: I know this isn’t what we want to hear, and I know that for some this betrayal might hurt deeper than others, but as long as we keep our eyes on the prize we’ve already established that nobody can stop us… Not even…

Just before Chris drops a name three servers wielding large food trays on their shoulder and a food stand in their free hand. The servers set the stands up and place the trays on them and begin dispersing the entrees of choice.

KAT JONES: Is it possible that you might be overreacting to this? I find it hard to believe.

CHRIS PAGE: If it’s true, nobody will be more hurt than I am. The XWF has a reputation for using people like me to make their homegrowns look good. If it didn’t happen at versus the World it’s bound to happen come Snow Job. These fuckboys think they’re smart when the truth is they’ve telegraphed their own moves every step of the way.

One of the serves places a Cowboy Ribeye in front of Vaughn, a bone-in Cowboy Ribeye for Bam Miller, a Wagyu Strip for Mark Flynn, another Cowboy Ribeye for Holden Ross, a New York Strip for Kat, and of course a porterhouse for Chris Page.

CHRIS PAGE: I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I do know we need to be prepared because the days of using Chris Page for personal gain have officially come to a close. All of you are on-site, and I don’t ask for a lot out of anyone, especially all of you. I just need you to have my back on this.

... To Be continued.

_____________________



I’ve never wanted to be wrong about anything more than I do about what lies ahead at Snow Job. This is an instance where I hope that paranoia has gotten the better of me, but it doesn’t mean that I’m not going to be prepared. Ned hopes that the traitor consumes my mind while he thumbs around making another stupid video game that you will all mark out for like it’s a second coming of the 1980s. There is part of me that feels like it doesn’t matter what I do the XWF is going to find a way to make sure that I don’t leave with your strap, I mean it wouldn’t be the first time the federation has fucked me over and it’s probably not the last.

Well, Nedski, my mind is on you.

I’m driven to end this nonsense that you are looked at as anything more than a boy playing a man’s game. You should do yourself a favor and speak less. I could shred your verbal garbage but then I’d be doing what I forced you to do. You want to believe that deep down inside you have what it takes to be looked at as a marquee player yet nothing about you screams leader. Part of being looked at as “the guy” is being able to carry a promo. When you open your mouth, you sound like a soccer mom.

You wrestle like one too.

Snow Job might be the biggest night of your career but to me, it’s just another Sunday.

You are the underdog.

You are the one with something to prove.

You are the one that’s under pressure.

… I’m just showing up and doing me. I’m going to return to the same place where I etched my name in immortality by winning the XWF Universal Championship; without any bullshit, without any nonsense, DEFINITELY clean and clear in the center of the ring, and I’m going to do it again with the TV Strap. You can hide behind your narratives; you can continue to throw Robert Main’s name around like it holds fucking weight because last time I checked I’m here… He isn’t. So, who’s career REALLY ended and who's thriving? One day you dumb fucks will wake up from your fantasy worlds and come up with something modern to speak on that doesn’t have more holes in it than Kaye’s promos.

Thirty Minutes, buttercup.

It’s going to be the longest, the most grueling, and subsequently your final night that you will get to have the opportunity to dance with the Ali of Professional Wrestling. You can knock me down, but you can’t put me out. You are just the next obstacle in my path, you are the only name left to cross off to close out January with five marquee victories while I move on to a bigger stage and while you will continue to flounder here in obscurity where you belong. The public execution of Ned Kaye is going to be on display, your blood is going to be shed, and you are going to pay the price for every thinking your name belongs in the same fucking sentence as mine. I’ll close by asking you the same questions that I asked your heart and soul as he headed into CCPE vs The World. Are you prepared to open your mind to the possibility that perhaps you’ve got it all wrong? But more importantly, what happens to you when you choke under the pressure of stepping into the ring and beating me?

And finally…

This is me punching down to your level, when will you punch up to mine?

When will anyone for that matter? Ned, Dare to be different because death is knocking at your front door, and it’s in the form of Chris MOTHER FUCKING Page! It’s been fun burying you, it’s going to be more fun beating you under the bright lights of Lambeau Field.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

[Image: nohemy-noh.gif]




















































































































































[Image: ezgif-5-d23a2f425b.gif]




























































































































[Image: fuck-you-middle-finger.gif]




How does it feel knowing that it took me to bring the best out of you?

Now you know how the rest of the industry feels.

Especially when it’s still not good enough.


Word counter: 2880]]> <![CDATA[Uncertainty]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45497 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 13:27:18 -0800 Ruby]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45497 From Ruby’s Go-Pro

These were calamitous times for the Super Dear’O. At least where wrestling was concerned. The highest of highs had soon been replaced by the lowest of lows. The loss of her Anarchy Championship, so soon after fighting many months to regain it, weighed heavily on Ruby’s mind. Her vigilante work seemed but a distraction since that unrighteous pinfall, and she went through the motions; putting down crooks and criminals as if she was a baker baking a loaf of bread, or an office worker prepping an Excel sheet for a Microsoft Teams meeting. It was routine. It was mindless. Joyless. And that was not what she was about.

Her dirt bike stopped in front of the cabin in the woods she had been sharing with Centurion, mud spattering all over the walls. She felt guilty about it straight away, as someone would have to clean that off in the morning, and it likely wasn’t going to be her, as she knew she was going to have to sleep in after this long shift. It had been joyless work, sure, but at least it had kept her mind occupied.

She opened the door and, to her surprise, Centurion was still sitting in front of the fireplace, with a tumbler of Laphroaig in his hand, the whiskey softly sloshing around the edge. He looked up as she got in, and put his book to the side.

Centurion: “Are you okay?”

A simple question. He didn’t mean if she was physically hurt. He was clearly referring to her headspace. They had been together long enough for him to notice when she was down, or not her usual self. And he had been there, at Anarchy, when the rules that Ruby loved so dearly, had failed her so utterly.

Ruby: “I’m fine.”

Centurion: “Bullshit!”

Ruby: “Language!”

Centurion: “No, you need to hear it. You’ve not been yourself lately. You’ve been… moody.”

Ruby: “I must be on my period.”

Centurion: “You’re not.”

Ruby: “So you’re keeping track of my cycle, are you?”

Centurion: “See? Moody.”

Ruby sighed, and took off her mask. Centurion was right.

Ruby: “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you when you’ve been nothing but supportive. ”

Centurion grabbed her gloved hands and gently pulled her into the couch.

Centurion: “You can make it up to me.”

Ruby giggled and shook her head, pointing at the Go-Pro that was still running.

Ruby: “Later, babe. I have to take care of a few affairs first.”

Centurion: “And exactly how many affairs are you having??”

Ruby: “Don’t be silly. How could I ever have eyes for anyone else?”

Centurion: “Good point. But make it quick, would you? It’s getting late and we have a tough weekend coming up. Snow Job and facing the Angels in Santa Fe is going to be hard. Well, for you, not really for me. Because you’re gonna be amazing, and I’ll have two occasions to cheer.”

Ruby crossed her fingers and made her way into the next room before slipping out the window and back into the cold night. Snow was beginning to fall steadily, covering up the banana-lime colors of Ruby’s outfit. She put her mask back on and suppressed a shiver. Now was not the time to show weakness. It was time to address the world, and one person in particular. She took to Go-Pro and spoke to it directly.

Ruby: “Friends, Rubinites, citizens, motherflippers of all ages… In this business, and life in general, introspection and retrospection are equally important. You have to know about where you come from, and where you are, to know where you’re going. Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle states that the more you know about something’s position, the less certain you are about its momentum. I thought I knew my position. I was so certain! At the top of Anarchy, its undisputed champion! I was so certain that I didn’t realize I was about to fall off a steep cliff, when YOU, Tommy Wish, took my Anarchy Championship away from me. And there’s a reason I use that phrase, rather than ‘beat me for the title’.

Often when I muse about my failings of the past, I come to the same conclusion. I wasn’t good enough. I have to improve. But at Anarchy, I did what I had to do. I made few mistakes. And I came up short, nonetheless. Now I’m not blaming you for accepting the title. I’m not blaming the referees for making an honest mistake. It happens to the best. But what I can’t do is accept the outcome of that match, Tommy. And even though you achieved your lifelong dream because of a poor decision, I have no choice but to make it right and be your rude awakening.

There’s a saying. “If you swim in foul play, you will live among plague.” The foul play that you profited from will not be the disease that spreads through Anarchy. That, I can promise you. My temporary failure as the face of this franchise is a major dip, but it taught me a valuable lesson. Even when you’re at the top, you can never feel comfortable. Never feel untouchable. Never take anything for granted. Which I admit I did when I saw your name on the last card. Fool me once, shame on you. But fool me twice… Well, I don’t like being made a fool of, just because I dress like a comic book character and behave like one. It’s time to show the people that you’re only truly beaten if you refuse to get back up, and Tommy… Do you really think you have what it takes to keep me down forever? When Lacklan, Fury, LSM and many others couldn’t? Well…”

Ruby grinned, and rolled her eyes at her own terrible pun she was about to send forth.

Ruby: “You wish, Wish! Badum-tsh! See you at Lambeau!”

*end of broadcast*]]> From Ruby’s Go-Pro

These were calamitous times for the Super Dear’O. At least where wrestling was concerned. The highest of highs had soon been replaced by the lowest of lows. The loss of her Anarchy Championship, so soon after fighting many months to regain it, weighed heavily on Ruby’s mind. Her vigilante work seemed but a distraction since that unrighteous pinfall, and she went through the motions; putting down crooks and criminals as if she was a baker baking a loaf of bread, or an office worker prepping an Excel sheet for a Microsoft Teams meeting. It was routine. It was mindless. Joyless. And that was not what she was about.

Her dirt bike stopped in front of the cabin in the woods she had been sharing with Centurion, mud spattering all over the walls. She felt guilty about it straight away, as someone would have to clean that off in the morning, and it likely wasn’t going to be her, as she knew she was going to have to sleep in after this long shift. It had been joyless work, sure, but at least it had kept her mind occupied.

She opened the door and, to her surprise, Centurion was still sitting in front of the fireplace, with a tumbler of Laphroaig in his hand, the whiskey softly sloshing around the edge. He looked up as she got in, and put his book to the side.

Centurion: “Are you okay?”

A simple question. He didn’t mean if she was physically hurt. He was clearly referring to her headspace. They had been together long enough for him to notice when she was down, or not her usual self. And he had been there, at Anarchy, when the rules that Ruby loved so dearly, had failed her so utterly.

Ruby: “I’m fine.”

Centurion: “Bullshit!”

Ruby: “Language!”

Centurion: “No, you need to hear it. You’ve not been yourself lately. You’ve been… moody.”

Ruby: “I must be on my period.”

Centurion: “You’re not.”

Ruby: “So you’re keeping track of my cycle, are you?”

Centurion: “See? Moody.”

Ruby sighed, and took off her mask. Centurion was right.

Ruby: “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you when you’ve been nothing but supportive. ”

Centurion grabbed her gloved hands and gently pulled her into the couch.

Centurion: “You can make it up to me.”

Ruby giggled and shook her head, pointing at the Go-Pro that was still running.

Ruby: “Later, babe. I have to take care of a few affairs first.”

Centurion: “And exactly how many affairs are you having??”

Ruby: “Don’t be silly. How could I ever have eyes for anyone else?”

Centurion: “Good point. But make it quick, would you? It’s getting late and we have a tough weekend coming up. Snow Job and facing the Angels in Santa Fe is going to be hard. Well, for you, not really for me. Because you’re gonna be amazing, and I’ll have two occasions to cheer.”

Ruby crossed her fingers and made her way into the next room before slipping out the window and back into the cold night. Snow was beginning to fall steadily, covering up the banana-lime colors of Ruby’s outfit. She put her mask back on and suppressed a shiver. Now was not the time to show weakness. It was time to address the world, and one person in particular. She took to Go-Pro and spoke to it directly.

Ruby: “Friends, Rubinites, citizens, motherflippers of all ages… In this business, and life in general, introspection and retrospection are equally important. You have to know about where you come from, and where you are, to know where you’re going. Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle states that the more you know about something’s position, the less certain you are about its momentum. I thought I knew my position. I was so certain! At the top of Anarchy, its undisputed champion! I was so certain that I didn’t realize I was about to fall off a steep cliff, when YOU, Tommy Wish, took my Anarchy Championship away from me. And there’s a reason I use that phrase, rather than ‘beat me for the title’.

Often when I muse about my failings of the past, I come to the same conclusion. I wasn’t good enough. I have to improve. But at Anarchy, I did what I had to do. I made few mistakes. And I came up short, nonetheless. Now I’m not blaming you for accepting the title. I’m not blaming the referees for making an honest mistake. It happens to the best. But what I can’t do is accept the outcome of that match, Tommy. And even though you achieved your lifelong dream because of a poor decision, I have no choice but to make it right and be your rude awakening.

There’s a saying. “If you swim in foul play, you will live among plague.” The foul play that you profited from will not be the disease that spreads through Anarchy. That, I can promise you. My temporary failure as the face of this franchise is a major dip, but it taught me a valuable lesson. Even when you’re at the top, you can never feel comfortable. Never feel untouchable. Never take anything for granted. Which I admit I did when I saw your name on the last card. Fool me once, shame on you. But fool me twice… Well, I don’t like being made a fool of, just because I dress like a comic book character and behave like one. It’s time to show the people that you’re only truly beaten if you refuse to get back up, and Tommy… Do you really think you have what it takes to keep me down forever? When Lacklan, Fury, LSM and many others couldn’t? Well…”

Ruby grinned, and rolled her eyes at her own terrible pun she was about to send forth.

Ruby: “You wish, Wish! Badum-tsh! See you at Lambeau!”

*end of broadcast*]]> <![CDATA[Green Gravy pt2]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45493 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 11:25:48 -0800 (Gravy_Xtreme_5000)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45493
Who the fuck cares, USA!!!



[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-26-10-32-28.gif]



Some dive that Micheal sought out. 



Inside: Rough and tough bikers? 



Bad ass brawlers?



A secret clan of ninja's in the midst of a hit on some local goat farmer fucker, who did not take kindly to Barney and Gravy's intrusion?



No, nothing like that. [Image: saddest.png]



Just a few sad looking old men drowning their sorrows in booze. 



Regardless, it would seem that Lady Gravy is balls deep in her plan to test Barney's capabilities in the ring.


[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-28-9-41-57.gif]


"Hey fuck it, right!?" Gravy raises her glass to Barn! "TO BOB!"

Gravy's sudden and character breaking toast to the stable that kicked her to the curb like yesterday's trash stuns Barney, but only for a second! They cling glasses and send the mind altering fluids down the hatch!

"Listen, Barn..." Gravy begins with a bloodshot and glassy look in her eyes. "I ain't ever said this to anyone and meant it..." She hesitates as a drunken memory springs to the foreground. "Well, other than my wife, but she was imaginary, so it doesn't count. Barn..." More hesitation from Gravy who, even drunk, struggles to be anything other than an ass. "I... um.. I loo-uh"

"I love you too, Micheal. Just like I love all of my BOB brethren."

Gravy's skin crawled. Hearing it seemed harder than saying it. 

"What!? That ain't even what I was trying to say!" She lies. We all know it, but her hesitation to clarify comes from the couple that just strolled in.

[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-26-15-54-56.gif]

 "Would you look at that!? How does a disgusting tub of lard like that score a bitch as fine as her!?"

"He's giving her something that she needs. Probably money. Sucks for him. I've been down that rabbit hole myself and the other end of the tunnel isn't pretty."

"You one of them "Captain Sav-A-Ho" types, Barn-O?"

"Hey, sugar!" The woman calls out to the young female working the bar. "If you think that you can find time in your busy day to come on over here and take our orders, it would be much appreciated."

Southern and sweet were the words coming out of her mouth, but still, they carried a certain considending tone.

"WOW! What a cunt!" Gravy exclaimed as she nudged Barney.

Of course, the couple heard her and the women seemed deeply offended as she egged the guy she was with on to stand up for her honor, but he doesn't seem eager to get involved.

"I wonder if all Southern Belles are loud-mouthed leeching cunts?" Gravy asks Barney before looking back at the lady and asking herself. "Hey, lady! Just curious; How many fuckers like him have you used up and left for dead already, huh!?"

It's at this time that Barney decides to add to the conversation in the most innocent way.

"Twenty or thirty tops. She's not that pretty, but looks to be getting a little long in the tooth."

"Desperate, Barn! That's what she is! Just like my Valentine of 2017, Dolly Waters! Long in the tooth!? Talk about it! It's been five years since that fateful night! Five years since we danced the dance of lovers, and five years since the name Dolly Waters being advertised for an XWF event garnered anything more than a groan from the audience or the fucking boys!"

"It happens, right!? Careers come unrailed all the fucking time. TRUST ME, I KNOW, the difference between most people and Dolly Waters is, it usually doesn't take 47 fucking attempts and counting at making a comeback to still be struggling to get it right. Lacklan's lackey!? Sensitive Dolly? Driven Dolly? Midnight Doll? Mental Abuser!? WHO THE FUCK EVEN ARE YOU LITTLE GIRL!?!"

"Say what you will about us, we know who we are! Barney Green is "The Daddy of Violence" and if you don't know why, you'll damn sure find out first hand come Snow Job! Me!? I'm whoever the fuck I wanna be whenever I want to be them! Why!? Because unlike you, Dolly, or your partner Charlie, who like you hides behind masks to keep hidden from the world your true selves; cowards! Well, Green Gravy ain't no cowards! Tell'em Barn!"

Barney, who is in a drunken stupor, looks around curiously.

"Tell who!?"

Gravy hammers another one home before she throws her arm over Barney's shoulder and points out the secret hidden camera behind the bar.

It's tiny!

[Image: ezgif-3-37a7cac63b.gif]

"Well, he is right. We aren't afraid to show the world who we really are."

"Damn right Barn, faults and all! Why is that, would you say!?"

"Because we don't give a fuck?"

"Fuckin-A, Barn! Because we don't give a fuck! We don't give a fuck if we win. We don't give a fuck if we lose. We don't give a fuck if we get hurt, and most especially, we don't give a fuck if we hurt you! If any of our performances have ever inspired you to think of us as clowns, then good! That just means we gain an advantage when you put little stock into what we CAN and WILL do inside of that ring!"

The sudden realization hit's Barney!

"Wait, am I in the match?"

Gravy smirks and pounds back another one!

I've never been the greatest at continuity, Barn. Figure the time spent trying to remember shit was better served practicing my eyeball scooping. Maybe? I don't know... Didn't we come here to perform a test?"

"I came here to get the swelling in my foot to go down."

It's then that a couple of new patrons enter bar.

[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-26-16-9-56.gif]

"Look at them, Barn! Tell me; why does a couple of bitches like that, get involved with a scene like this?"

"They're easy girls looking for love?"

"NO! Far from it! You ain't getting into those panties without the Jaws of Life, Barn-O! The only reason girls like that come to places like this is to make fun of the locals and feel superior! Seen it a million times! In their own habitat, they ain't nothin special. Just another set of pretty faces in a sea of'em! Here though, here they might as well be descended fucking angels in comparison, huh!?"

The two women take a seat in the far corner and almost immediately begin to giggle amongst themselves.

"Do you think they're she-males?"

"No Barn, they're something worse!"


DUN-DUN-DUUUN!


"Aren't you a she male?"


DUN-DUN-DUUUN!!!


"No, Barn! I'm a woman, and they're just a couple of capitalizing conceited cunts! They saw the same thing I saw Barn! Weak ass tacky glue champions! For fucks sake! One of them was just champion for like a week with Vita Valenteen! Where's Vita now!? Riding the fumes of that fancy vampirism "gimmick" right into the depths of Madness!"

[Image: ezgif-3-4dc5d38bda.gif]

"OH SHIT! THAT'S WHERE I'M GOING TO BE, IF I DON'T TURN THIS LOSING STREAK AROUND!"

"So we do care if we win, then?"

"Do we care what people think? Fuck no! Do we care if I lose and get trapped on Madness as an exclusive? Fuck yes! Now come on Barn! We gotta make sure that you're up to snuff, or else I ain't gonna have no choice but to yank Cadryn's dusty ass out of retirement for the upmteenth time!"

Barney is still unaware of whatever test Micheal has in store for him, but he follows Micheal as she approaches the table where the redneck couple sit. The woman has a sour expression, but looks away as Gravy walks up.

"I just wanna let you know that I think you dipshits are perfect for each other. Bloodsucking leech and and a Goddamned parasite. Maybe y'all do us all a favor and kill each other off yourselves! Real desperation on display there hooking up with this scuz bucket, darlin. It's not a good look, and while that fancy gold might feel nice now." Gravy glances at the engagement ring on her finger. "We both know the toll your wicked deeds will take."

Nothing from this woman. She isn't so loud mouthed now. Gravy turns to the guy next, but he's already had enough and jumps to his feet.

"Excuse me Mister, but I'm going to have to ask you to apologize or step outside!"

Gravy laughs in the guys face before looking back to Barn. "Can you believe this guy!? He just fucking misgendered me!"

The look on the guys face says it all. "I did what now!?"

Gravy's answer comes in the form of fist to the bridge of the nose!

"MISGENDERED! I'm a fucking woman you hillbilly piece of shit, and I can already tell that your manhood doesn't measure up to my womanhood!" The girlfriend rushes to his aid as Gravy grabs her junk and cups! "YEEEEEAH! Suck it!"

The two snooty girls watching on from their corner, giggle quietly the whole while.

Gravy and Barney share a silent nod to one another. Today, they're done being laughed at without repercussions. They close in, stalking the two girls with clenched fist smashing into their open palms. The girls slump into their seats.

They know they're about to be boned by the biggest boneheads in the XWF.


[Image: ezgif-5-d23a2f425b.gif]

[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-22-8-42-59.gif]

”Shit Barn, news travels fast as fuck around here!” Gravy says as the two Xtreme wrestlers stroll out of the back door of the police station like they belong there.

”Makes sense. You put a lot of people in the hospital last night.”

Gravy stops dead in her tracks. ”No Barn, WE put a lot of people in the hospital! Holy shit! I didn’t know that you could be so brutal!”

”Are you talking about that woman trying to body shame me while I was already breaking her boyfriend's legs?”

”Well, yeah!” Gravy resumes the lead in their quest to make it to Wisconsin in time.

”That wasn’t the first spleen that I’ve ruptured, and it won’t be the last. Besides, you did some pretty gruesome stuff to those girls.”

Gravy feigns modesty as she waves Barney off. ”It’s easy hurting fuckers when they can’t see.

”Where does that mist that you spit come from, anyway?”

Gravy sizes Barney up. ”You don’t want to know.”

”Ah, well, anyway. I bet that woman wishes that she never saw that leaked nude of me to try and make fun now.”

Gravy walks up to a police cruiser and checks the door. It’s open! ”I’m betting that was already the case long before you whooped her ass, Barn. Now get in!”

Barney hesitates. ”Um, are you sure that’s a good idea? We’re already escaping prison, maybe something more inconspicuous would be a better idea?”

Gravy waves off Barney’s concerns. “Pffft, don’t worry about the charges. I learned long ago that the XWF has a fucking superb legal team that always works hard to clean up my messes and divert as much bad press as possible. By Monday, all of the rags reporting on this will be writing retractions. Especially now that I’m an impressed minority!”

Barney shakes his head, likely trying to excise the stupid that Micheal just put in it. ”I think that you mean oppressed. He says as he opens the passenger door.

”No Barn, I know what the fuck I mean!” Gravy slides into the driver seat and gets to work hot wiring this bitch.

VA-ROOOOOOM!!!

Gravy cracks a smirk as she side eyes Barney. ”Impressed, because ever since I came out, everyone stopped being such cunts to me. You know why?”

Barney has nothing. "Why?”

”Because now that I’m my true self…”

Gravy drops this bitch into gear and peels out of the station drawing, obviously, tons of attention to their escape!

”People are FINALLY realizing how fucking awesome WE ARE!”

[Image: ezgif-3-51cef7e550.gif]
[Image: removal-ai-7ecebfd8-dda3-4b95-a48a-0da22cd68685.png]


"Equals!?! Angie Vaughn and Sarah Lacklan!?"

"Yes. She made a whole big thing about feeling inferior but came to the conclusion that they are in fact equals."

"Well, no shit!? Huh, I knew Angie was no joke... But equal to the woman who claims to rightfully still be our Universal champion, which I may point out, if true; would mean that she is the longest reigning champion in this company's like, entire history... And they're equals?"

"Apparently."

"Well if that don't just prove the Goddamned facts!?"

"They're the snooty bitches?"

"They're the snooty bitches! As if we didn't already know! Weak ass champions winning the titles with weakass shinanigans! Presumably primed to choke challengers! Perfect time for a couple of snooty bitches to waltz in on the rebound and take little risk for big reward while laughing at the competition!"

"The only problem with that is they didn't count on us."

"Oh, they counted, alright! They just forgot to carry the 1 and divide by 2! We ain't got the track record, and they all bright enough to see that Barn. They know we dangerous too! Even if they may be shy to admit such facts publicly. I've laid fingers on nearly all of'em, they know what's up! Even still, all that math adds up some good ass odds that this Sarah Lackan, former, current, possibly forever Universal champion and her sister who totally made her name for herself; which isn't even me being snarky, she's done a shit ton here since joining the XWF. Wins over numerous top names and one of the featured faces of Savage as the show took off in popularity at the expense of the formerly flagship show, Warfare!" *DEEP BREATH* "So, I don't really even understand WHY she was having such a breakdown at the sight of her sister... BUT! I figure mental instability like that can ONLY prove to our advantage."

"And speaking of advantages. Tables, ladders and chairs!"

"OH MY!"

"My specialty, you mean! They don't call me "The Daddy of Violence" for nothing. I've carved my reputation into the bodies of anyone that has dared to stand across from me. I've put my body through hell in order to put them through worse, and at Snow Job, I'm going to drink the pain away and do it again!"

"Carry the one! Barney Green is fired up! "The Green Machine" is primed, lubed and ready to rock!"

“Ready to rock! You wanna talk shop? I have no problem busting heads! I'm always ready and willing for a fight. I was World Champion. No matter how much people like to discredit it now. I climbed that mountain. Some fat guy from Boston, but that fat guy is as legit as they come! You wanna knock intelligence? I’ve lived and seen more of this world than about 96% of the population.”

"Holy shit!"

“The true "Daddy of Violence" ready to bring it at Snow Job. I have had so many light tubes and glass panels broken over my body that it doesn’t even affect me anymore. The blood I've spilled. It doesn’t slow me down when that essence of life flows out. If anything, It slows down time for me and allows me to be more effective.”

"That's the booze, Barn!"

"Whatever it is, I know that I never needed to fly off the top rope to make an impact and still don't. Strict brute force. Fight with your fists. I am not afraid to hit a girl. How's that for equality? Listening to Angie Vaughn talk makes me wish I was deaf instead of blind in one eye. Lacklan has never never intimidated me either. Facing a man who has nothing left to lose in life should be scary for her.”

"And facing TWO ought to be a damned nightmare!"

“Yes it should, because the "Daddy Of Violence" is going to drink the Nectar of the Gods and unleash the beast! The tag belts are coming home to Green Gravy. Graves may hate the name but its all good! I haven’t slept in like 4 days waiting for this moment. This is our moment!”

"Fuckin'A right it is! Ain't no shine coming from the top going to distract us from them belts! Tick Tok, you hear that Barn!?"

“Indeed I do! Time is coming for you, Nickel man. You may be the most hated man in XWF but that's only cause Micheal turned over a new leaf when she began hormone therapy! It means nothing once that bell rings. I remember the panes of glass we went through. Fighting you is like fighting my smelly twin, but that's alright. I just gotta hold my breath and survive. Your change is only good for wishing!”

"When you wish upon a star, wish for a partner less subpar!"

“HEEEEEELLLLOOOOOOOOOO, DOOOLLY!"

"WE'RE GONNA STOMP YOUR TEETH IN!"

"Ha! Gotta love that reference right there. Louis Armstrong! The man must be rolling in his grave right now, and I might be the only one who gets the reference, but fuck it. Ms. Waters, I have watched you grow into such a fierce competitor."

"No you haven't!"

"Okay, fine, I haven't. But, I am gonna be the one who puts and end to whatever rise you planned on making with Charlies Nickels under your thumb!”

"Her rise ain't been shit! Same ole, same ole! Find someone moderity over that's stupid enough to buy into the dream of Dolly. Leech until death! Goodbye Charlie!"

“Throw me another White Claw! Coming into Green Bay, Wisconsin. Gonna be one hell of a fight. I’m calling my shot and we, Team X-Treme, The X-Treme Alliance, Call us whatever so long as it's X-Treme OR Green Gravy!"

"NOT GREEN GRAVY!"

"Whatever you call us, WE are walking out of Snow Job with the Tag Team Championships! Gonna burn this bitch down to the ground!"

"OH HELL YEEEAAAAH!!!!"]]>
Who the fuck cares, USA!!!



[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-26-10-32-28.gif]



Some dive that Micheal sought out. 



Inside: Rough and tough bikers? 



Bad ass brawlers?



A secret clan of ninja's in the midst of a hit on some local goat farmer fucker, who did not take kindly to Barney and Gravy's intrusion?



No, nothing like that. [Image: saddest.png]



Just a few sad looking old men drowning their sorrows in booze. 



Regardless, it would seem that Lady Gravy is balls deep in her plan to test Barney's capabilities in the ring.


[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-28-9-41-57.gif]


"Hey fuck it, right!?" Gravy raises her glass to Barn! "TO BOB!"

Gravy's sudden and character breaking toast to the stable that kicked her to the curb like yesterday's trash stuns Barney, but only for a second! They cling glasses and send the mind altering fluids down the hatch!

"Listen, Barn..." Gravy begins with a bloodshot and glassy look in her eyes. "I ain't ever said this to anyone and meant it..." She hesitates as a drunken memory springs to the foreground. "Well, other than my wife, but she was imaginary, so it doesn't count. Barn..." More hesitation from Gravy who, even drunk, struggles to be anything other than an ass. "I... um.. I loo-uh"

"I love you too, Micheal. Just like I love all of my BOB brethren."

Gravy's skin crawled. Hearing it seemed harder than saying it. 

"What!? That ain't even what I was trying to say!" She lies. We all know it, but her hesitation to clarify comes from the couple that just strolled in.

[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-26-15-54-56.gif]

 "Would you look at that!? How does a disgusting tub of lard like that score a bitch as fine as her!?"

"He's giving her something that she needs. Probably money. Sucks for him. I've been down that rabbit hole myself and the other end of the tunnel isn't pretty."

"You one of them "Captain Sav-A-Ho" types, Barn-O?"

"Hey, sugar!" The woman calls out to the young female working the bar. "If you think that you can find time in your busy day to come on over here and take our orders, it would be much appreciated."

Southern and sweet were the words coming out of her mouth, but still, they carried a certain considending tone.

"WOW! What a cunt!" Gravy exclaimed as she nudged Barney.

Of course, the couple heard her and the women seemed deeply offended as she egged the guy she was with on to stand up for her honor, but he doesn't seem eager to get involved.

"I wonder if all Southern Belles are loud-mouthed leeching cunts?" Gravy asks Barney before looking back at the lady and asking herself. "Hey, lady! Just curious; How many fuckers like him have you used up and left for dead already, huh!?"

It's at this time that Barney decides to add to the conversation in the most innocent way.

"Twenty or thirty tops. She's not that pretty, but looks to be getting a little long in the tooth."

"Desperate, Barn! That's what she is! Just like my Valentine of 2017, Dolly Waters! Long in the tooth!? Talk about it! It's been five years since that fateful night! Five years since we danced the dance of lovers, and five years since the name Dolly Waters being advertised for an XWF event garnered anything more than a groan from the audience or the fucking boys!"

"It happens, right!? Careers come unrailed all the fucking time. TRUST ME, I KNOW, the difference between most people and Dolly Waters is, it usually doesn't take 47 fucking attempts and counting at making a comeback to still be struggling to get it right. Lacklan's lackey!? Sensitive Dolly? Driven Dolly? Midnight Doll? Mental Abuser!? WHO THE FUCK EVEN ARE YOU LITTLE GIRL!?!"

"Say what you will about us, we know who we are! Barney Green is "The Daddy of Violence" and if you don't know why, you'll damn sure find out first hand come Snow Job! Me!? I'm whoever the fuck I wanna be whenever I want to be them! Why!? Because unlike you, Dolly, or your partner Charlie, who like you hides behind masks to keep hidden from the world your true selves; cowards! Well, Green Gravy ain't no cowards! Tell'em Barn!"

Barney, who is in a drunken stupor, looks around curiously.

"Tell who!?"

Gravy hammers another one home before she throws her arm over Barney's shoulder and points out the secret hidden camera behind the bar.

It's tiny!

[Image: ezgif-3-37a7cac63b.gif]

"Well, he is right. We aren't afraid to show the world who we really are."

"Damn right Barn, faults and all! Why is that, would you say!?"

"Because we don't give a fuck?"

"Fuckin-A, Barn! Because we don't give a fuck! We don't give a fuck if we win. We don't give a fuck if we lose. We don't give a fuck if we get hurt, and most especially, we don't give a fuck if we hurt you! If any of our performances have ever inspired you to think of us as clowns, then good! That just means we gain an advantage when you put little stock into what we CAN and WILL do inside of that ring!"

The sudden realization hit's Barney!

"Wait, am I in the match?"

Gravy smirks and pounds back another one!

I've never been the greatest at continuity, Barn. Figure the time spent trying to remember shit was better served practicing my eyeball scooping. Maybe? I don't know... Didn't we come here to perform a test?"

"I came here to get the swelling in my foot to go down."

It's then that a couple of new patrons enter bar.

[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-26-16-9-56.gif]

"Look at them, Barn! Tell me; why does a couple of bitches like that, get involved with a scene like this?"

"They're easy girls looking for love?"

"NO! Far from it! You ain't getting into those panties without the Jaws of Life, Barn-O! The only reason girls like that come to places like this is to make fun of the locals and feel superior! Seen it a million times! In their own habitat, they ain't nothin special. Just another set of pretty faces in a sea of'em! Here though, here they might as well be descended fucking angels in comparison, huh!?"

The two women take a seat in the far corner and almost immediately begin to giggle amongst themselves.

"Do you think they're she-males?"

"No Barn, they're something worse!"


DUN-DUN-DUUUN!


"Aren't you a she male?"


DUN-DUN-DUUUN!!!


"No, Barn! I'm a woman, and they're just a couple of capitalizing conceited cunts! They saw the same thing I saw Barn! Weak ass tacky glue champions! For fucks sake! One of them was just champion for like a week with Vita Valenteen! Where's Vita now!? Riding the fumes of that fancy vampirism "gimmick" right into the depths of Madness!"

[Image: ezgif-3-4dc5d38bda.gif]

"OH SHIT! THAT'S WHERE I'M GOING TO BE, IF I DON'T TURN THIS LOSING STREAK AROUND!"

"So we do care if we win, then?"

"Do we care what people think? Fuck no! Do we care if I lose and get trapped on Madness as an exclusive? Fuck yes! Now come on Barn! We gotta make sure that you're up to snuff, or else I ain't gonna have no choice but to yank Cadryn's dusty ass out of retirement for the upmteenth time!"

Barney is still unaware of whatever test Micheal has in store for him, but he follows Micheal as she approaches the table where the redneck couple sit. The woman has a sour expression, but looks away as Gravy walks up.

"I just wanna let you know that I think you dipshits are perfect for each other. Bloodsucking leech and and a Goddamned parasite. Maybe y'all do us all a favor and kill each other off yourselves! Real desperation on display there hooking up with this scuz bucket, darlin. It's not a good look, and while that fancy gold might feel nice now." Gravy glances at the engagement ring on her finger. "We both know the toll your wicked deeds will take."

Nothing from this woman. She isn't so loud mouthed now. Gravy turns to the guy next, but he's already had enough and jumps to his feet.

"Excuse me Mister, but I'm going to have to ask you to apologize or step outside!"

Gravy laughs in the guys face before looking back to Barn. "Can you believe this guy!? He just fucking misgendered me!"

The look on the guys face says it all. "I did what now!?"

Gravy's answer comes in the form of fist to the bridge of the nose!

"MISGENDERED! I'm a fucking woman you hillbilly piece of shit, and I can already tell that your manhood doesn't measure up to my womanhood!" The girlfriend rushes to his aid as Gravy grabs her junk and cups! "YEEEEEAH! Suck it!"

The two snooty girls watching on from their corner, giggle quietly the whole while.

Gravy and Barney share a silent nod to one another. Today, they're done being laughed at without repercussions. They close in, stalking the two girls with clenched fist smashing into their open palms. The girls slump into their seats.

They know they're about to be boned by the biggest boneheads in the XWF.


[Image: ezgif-5-d23a2f425b.gif]

[Image: MOSHED-2023-1-22-8-42-59.gif]

”Shit Barn, news travels fast as fuck around here!” Gravy says as the two Xtreme wrestlers stroll out of the back door of the police station like they belong there.

”Makes sense. You put a lot of people in the hospital last night.”

Gravy stops dead in her tracks. ”No Barn, WE put a lot of people in the hospital! Holy shit! I didn’t know that you could be so brutal!”

”Are you talking about that woman trying to body shame me while I was already breaking her boyfriend's legs?”

”Well, yeah!” Gravy resumes the lead in their quest to make it to Wisconsin in time.

”That wasn’t the first spleen that I’ve ruptured, and it won’t be the last. Besides, you did some pretty gruesome stuff to those girls.”

Gravy feigns modesty as she waves Barney off. ”It’s easy hurting fuckers when they can’t see.

”Where does that mist that you spit come from, anyway?”

Gravy sizes Barney up. ”You don’t want to know.”

”Ah, well, anyway. I bet that woman wishes that she never saw that leaked nude of me to try and make fun now.”

Gravy walks up to a police cruiser and checks the door. It’s open! ”I’m betting that was already the case long before you whooped her ass, Barn. Now get in!”

Barney hesitates. ”Um, are you sure that’s a good idea? We’re already escaping prison, maybe something more inconspicuous would be a better idea?”

Gravy waves off Barney’s concerns. “Pffft, don’t worry about the charges. I learned long ago that the XWF has a fucking superb legal team that always works hard to clean up my messes and divert as much bad press as possible. By Monday, all of the rags reporting on this will be writing retractions. Especially now that I’m an impressed minority!”

Barney shakes his head, likely trying to excise the stupid that Micheal just put in it. ”I think that you mean oppressed. He says as he opens the passenger door.

”No Barn, I know what the fuck I mean!” Gravy slides into the driver seat and gets to work hot wiring this bitch.

VA-ROOOOOOM!!!

Gravy cracks a smirk as she side eyes Barney. ”Impressed, because ever since I came out, everyone stopped being such cunts to me. You know why?”

Barney has nothing. "Why?”

”Because now that I’m my true self…”

Gravy drops this bitch into gear and peels out of the station drawing, obviously, tons of attention to their escape!

”People are FINALLY realizing how fucking awesome WE ARE!”

[Image: ezgif-3-51cef7e550.gif]
[Image: removal-ai-7ecebfd8-dda3-4b95-a48a-0da22cd68685.png]


"Equals!?! Angie Vaughn and Sarah Lacklan!?"

"Yes. She made a whole big thing about feeling inferior but came to the conclusion that they are in fact equals."

"Well, no shit!? Huh, I knew Angie was no joke... But equal to the woman who claims to rightfully still be our Universal champion, which I may point out, if true; would mean that she is the longest reigning champion in this company's like, entire history... And they're equals?"

"Apparently."

"Well if that don't just prove the Goddamned facts!?"

"They're the snooty bitches?"

"They're the snooty bitches! As if we didn't already know! Weak ass champions winning the titles with weakass shinanigans! Presumably primed to choke challengers! Perfect time for a couple of snooty bitches to waltz in on the rebound and take little risk for big reward while laughing at the competition!"

"The only problem with that is they didn't count on us."

"Oh, they counted, alright! They just forgot to carry the 1 and divide by 2! We ain't got the track record, and they all bright enough to see that Barn. They know we dangerous too! Even if they may be shy to admit such facts publicly. I've laid fingers on nearly all of'em, they know what's up! Even still, all that math adds up some good ass odds that this Sarah Lackan, former, current, possibly forever Universal champion and her sister who totally made her name for herself; which isn't even me being snarky, she's done a shit ton here since joining the XWF. Wins over numerous top names and one of the featured faces of Savage as the show took off in popularity at the expense of the formerly flagship show, Warfare!" *DEEP BREATH* "So, I don't really even understand WHY she was having such a breakdown at the sight of her sister... BUT! I figure mental instability like that can ONLY prove to our advantage."

"And speaking of advantages. Tables, ladders and chairs!"

"OH MY!"

"My specialty, you mean! They don't call me "The Daddy of Violence" for nothing. I've carved my reputation into the bodies of anyone that has dared to stand across from me. I've put my body through hell in order to put them through worse, and at Snow Job, I'm going to drink the pain away and do it again!"

"Carry the one! Barney Green is fired up! "The Green Machine" is primed, lubed and ready to rock!"

“Ready to rock! You wanna talk shop? I have no problem busting heads! I'm always ready and willing for a fight. I was World Champion. No matter how much people like to discredit it now. I climbed that mountain. Some fat guy from Boston, but that fat guy is as legit as they come! You wanna knock intelligence? I’ve lived and seen more of this world than about 96% of the population.”

"Holy shit!"

“The true "Daddy of Violence" ready to bring it at Snow Job. I have had so many light tubes and glass panels broken over my body that it doesn’t even affect me anymore. The blood I've spilled. It doesn’t slow me down when that essence of life flows out. If anything, It slows down time for me and allows me to be more effective.”

"That's the booze, Barn!"

"Whatever it is, I know that I never needed to fly off the top rope to make an impact and still don't. Strict brute force. Fight with your fists. I am not afraid to hit a girl. How's that for equality? Listening to Angie Vaughn talk makes me wish I was deaf instead of blind in one eye. Lacklan has never never intimidated me either. Facing a man who has nothing left to lose in life should be scary for her.”

"And facing TWO ought to be a damned nightmare!"

“Yes it should, because the "Daddy Of Violence" is going to drink the Nectar of the Gods and unleash the beast! The tag belts are coming home to Green Gravy. Graves may hate the name but its all good! I haven’t slept in like 4 days waiting for this moment. This is our moment!”

"Fuckin'A right it is! Ain't no shine coming from the top going to distract us from them belts! Tick Tok, you hear that Barn!?"

“Indeed I do! Time is coming for you, Nickel man. You may be the most hated man in XWF but that's only cause Micheal turned over a new leaf when she began hormone therapy! It means nothing once that bell rings. I remember the panes of glass we went through. Fighting you is like fighting my smelly twin, but that's alright. I just gotta hold my breath and survive. Your change is only good for wishing!”

"When you wish upon a star, wish for a partner less subpar!"

“HEEEEEELLLLOOOOOOOOOO, DOOOLLY!"

"WE'RE GONNA STOMP YOUR TEETH IN!"

"Ha! Gotta love that reference right there. Louis Armstrong! The man must be rolling in his grave right now, and I might be the only one who gets the reference, but fuck it. Ms. Waters, I have watched you grow into such a fierce competitor."

"No you haven't!"

"Okay, fine, I haven't. But, I am gonna be the one who puts and end to whatever rise you planned on making with Charlies Nickels under your thumb!”

"Her rise ain't been shit! Same ole, same ole! Find someone moderity over that's stupid enough to buy into the dream of Dolly. Leech until death! Goodbye Charlie!"

“Throw me another White Claw! Coming into Green Bay, Wisconsin. Gonna be one hell of a fight. I’m calling my shot and we, Team X-Treme, The X-Treme Alliance, Call us whatever so long as it's X-Treme OR Green Gravy!"

"NOT GREEN GRAVY!"

"Whatever you call us, WE are walking out of Snow Job with the Tag Team Championships! Gonna burn this bitch down to the ground!"

"OH HELL YEEEAAAAH!!!!"]]> <![CDATA[Goth vs. King vs. Myst]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45491 Sat, 28 Jan 2023 06:10:53 -0800 Goth]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45491
January  25th 2023

We are less than a week away from Snow Job, the first big time show for XWF in the new year, we cut to Goth seated at the restaurant of the hotel while eating breakfast with his fiancé. He is wearing casual workout tights, a sleeeless shirt that reads Snow job 2023 and has his hair tied up in a pony tail. He is drinking his glass of water while eating his egg sandwich, his fiancé is eating a salad and has a glass of orange juice. She is wearing a pink tracksuit.

“Did you remember to book a table for two at the restaurant???”

Melissa suddenly asks him as she looks up from her salad, he turns his gaze towards her beautiful brown eyes. The very same eyes that he has drowned into for the past several years that they have been a couple, he nods his head as he lowers his eyes back towards his breakfast.

“I can’t believe that it’s our two year anniversary?? Time seems to pass bye so quickly.”

Goth nods his head, smiling as he enjoys to hear her enthusiasm. It’s one of the many traits she possesses that he had grown to love from her, especially considering that he is a more conservative person when it comes down to expressing his feelings about his loved ones. He had sometimes wondered what in the hell it was that had drawn her towards him, seeing how both of them are complete opposites.

“Just make sure that you are dressed in the most elegant dress that yo cold find.”

He gives her a wink, this causes her to blush a little, she had never been to a fancy restaurant or been to Opera’s. This was the world that Goth had fallen in love with ever his career had started to pick up in successes and revenue. The time running his own wrestling company for nine years had been the turning point in his financial situation in his career, allowing him to make certain investments that later on only benefitted him in a positive note. It has given him the opportunity to solely focus on his wrestling career and not having to worry about whether he had to wrestle for another 20 years to earn some money.

He looks up, turns his attention towards a table next to them, a young couple is making a bit too much noise that irritates some of the other guests as well. Goth is about to get up, only to be stopped by Melissa who had grabbed him by his wrist. Causing him to turn around towards her with a questionable look on his face.

“Gerrit, please sit down.”

She can feel his muscles tense up, clearly he does not want to back off but give them his own piece of mind. But ultimately he reconsiders and allows Melissa to convince him otherwise, taking a seat opposite hers while not taking his eyes off of them for a few more moments.

“Forgive me Melissa, I have no clue for what came over me all of the sudden.”

He says while realizing that he is telling her a lie, he knows exactly what the reason is why he has been so hot tempered as of late. The many nightmares, the many times that he had found himself bathed in his own sweat and sometimes noticing the scars that he must have done to himself during these moments of not having any control over himself. He sighs as he notices on the look of his fiancé that she isn’t buying his lie any more than he would have in her place, causing him to curse towards himself.

“What is going on Gerrit?? You haven’t been yourself as of late.”

The fear that he had been dreading the most has become a reality, he has his hands placed on either end of the table as his hands are starting to squeeze hard as his knuckles start to turn pale white, he hates to feel this way but there’s no escape from telling her the truth.

“I once had an arch nemesis back in 2006, she was a vampire. I….”

Melissa places her fork on the table as she leans back while crossing her arms around her chest area and stares towards him unconvinced.

“Okay Gerrit, there is a lot that I would gladly try to believe. But a vampire??? I expected more from you.”

Melissa is clearly upset, believing that he is making up a story to cover up what is truly going on. But Goth gets up quickly, grabs her by the hand and looks at her pleadingly as she had turned her focus back towards him, then looks at him holding her hand before turning back towards him as he had let go.

“I know it sounds like a fairy tale that the brothers Grimm had come up with, I have been struggling in trying to explain what is going on for a while now. I…”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning as I’ll try to believe you okay???”

Goth watches her sitting back down in the seat that she sat on a few moments ago, he stares towards her as his knuckles turn white as he pressures his hands on the table before sighing as he sits back down. He looks ahead of him for a moment to try and recapture his thoughts about Elizabeth “Lady” Ashe.

“It was 2006, I joined Global Wrestling Alliance and never got an opportunity in the early months of my career. I had even started contemplating to return to the minor leagues until I got a title shot against the Airborne champion… and that was Elizabeth Ashe. A real life vampire”

Goth is quiet for a moment, not sure how Melissa would react. Only to notice that she remains silent and keeps listening.

“She was a great champion, won the world title in her second or third match ever in Psycho Circus the year that I won it. And I had have faced her several times since that championship match and always seemed to have her number. A year later she suddenly vanished. But for some reason the last few months she has been haunting my dreams, appearing in sudden visions that I got from old memories of my wife, where I suddenly get surrounded by corpses, get tied up by tentacles and monsters showing up.”

Melissa raises her eyebrow but remains silent, but Goth sighs as he had noticed her reaction as he lowers his head.

“I know, it may sound like a bad low budget horror movie where people wear rubber outfits to look like a big time lizard. But you got to believe me, the other night where you told me you had been trying to wake me up for such a long time… that I started to put one and one together.”

“And what may that be??”

Goth looks up at her with a pleading look on his face, but realizes that she was just being serious.

“Well maybe I make it sound easier than it really is, but I believe that she has a connection with me from the beyond through my wife.”

“Okay Gerrit, I am willing to conceive the thought of you having faced a vampire in the past, I may conceive that that you have nightmares and visions of being tortured by ghosts as if you ae being haunted. But this???? Are you sure of this Gerrit?? Or are you just starting to get scared for our wedding plans???”

Goth immediately grabs her hand, she hesitates a few moments in whether she should pull he hand back or not. Ultimately she relaxes and allows him to grab her hand.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy. Hell, I am not so sure myself whether I should believe my own explanation. But it’s the only conclusion that I can come up with, I mean the last time that I saw that bitch was when I visited he in a tomb in England.”

“A….. tomb???”

Goth starts to bite on his lower lip, cursing towards himself for letting out this secret, but he knows now that he cannot hide it from her.

“In the final months of the GWA I was scheduled to face someone in the GWA, who could speak with he dead. Now before you speak, I was hesitant about this myself. But there was things said that I knew that only Ashe could have known or could have said in the fashion that was being said. And when I visited her tomb, it was as if I had stepped foot inside the realm of the dead. And there she was….”


He says with a silent voice of shame, hiding his face for a while for his fiancé before finding the courage once more to finally be able to look her into the eyes once more. Only to stare into the eyes off…..

“Hello Goth….,”

“Ashe…..”

He closes his fist, pulling on the table cloth as he stares into the eyes of the vampire who is seated next to Melissa. Goth’s eyes tear away towards his fiancé, who is motionless as if they are lost somewhere in time and limbo. He turns his attention bac towards Ashe, who is drinking from a cup of tea, dropping a sugar cube into the cup before letting her teaspoon circle inside the cup.

“I really don’t get it how you you manage to drink away ordinary water Gerrit, I mean have you people disbanded your taste papillae? Because seriously, water??? The mere thought that you assume that you purify your water from the sewage filth that that has been a combined piece of shit for centuries… and you happily drink from that???”

Goth’s gaze burns a hole in the soulless expression of the vampire, who amusingly smirks at this while taking another sip from her cup of tea.

“Hmm, honey filled tea. Just imagine when I even add a drop of milk? It’s…”

“What do you want Ashe?”

Goth says as he cuts off the vampire, who reacts startled because of his angry reaction.

“My, are we a bit sour today?? Are you…”

“Knock the chit chat off Ashe, you have been tormenting me for months now. I know you, you have a reason for all of this…. So what is it that you want from me??”

Ashe is quiet for a few moments, her dark red eyes are focused upon the tea spoon that is circling inside her tea. Goth’s eyes move from hers to the cup of tea as well, noticing that she is holding the tea spoon between her thumb and index finger, while twirling around with the other few fingers as this annoys him. Causing him to extend his hand towards her wrist and grabs it, forcing her to stop the movement as she stares at him with a cold look of anger that causes him to back off.

“You are right Gerrit, there’s something that I want from you.”

There it is, to finally hear her admit towards him that there’s a reason behind her advances towards him as it has been haunting his dreams and visions.

“What do you want? And how can I make you stop???”

This causes an ice cold smirk to emerge upon her face, she leans back against the chair that she is seated in. She turns her attention towards Melissa for a moment, who is still frozen in time, she raises her pale white hand and runs the back of her hand and grabs a few strings of hair and let them slide through her fingers. This causes Goth to stand up, only to stop mid way as he stares into the eyes of Ashe that burns a hole through his soul .

“Sit…. Down…”

The words startles him, sitting down while it was something that he clearly did not wanted t do. But there’s a mental barrier that forces him to sit down and keep his gaze upon the vampire lady that has turned her attention back to his fiancé.

“I have to admit Gerrit, the women that you have allowed to enter your life has caused you to grow. Something that I had often doubted if you would have allowed to do on your own?”

This causes Goth to raise an eye brow, he clearly never expected her to share her personal opinion about him. He leans back as he allows her to continue to talk with him as he understands now that she isn’t here to torment him like before.

“Thank you Gerrit, I wasn’t sure whether you would listen to me.. I..”

“Well maybe you should have started with this before haunting me eery single fucking night.”

He rips at her, leaning in closer towards the table as he places his hands upon the table. Ashe nods her head as she lowers her eyes.
“You have a point, but if I had I knew you would just shrug it off  and ignore me…. At least now I got your attention. Besides, you deserved some torment for al that I have endured thanks to you.”

She smirks as she notices him grinding his teeth and closing his hands to fists as that causes his fingers to turn pale white.

”But I will finally open up to you what I want Goth, you have to understand that this is very difficult for me. But I realized after being a fly on the wall and listening to your discussion with Melissa…. I realized that you are understanding me.”

Goth looks around, shocked to realize that Ashe has been able to listen in to his conversation with Melissa. His eyes monitors the entire area they are inside off, wondering whether he can find the physical representation of Elizabeth Ashe and is unable to do so.

“You can stop looking Gerrit, you won’t find a shell that is a body for me.”

His eyes snap back towards her, realizing that she is suggesting to him that she is nothing more than a ghost. Making him understand how quickly she could appear and disappear on such a short notice without others having seen her.

“Right now, I control time Gerrit. What may seem an eternity, is only a blin of a moment for Melissa when I allow you to snap back into consciousness. I can move around anyone that I choose to torment before I flee when it starts to get old.”

“So why aren’t you getting bored with me Ashe???”


He says with an angry look on his face, nearly foaming from the mouth as his hatred is increasing with every passing second. Staring at the calm natured look of Ashe who ignores his frustration that is growing inside of him.
“BECAUSE IT NEVER GREW OLD FOR YOU TO BEAT ME HAS IT GERRIT??!!!”

A sudden rush of anger engulfs him, his eyes are growing wide from fear as he sees her still in the same pose before he asked that very deliberate question. And yet he is feeling a rage engulfing him that causes his body to tense up. His limbs are now lifeless, he looks around and doesn’t see any tentacles that keeps him in his place. This makes him wonder how…

“Wonder how I do it sweet Gerrit?? Oh you must know by now that the mind is a terrible thing to waste???”

She smirks as she takes another sip from her glass of tea while turning her gaze bck up to him in an innocent stare

“Aren’t you going to drink that water of yours?”

“No longer interested, I want to know what…”

“What I want… jeez, you have become so predictable these days. Fine, I will tell you exactly what I want.”

She bares her fangs as eyes turn darker red as well as her lips, he notices her finger nails slowly growing into long and dark pitch black nails that could scratch a hole in any kind of metal.

“I am stuck here in this limbo for way too long Goth, at first it amused me as I could go and scratch names of my lists to torment for all their wrong doings in the past. But you have to understand, my list has ended. Hell I have even scratched your name off the list a long time ago I…”

“Wait, what????”

The sudden revelation from Ashe startled him, making him wonder that if this was the case then why has she still been tormenting him all this time.

“I realized very quickly that I am not upset with you any longer Gerrit, that was a conclusion that I drew as that puzzled me. I could not believe that somehow I managed to find peace for all the horrible thingst aht YOU have done to me. Let’s just say it was just an additional bonus”

She says while staring him down with an ice cold stare.

“So do me a favour Gerrit, you either listen and help me out? Or else I am going to torment you until you die from being over aged and boring as hell. It’s your choice.”

He growls at her, but realizes that he has no choice but to agree and does reluctantly.

“I am going to help you win before leaving you forever.”

She says as this causes Goth to groan as he places his head in his hands as Lady Ashe rises upwards from her seat and wraps her hands around his head before yanking it backwards. Clawing her long nails against his neck as Goth willingly accepts his faith.

“So what do you got to say about Isaiah King??”

Goth swallows hard as he feels the nails digging into his flesh, strangely he is kinda excited about the punishment that he is receiving as his neck artery is slowly becoming visible for the vampire who licks her fangs.

“Isaiah King?? There’s a saying that says that to know a king, you got to be a king.”

“Good……”

Goth inhales deeply as he feels her nails digging into his flesh as it draws some blood

“A little larva that eats itself in the hopes of one day become a beautiful butterfly. A kid that only preaches about the future, because his past has died for him and cannot emerge for a second time… And the future? Why bother chasing the dream of what could be, when you have to settle with the present. You call yourself a King my little over achieved little braindead shell of what you once was. You call yourself the future, you call yourself so many things that reality has seemingly been sucked out of your existence….”



“Ohhh, I love that one…”

“For way too long have I been sitting here, acknowledging others for what they have achieved what should have been mine. Whether it is Atara Themis, Jenny Myst. There’s always someone that sticks their noses into what is decisively mine,”

Goth is quiet for a few moments before showing a sinister smile upon his face, a similar one that Lady Ashe is showcasing, as if their minds are connected with each other

“But you now what Isaiah?? I will allow you to dream about a successful title run as Xtreme champion. To once again travel across each brand, defend the belt with pride. To tell the world that is watching that you are the King of Xtreme, or whateer pathetic entity that you wish to bestow upon you. But you are not a king, you will never be a king. Giving yourself just that name doesn’t make you a star all of the sudden Isaiah… it makes you only a mockery to my believes, to my hope and desires to take away that championship belt away from Jenny Myst. Her way out of mediocrity, her way out of having to look over her shoulder and wonder where I will strike next. That’s right Isaiah, it’s all about ME! This time it is all about ME!! That championship belt has eluded me all way too long and you repeating a Xavier Lux is both disgusting, ridiculing and down right pathetic when it comes down to a man that believes he is the future. You are nothing more than a question mark, that’s right. A big question mark on everyone’s minds for multiple of different reasons. But all I can see is that you are living a life that was never meant for you to be. You want to take you’re your championship experiences in this company?? How about you beating Ned Freaking Kaye for a change before even daring to question the fuck out of me.”

“That’s right little Isaiah, you are just a pawn on a chessboard of where I dare to play the game between life and death. Where I have witnessed nothing but anguish and suffering… MY ANGUISH!! MY SUFFERING!!”

The red eyes of Elizabeth Ashe are glowing with thirst as her lips are slowly whispering the same words that Goth is uttering without having his eyes opened to the camera.

“Now what is anguish to you Isaiah?? What is suffering to you? When it comes down to your recent title run as television champion makes me question would have happened if we had faced each other, but that’s would have and could have bullshit that doesn’t matter anymore is it?? Because your relevancy has been downgraded to MY level, heck I would even say beyond that. And all that you can muster up is to copy Xavier Lux by telling my telling me that my time will come??? Don’t worry Isaiah, my time has arrived to walk out Xtreme champion, to walk out as the ONY King in this match… And to outperform both YOU and Jenny in this triple threat match… Making it clear to everyone out there, that I am without a shadow of a doubt the BEST wrestler in this match and NEW champion.”

“That’s right Jenny, new Xtreme champion. But I know your delusional little mind has heard that line oh so many times since winning that title haven’t you?? But that’s because you have always been so careful weren’t you? You were always on top of every situation, you whae constantly been capable of manipulating each and everyone that could have been a threat to your championship belt…. Until I just walked into your locker room and took home that championship belt. How did that make you feel Jenny??? I bet it was helplessness wasn’t it?? I bet you had seen everything that you had built up from the ground up starting to crumble in front of your eyes. Because you knew that you had a championship match, that you had someone walking around with YOUR championship belt… and that there was nothing that you could do to change it….”

Suddenly he stops, feeling the cold fangs of Ashe scraping against the flesh of his neck, drawing some small amounts of blood as he starts to groan from a combination of pain and excitement

“Keep on going Gerrit, but with more venom… more anger…. Be the Goth that I know you can be…”

She withdraws her fangs as he gasps for air for a few moments before recollecting his thoughts once more, drawing his attention back to the camera.

“Ever had that experience of having someone’s weight being lifted off of you Jenny?? Maybe you have, maybe you not. But I am right now in the middle of a situation that I no longer care whether I have to beat you or King for that belt. But that championship belt is about to come home… or else I may just lose my freaking mind!!! Waking up every single night, sweating buckets from a dream that I cannot describe. Every afternoon having visions of my dead wife, parading as a morbid corpse while blaming the entirety of her passing all because I wanted to wrestle!! And then to have HER leach onto me!!! To the point that I have just given in Jenny, hopefully it will give me wonderful nights as I sleep like a baby, perhaps a dark wet patch every now and then because SHE needs to sin her .. Arrghhhh!!!!”

His hands clutches towards his throat, trying to pull away something for the watchful eye as in reality it is the vampire that has sank her fangs into the back of his neck and started to drink some of his blood before pulling away from him.

“I will stop when you start to rationalize like you always have done Gerrit!!!!”

Goth becins to curse as he runs his fingers across the spot where in his mind she had bitten him, lowering his fingers towards his face as he can see his own blood drip from his fingers, wondering whether he is seeing reality or just his very own imagination. Causing something to trigger inside of him.

“IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT!!?? If this is what it takes for me to take home that Xtreme championship belt, then so fucking God be it! You see Jenny, I used to be a violent man inside that ring, no matter whether it was male or female. No matter whether you were soft from the inside or needs to have your stinking face drilled into the steel ring post, trying to figure out whether we all bleed the same way. And I know I cannot blame just solely you for all of this, but you just could have stayed away bitch!!!”

He starts to scratch his face in anger, his breathe is irregular as his face is slowly turning purple as if he is unable to catch his breath.

“That’s it Gerrit, just a little bit longer…. There you go…”

Suddenly he is able to catch his breath as his head falls forward due to the vampire ghost letting go of choking his throat. His hands immediately traces the lines where her fingers were before staring his blood shed eyes at the camera.

“I used to hate her Jenny, I took someone’s career and wasted it from the first moment that we stepped foot inside a squared circle. And you know why Jenny? Because she was a threat to me, she was the one that would stand in my way for achieving greatness. And now to have her ruin my life this time around makes me realize that I have got to do anything in my power to stop her…. And I guess I just have to rip the pink and white pony tails out of your stinking head and hold them right in front of your eyes, watch you in horror as you realize that the red dripping blood that comes from the other end of it is from your stinking skull. I realize now that there is no limits that I need to go to not only win that championship, but also to free my mental state of mind. And that is far more important than what you claim to have in your own possession…. “

“What Ashe???”

Goth’s head snaps to the side, we see his eyes widen as he is looking at her scraping the skin off of the face of his fiancé…. Causing him to burst out in tears an become emotionally unstable.

“NOOO!!!!!! STAY AWAY FROM HER!! I already told you that I would do anything to just get you away from me!!! Don’t ruin my happiness!!!!”

Goth grabs the sides of his head and lets out an animalistic scream, not wanting to look at what the vampire woman is doing to his fiancé. Afraid that he would see her do even worse diabolical things to his fiancé than what she has been doing to him as of late.

“I would sacrifice my sanity, just to have a single moment of pure silence, a moment where you can a rain drop touch the concrete outside. I have hopes to hear the birds whistle their tunes in an attempt to find a mate. I hope to marry my fiancé without THAT!! Lurking around my every movement that I make. And then there is you, little arrogant little bitch… a little loud mouthed wannabe that knows that she is good, real good. And that’s where exactly your problem is at Jenny. Your problem is that you know so much, yet you have no clue to rival someone that has exceeed your mental state of mind by tenfold…. Is there a puppet that you wisht o take home with you Jenny?? Or will you be willing to sprayp paint your stinking face in the hopes that I will see a ghost once more?? Newsflash champ, right now I do not even know whether I am alive or whether I am applying for a rostr spot for the New Jersey Devil’s Ice Hockey team that uses real life bones as hockey sticks and skulls as pucks. And you are going to tell me that I am not capable of taking home that championship belt??? Remember what I did to that belt when I was sane?? Let alone when I am….. ARGHHHHHHH”

We see tentacles slowly pouring out of his neck and from the side of his face, they are slowly attaching themselves to the table and drags his head down towards it. He is trying to resist the sudden impact, but the strength of the tentacles is too much for him. We see Ashe slowly lower her face above that of his and chuckles….

“If you truly want that belt Gerrit, then you need to suffer in such an extreme fashion that I am not certain if I wish to give up on you after this…..”

A diabolical laugh can be heard as tears are flowing from his eyes, combined with anger that is burning a hole throught he camera man’s soul.

“For over twenty years I have given my sanity!! I have given my blood, sweat and tears for the art of wrestling! Now I am… Arrghh!!! Now I am going to take it all bac Jenny. I cannot wait until I hold that stinking head of yours in the palm of my hand…. Staring at you while I drown the hopes and dreams of Isaiah King with one swift Chaos ADDT. Because this is OUR fight damnit, this is OUR war that decides who belongs with that belt… It is just too late for you to think about the title defences on other shows… because it will all have to come an end… IT HAS TO!!”

“Oh please, please don’t hurt me!!!!!”

Suddenly the tentacles have vanished, Goth is dropping on his hands and knees and is in a pleading position while grabbing the pale white legs of the vampire ghost, who is standing over him with sadistic intent on her mind.

“Yes mistress, I will beg, I will plead, I will even crawl on my hands and knees… just don’t hurt me and my Melissa… ”

His hands start to reach up her legs as the vampire kicks him away from her, grabbing the head of the lifeless figure that is still frozen in time as she pressures her nails against her flesh.

“Why would I do something to her Gerrit?? I am already making YOU suffer, that’s all I ever wanted…..”

She plants a kiss on the cheek of Melissa, this causes a rage to come over Goth as he suddenly launches over towards the vampire ghost. But she vanishes as he comes crushing down into the wall nearest to them. Unable to move he starts to check if he has not broken anything while hearing the laughter of the vampire in the background.

“Come on Gerrit, you aren’t even trying!!!!”

Goth is coughing up blood, holding his arm around his ribs before rolling over as this gives him the opportunity to sit with his back against the wall while staring towards the camera with a painful expression.

“I cannot lose, I have already lost anything that I have worked so hard for. The only thing that I have left is the love for my fiancé Jenny and my last shred of sanity. And even that is something I do not know whether how long I will be able to maintain that composure!! So I beg of you Jenny, if you have a heart…. Please let me win”

“I am not asking this for my own sanity Jenny, because I already know that I can not be saved. But I am asking, no I’m imploring you to do this for YOUR own sake and that of Isaiah King’s. I am asking you this for the entire locker room, Master Mind… the first round opponent for the March Madness tournament.. What a suitable name wouldn’t you agree with a deranged human being?!!!! At least if this what is left of me can be related to a humain being!!! I prefer an animalistic last remnant of the predator that we once were… “

“So what will it be Jenny?? Will you be selfish? Forcing me to crop the final judgment upon YOUR soul and each and everyone else?? Or are you going to be a cooperative little bitch and do what is best for YOU and Master Mind and the rest that will come after you??? Because that title needs to come home… and it needs to come home with……”

Goth turns his attention to the side and then swallows….. before lowering his head and nods in silence….

“Yes Mistress, it will all be yours…..”

The vampire bursts out in laughter, finally achieving her long time goal and own Goth and make his life a misery. Promising him false promises, only to squash them in front of his eyes. Causing his desperation to grow with every passing moment in the hope of one day being freed from her clutches. Suddenly we see the vampire vanish into thin air as Goth wakes up in front of Melissa as she continues talking as if nothing had happened.

“Want a bite Gerrit??”

Goth snaps out of his thoughts as he sees Melissa extend a fork with a piece of her salad, he smiles as he realizes that he has endured the suffering that Ashe had put him through. Willingly accepts the gesture as the two share some nice chit chat as the shot slowly fades.


]]>
January  25th 2023

We are less than a week away from Snow Job, the first big time show for XWF in the new year, we cut to Goth seated at the restaurant of the hotel while eating breakfast with his fiancé. He is wearing casual workout tights, a sleeeless shirt that reads Snow job 2023 and has his hair tied up in a pony tail. He is drinking his glass of water while eating his egg sandwich, his fiancé is eating a salad and has a glass of orange juice. She is wearing a pink tracksuit.

“Did you remember to book a table for two at the restaurant???”

Melissa suddenly asks him as she looks up from her salad, he turns his gaze towards her beautiful brown eyes. The very same eyes that he has drowned into for the past several years that they have been a couple, he nods his head as he lowers his eyes back towards his breakfast.

“I can’t believe that it’s our two year anniversary?? Time seems to pass bye so quickly.”

Goth nods his head, smiling as he enjoys to hear her enthusiasm. It’s one of the many traits she possesses that he had grown to love from her, especially considering that he is a more conservative person when it comes down to expressing his feelings about his loved ones. He had sometimes wondered what in the hell it was that had drawn her towards him, seeing how both of them are complete opposites.

“Just make sure that you are dressed in the most elegant dress that yo cold find.”

He gives her a wink, this causes her to blush a little, she had never been to a fancy restaurant or been to Opera’s. This was the world that Goth had fallen in love with ever his career had started to pick up in successes and revenue. The time running his own wrestling company for nine years had been the turning point in his financial situation in his career, allowing him to make certain investments that later on only benefitted him in a positive note. It has given him the opportunity to solely focus on his wrestling career and not having to worry about whether he had to wrestle for another 20 years to earn some money.

He looks up, turns his attention towards a table next to them, a young couple is making a bit too much noise that irritates some of the other guests as well. Goth is about to get up, only to be stopped by Melissa who had grabbed him by his wrist. Causing him to turn around towards her with a questionable look on his face.

“Gerrit, please sit down.”

She can feel his muscles tense up, clearly he does not want to back off but give them his own piece of mind. But ultimately he reconsiders and allows Melissa to convince him otherwise, taking a seat opposite hers while not taking his eyes off of them for a few more moments.

“Forgive me Melissa, I have no clue for what came over me all of the sudden.”

He says while realizing that he is telling her a lie, he knows exactly what the reason is why he has been so hot tempered as of late. The many nightmares, the many times that he had found himself bathed in his own sweat and sometimes noticing the scars that he must have done to himself during these moments of not having any control over himself. He sighs as he notices on the look of his fiancé that she isn’t buying his lie any more than he would have in her place, causing him to curse towards himself.

“What is going on Gerrit?? You haven’t been yourself as of late.”

The fear that he had been dreading the most has become a reality, he has his hands placed on either end of the table as his hands are starting to squeeze hard as his knuckles start to turn pale white, he hates to feel this way but there’s no escape from telling her the truth.

“I once had an arch nemesis back in 2006, she was a vampire. I….”

Melissa places her fork on the table as she leans back while crossing her arms around her chest area and stares towards him unconvinced.

“Okay Gerrit, there is a lot that I would gladly try to believe. But a vampire??? I expected more from you.”

Melissa is clearly upset, believing that he is making up a story to cover up what is truly going on. But Goth gets up quickly, grabs her by the hand and looks at her pleadingly as she had turned her focus back towards him, then looks at him holding her hand before turning back towards him as he had let go.

“I know it sounds like a fairy tale that the brothers Grimm had come up with, I have been struggling in trying to explain what is going on for a while now. I…”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning as I’ll try to believe you okay???”

Goth watches her sitting back down in the seat that she sat on a few moments ago, he stares towards her as his knuckles turn white as he pressures his hands on the table before sighing as he sits back down. He looks ahead of him for a moment to try and recapture his thoughts about Elizabeth “Lady” Ashe.

“It was 2006, I joined Global Wrestling Alliance and never got an opportunity in the early months of my career. I had even started contemplating to return to the minor leagues until I got a title shot against the Airborne champion… and that was Elizabeth Ashe. A real life vampire”

Goth is quiet for a moment, not sure how Melissa would react. Only to notice that she remains silent and keeps listening.

“She was a great champion, won the world title in her second or third match ever in Psycho Circus the year that I won it. And I had have faced her several times since that championship match and always seemed to have her number. A year later she suddenly vanished. But for some reason the last few months she has been haunting my dreams, appearing in sudden visions that I got from old memories of my wife, where I suddenly get surrounded by corpses, get tied up by tentacles and monsters showing up.”

Melissa raises her eyebrow but remains silent, but Goth sighs as he had noticed her reaction as he lowers his head.

“I know, it may sound like a bad low budget horror movie where people wear rubber outfits to look like a big time lizard. But you got to believe me, the other night where you told me you had been trying to wake me up for such a long time… that I started to put one and one together.”

“And what may that be??”

Goth looks up at her with a pleading look on his face, but realizes that she was just being serious.

“Well maybe I make it sound easier than it really is, but I believe that she has a connection with me from the beyond through my wife.”

“Okay Gerrit, I am willing to conceive the thought of you having faced a vampire in the past, I may conceive that that you have nightmares and visions of being tortured by ghosts as if you ae being haunted. But this???? Are you sure of this Gerrit?? Or are you just starting to get scared for our wedding plans???”

Goth immediately grabs her hand, she hesitates a few moments in whether she should pull he hand back or not. Ultimately she relaxes and allows him to grab her hand.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy. Hell, I am not so sure myself whether I should believe my own explanation. But it’s the only conclusion that I can come up with, I mean the last time that I saw that bitch was when I visited he in a tomb in England.”

“A….. tomb???”

Goth starts to bite on his lower lip, cursing towards himself for letting out this secret, but he knows now that he cannot hide it from her.

“In the final months of the GWA I was scheduled to face someone in the GWA, who could speak with he dead. Now before you speak, I was hesitant about this myself. But there was things said that I knew that only Ashe could have known or could have said in the fashion that was being said. And when I visited her tomb, it was as if I had stepped foot inside the realm of the dead. And there she was….”


He says with a silent voice of shame, hiding his face for a while for his fiancé before finding the courage once more to finally be able to look her into the eyes once more. Only to stare into the eyes off…..

“Hello Goth….,”

“Ashe…..”

He closes his fist, pulling on the table cloth as he stares into the eyes of the vampire who is seated next to Melissa. Goth’s eyes tear away towards his fiancé, who is motionless as if they are lost somewhere in time and limbo. He turns his attention bac towards Ashe, who is drinking from a cup of tea, dropping a sugar cube into the cup before letting her teaspoon circle inside the cup.

“I really don’t get it how you you manage to drink away ordinary water Gerrit, I mean have you people disbanded your taste papillae? Because seriously, water??? The mere thought that you assume that you purify your water from the sewage filth that that has been a combined piece of shit for centuries… and you happily drink from that???”

Goth’s gaze burns a hole in the soulless expression of the vampire, who amusingly smirks at this while taking another sip from her cup of tea.

“Hmm, honey filled tea. Just imagine when I even add a drop of milk? It’s…”

“What do you want Ashe?”

Goth says as he cuts off the vampire, who reacts startled because of his angry reaction.

“My, are we a bit sour today?? Are you…”

“Knock the chit chat off Ashe, you have been tormenting me for months now. I know you, you have a reason for all of this…. So what is it that you want from me??”

Ashe is quiet for a few moments, her dark red eyes are focused upon the tea spoon that is circling inside her tea. Goth’s eyes move from hers to the cup of tea as well, noticing that she is holding the tea spoon between her thumb and index finger, while twirling around with the other few fingers as this annoys him. Causing him to extend his hand towards her wrist and grabs it, forcing her to stop the movement as she stares at him with a cold look of anger that causes him to back off.

“You are right Gerrit, there’s something that I want from you.”

There it is, to finally hear her admit towards him that there’s a reason behind her advances towards him as it has been haunting his dreams and visions.

“What do you want? And how can I make you stop???”

This causes an ice cold smirk to emerge upon her face, she leans back against the chair that she is seated in. She turns her attention towards Melissa for a moment, who is still frozen in time, she raises her pale white hand and runs the back of her hand and grabs a few strings of hair and let them slide through her fingers. This causes Goth to stand up, only to stop mid way as he stares into the eyes of Ashe that burns a hole through his soul .

“Sit…. Down…”

The words startles him, sitting down while it was something that he clearly did not wanted t do. But there’s a mental barrier that forces him to sit down and keep his gaze upon the vampire lady that has turned her attention back to his fiancé.

“I have to admit Gerrit, the women that you have allowed to enter your life has caused you to grow. Something that I had often doubted if you would have allowed to do on your own?”

This causes Goth to raise an eye brow, he clearly never expected her to share her personal opinion about him. He leans back as he allows her to continue to talk with him as he understands now that she isn’t here to torment him like before.

“Thank you Gerrit, I wasn’t sure whether you would listen to me.. I..”

“Well maybe you should have started with this before haunting me eery single fucking night.”

He rips at her, leaning in closer towards the table as he places his hands upon the table. Ashe nods her head as she lowers her eyes.
“You have a point, but if I had I knew you would just shrug it off  and ignore me…. At least now I got your attention. Besides, you deserved some torment for al that I have endured thanks to you.”

She smirks as she notices him grinding his teeth and closing his hands to fists as that causes his fingers to turn pale white.

”But I will finally open up to you what I want Goth, you have to understand that this is very difficult for me. But I realized after being a fly on the wall and listening to your discussion with Melissa…. I realized that you are understanding me.”

Goth looks around, shocked to realize that Ashe has been able to listen in to his conversation with Melissa. His eyes monitors the entire area they are inside off, wondering whether he can find the physical representation of Elizabeth Ashe and is unable to do so.

“You can stop looking Gerrit, you won’t find a shell that is a body for me.”

His eyes snap back towards her, realizing that she is suggesting to him that she is nothing more than a ghost. Making him understand how quickly she could appear and disappear on such a short notice without others having seen her.

“Right now, I control time Gerrit. What may seem an eternity, is only a blin of a moment for Melissa when I allow you to snap back into consciousness. I can move around anyone that I choose to torment before I flee when it starts to get old.”

“So why aren’t you getting bored with me Ashe???”


He says with an angry look on his face, nearly foaming from the mouth as his hatred is increasing with every passing second. Staring at the calm natured look of Ashe who ignores his frustration that is growing inside of him.
“BECAUSE IT NEVER GREW OLD FOR YOU TO BEAT ME HAS IT GERRIT??!!!”

A sudden rush of anger engulfs him, his eyes are growing wide from fear as he sees her still in the same pose before he asked that very deliberate question. And yet he is feeling a rage engulfing him that causes his body to tense up. His limbs are now lifeless, he looks around and doesn’t see any tentacles that keeps him in his place. This makes him wonder how…

“Wonder how I do it sweet Gerrit?? Oh you must know by now that the mind is a terrible thing to waste???”

She smirks as she takes another sip from her glass of tea while turning her gaze bck up to him in an innocent stare

“Aren’t you going to drink that water of yours?”

“No longer interested, I want to know what…”

“What I want… jeez, you have become so predictable these days. Fine, I will tell you exactly what I want.”

She bares her fangs as eyes turn darker red as well as her lips, he notices her finger nails slowly growing into long and dark pitch black nails that could scratch a hole in any kind of metal.

“I am stuck here in this limbo for way too long Goth, at first it amused me as I could go and scratch names of my lists to torment for all their wrong doings in the past. But you have to understand, my list has ended. Hell I have even scratched your name off the list a long time ago I…”

“Wait, what????”

The sudden revelation from Ashe startled him, making him wonder that if this was the case then why has she still been tormenting him all this time.

“I realized very quickly that I am not upset with you any longer Gerrit, that was a conclusion that I drew as that puzzled me. I could not believe that somehow I managed to find peace for all the horrible thingst aht YOU have done to me. Let’s just say it was just an additional bonus”

She says while staring him down with an ice cold stare.

“So do me a favour Gerrit, you either listen and help me out? Or else I am going to torment you until you die from being over aged and boring as hell. It’s your choice.”

He growls at her, but realizes that he has no choice but to agree and does reluctantly.

“I am going to help you win before leaving you forever.”

She says as this causes Goth to groan as he places his head in his hands as Lady Ashe rises upwards from her seat and wraps her hands around his head before yanking it backwards. Clawing her long nails against his neck as Goth willingly accepts his faith.

“So what do you got to say about Isaiah King??”

Goth swallows hard as he feels the nails digging into his flesh, strangely he is kinda excited about the punishment that he is receiving as his neck artery is slowly becoming visible for the vampire who licks her fangs.

“Isaiah King?? There’s a saying that says that to know a king, you got to be a king.”

“Good……”

Goth inhales deeply as he feels her nails digging into his flesh as it draws some blood

“A little larva that eats itself in the hopes of one day become a beautiful butterfly. A kid that only preaches about the future, because his past has died for him and cannot emerge for a second time… And the future? Why bother chasing the dream of what could be, when you have to settle with the present. You call yourself a King my little over achieved little braindead shell of what you once was. You call yourself the future, you call yourself so many things that reality has seemingly been sucked out of your existence….”



“Ohhh, I love that one…”

“For way too long have I been sitting here, acknowledging others for what they have achieved what should have been mine. Whether it is Atara Themis, Jenny Myst. There’s always someone that sticks their noses into what is decisively mine,”

Goth is quiet for a few moments before showing a sinister smile upon his face, a similar one that Lady Ashe is showcasing, as if their minds are connected with each other

“But you now what Isaiah?? I will allow you to dream about a successful title run as Xtreme champion. To once again travel across each brand, defend the belt with pride. To tell the world that is watching that you are the King of Xtreme, or whateer pathetic entity that you wish to bestow upon you. But you are not a king, you will never be a king. Giving yourself just that name doesn’t make you a star all of the sudden Isaiah… it makes you only a mockery to my believes, to my hope and desires to take away that championship belt away from Jenny Myst. Her way out of mediocrity, her way out of having to look over her shoulder and wonder where I will strike next. That’s right Isaiah, it’s all about ME! This time it is all about ME!! That championship belt has eluded me all way too long and you repeating a Xavier Lux is both disgusting, ridiculing and down right pathetic when it comes down to a man that believes he is the future. You are nothing more than a question mark, that’s right. A big question mark on everyone’s minds for multiple of different reasons. But all I can see is that you are living a life that was never meant for you to be. You want to take you’re your championship experiences in this company?? How about you beating Ned Freaking Kaye for a change before even daring to question the fuck out of me.”

“That’s right little Isaiah, you are just a pawn on a chessboard of where I dare to play the game between life and death. Where I have witnessed nothing but anguish and suffering… MY ANGUISH!! MY SUFFERING!!”

The red eyes of Elizabeth Ashe are glowing with thirst as her lips are slowly whispering the same words that Goth is uttering without having his eyes opened to the camera.

“Now what is anguish to you Isaiah?? What is suffering to you? When it comes down to your recent title run as television champion makes me question would have happened if we had faced each other, but that’s would have and could have bullshit that doesn’t matter anymore is it?? Because your relevancy has been downgraded to MY level, heck I would even say beyond that. And all that you can muster up is to copy Xavier Lux by telling my telling me that my time will come??? Don’t worry Isaiah, my time has arrived to walk out Xtreme champion, to walk out as the ONY King in this match… And to outperform both YOU and Jenny in this triple threat match… Making it clear to everyone out there, that I am without a shadow of a doubt the BEST wrestler in this match and NEW champion.”

“That’s right Jenny, new Xtreme champion. But I know your delusional little mind has heard that line oh so many times since winning that title haven’t you?? But that’s because you have always been so careful weren’t you? You were always on top of every situation, you whae constantly been capable of manipulating each and everyone that could have been a threat to your championship belt…. Until I just walked into your locker room and took home that championship belt. How did that make you feel Jenny??? I bet it was helplessness wasn’t it?? I bet you had seen everything that you had built up from the ground up starting to crumble in front of your eyes. Because you knew that you had a championship match, that you had someone walking around with YOUR championship belt… and that there was nothing that you could do to change it….”

Suddenly he stops, feeling the cold fangs of Ashe scraping against the flesh of his neck, drawing some small amounts of blood as he starts to groan from a combination of pain and excitement

“Keep on going Gerrit, but with more venom… more anger…. Be the Goth that I know you can be…”

She withdraws her fangs as he gasps for air for a few moments before recollecting his thoughts once more, drawing his attention back to the camera.

“Ever had that experience of having someone’s weight being lifted off of you Jenny?? Maybe you have, maybe you not. But I am right now in the middle of a situation that I no longer care whether I have to beat you or King for that belt. But that championship belt is about to come home… or else I may just lose my freaking mind!!! Waking up every single night, sweating buckets from a dream that I cannot describe. Every afternoon having visions of my dead wife, parading as a morbid corpse while blaming the entirety of her passing all because I wanted to wrestle!! And then to have HER leach onto me!!! To the point that I have just given in Jenny, hopefully it will give me wonderful nights as I sleep like a baby, perhaps a dark wet patch every now and then because SHE needs to sin her .. Arrghhhh!!!!”

His hands clutches towards his throat, trying to pull away something for the watchful eye as in reality it is the vampire that has sank her fangs into the back of his neck and started to drink some of his blood before pulling away from him.

“I will stop when you start to rationalize like you always have done Gerrit!!!!”

Goth becins to curse as he runs his fingers across the spot where in his mind she had bitten him, lowering his fingers towards his face as he can see his own blood drip from his fingers, wondering whether he is seeing reality or just his very own imagination. Causing something to trigger inside of him.

“IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT!!?? If this is what it takes for me to take home that Xtreme championship belt, then so fucking God be it! You see Jenny, I used to be a violent man inside that ring, no matter whether it was male or female. No matter whether you were soft from the inside or needs to have your stinking face drilled into the steel ring post, trying to figure out whether we all bleed the same way. And I know I cannot blame just solely you for all of this, but you just could have stayed away bitch!!!”

He starts to scratch his face in anger, his breathe is irregular as his face is slowly turning purple as if he is unable to catch his breath.

“That’s it Gerrit, just a little bit longer…. There you go…”

Suddenly he is able to catch his breath as his head falls forward due to the vampire ghost letting go of choking his throat. His hands immediately traces the lines where her fingers were before staring his blood shed eyes at the camera.

“I used to hate her Jenny, I took someone’s career and wasted it from the first moment that we stepped foot inside a squared circle. And you know why Jenny? Because she was a threat to me, she was the one that would stand in my way for achieving greatness. And now to have her ruin my life this time around makes me realize that I have got to do anything in my power to stop her…. And I guess I just have to rip the pink and white pony tails out of your stinking head and hold them right in front of your eyes, watch you in horror as you realize that the red dripping blood that comes from the other end of it is from your stinking skull. I realize now that there is no limits that I need to go to not only win that championship, but also to free my mental state of mind. And that is far more important than what you claim to have in your own possession…. “

“What Ashe???”

Goth’s head snaps to the side, we see his eyes widen as he is looking at her scraping the skin off of the face of his fiancé…. Causing him to burst out in tears an become emotionally unstable.

“NOOO!!!!!! STAY AWAY FROM HER!! I already told you that I would do anything to just get you away from me!!! Don’t ruin my happiness!!!!”

Goth grabs the sides of his head and lets out an animalistic scream, not wanting to look at what the vampire woman is doing to his fiancé. Afraid that he would see her do even worse diabolical things to his fiancé than what she has been doing to him as of late.

“I would sacrifice my sanity, just to have a single moment of pure silence, a moment where you can a rain drop touch the concrete outside. I have hopes to hear the birds whistle their tunes in an attempt to find a mate. I hope to marry my fiancé without THAT!! Lurking around my every movement that I make. And then there is you, little arrogant little bitch… a little loud mouthed wannabe that knows that she is good, real good. And that’s where exactly your problem is at Jenny. Your problem is that you know so much, yet you have no clue to rival someone that has exceeed your mental state of mind by tenfold…. Is there a puppet that you wisht o take home with you Jenny?? Or will you be willing to sprayp paint your stinking face in the hopes that I will see a ghost once more?? Newsflash champ, right now I do not even know whether I am alive or whether I am applying for a rostr spot for the New Jersey Devil’s Ice Hockey team that uses real life bones as hockey sticks and skulls as pucks. And you are going to tell me that I am not capable of taking home that championship belt??? Remember what I did to that belt when I was sane?? Let alone when I am….. ARGHHHHHHH”

We see tentacles slowly pouring out of his neck and from the side of his face, they are slowly attaching themselves to the table and drags his head down towards it. He is trying to resist the sudden impact, but the strength of the tentacles is too much for him. We see Ashe slowly lower her face above that of his and chuckles….

“If you truly want that belt Gerrit, then you need to suffer in such an extreme fashion that I am not certain if I wish to give up on you after this…..”

A diabolical laugh can be heard as tears are flowing from his eyes, combined with anger that is burning a hole throught he camera man’s soul.

“For over twenty years I have given my sanity!! I have given my blood, sweat and tears for the art of wrestling! Now I am… Arrghh!!! Now I am going to take it all bac Jenny. I cannot wait until I hold that stinking head of yours in the palm of my hand…. Staring at you while I drown the hopes and dreams of Isaiah King with one swift Chaos ADDT. Because this is OUR fight damnit, this is OUR war that decides who belongs with that belt… It is just too late for you to think about the title defences on other shows… because it will all have to come an end… IT HAS TO!!”

“Oh please, please don’t hurt me!!!!!”

Suddenly the tentacles have vanished, Goth is dropping on his hands and knees and is in a pleading position while grabbing the pale white legs of the vampire ghost, who is standing over him with sadistic intent on her mind.

“Yes mistress, I will beg, I will plead, I will even crawl on my hands and knees… just don’t hurt me and my Melissa… ”

His hands start to reach up her legs as the vampire kicks him away from her, grabbing the head of the lifeless figure that is still frozen in time as she pressures her nails against her flesh.

“Why would I do something to her Gerrit?? I am already making YOU suffer, that’s all I ever wanted…..”

She plants a kiss on the cheek of Melissa, this causes a rage to come over Goth as he suddenly launches over towards the vampire ghost. But she vanishes as he comes crushing down into the wall nearest to them. Unable to move he starts to check if he has not broken anything while hearing the laughter of the vampire in the background.

“Come on Gerrit, you aren’t even trying!!!!”

Goth is coughing up blood, holding his arm around his ribs before rolling over as this gives him the opportunity to sit with his back against the wall while staring towards the camera with a painful expression.

“I cannot lose, I have already lost anything that I have worked so hard for. The only thing that I have left is the love for my fiancé Jenny and my last shred of sanity. And even that is something I do not know whether how long I will be able to maintain that composure!! So I beg of you Jenny, if you have a heart…. Please let me win”

“I am not asking this for my own sanity Jenny, because I already know that I can not be saved. But I am asking, no I’m imploring you to do this for YOUR own sake and that of Isaiah King’s. I am asking you this for the entire locker room, Master Mind… the first round opponent for the March Madness tournament.. What a suitable name wouldn’t you agree with a deranged human being?!!!! At least if this what is left of me can be related to a humain being!!! I prefer an animalistic last remnant of the predator that we once were… “

“So what will it be Jenny?? Will you be selfish? Forcing me to crop the final judgment upon YOUR soul and each and everyone else?? Or are you going to be a cooperative little bitch and do what is best for YOU and Master Mind and the rest that will come after you??? Because that title needs to come home… and it needs to come home with……”

Goth turns his attention to the side and then swallows….. before lowering his head and nods in silence….

“Yes Mistress, it will all be yours…..”

The vampire bursts out in laughter, finally achieving her long time goal and own Goth and make his life a misery. Promising him false promises, only to squash them in front of his eyes. Causing his desperation to grow with every passing moment in the hope of one day being freed from her clutches. Suddenly we see the vampire vanish into thin air as Goth wakes up in front of Melissa as she continues talking as if nothing had happened.

“Want a bite Gerrit??”

Goth snaps out of his thoughts as he sees Melissa extend a fork with a piece of her salad, he smiles as he realizes that he has endured the suffering that Ashe had put him through. Willingly accepts the gesture as the two share some nice chit chat as the shot slowly fades.


]]> <![CDATA["So Much For Respectful"]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45488 Fri, 27 Jan 2023 22:24:41 -0800 Mark Flynn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45488 Total and complete darkness.

A fan whirring to life. A blue light on a wall.

Projecting an image…

Of a tweet.

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-3-33-13-PM.png]

“‘Respectful’, huh? That’s what you have to say?”

“So.”

“Much.”

“For respectful.”

…A low, spitting moan. Like steam escaping… Slowly transforming into a chuckle.

“That’s so… YOU, Peter.”

“A Five-Time World Champion.”

“Across five different companies.”

“Acting like a pampered fucking brat when I dare give him the lightest dusting of trash talk.”

“SO.”

“MUCH.”

“For respectful.”

…

Click. The light dims. The fan slows. The projector slows excruciatingly…

The darkness returns.

“That’s the difference between the hungry and the fed, Peter.”

“Those on top play ‘Respectability Politics’. They sit atop their ivory castles and watch those they think are BENEATH THEM LANGUISH IN AGONY. TOILING and STRUGGLING AGAINST A WORLD THAT DEEMED THEM LESSER.”

“A GOD THAT CHOSE THEM TO WALLOW IN SHIT… While lucky few live above them.”

“And when the serfs and the lowborn gather around the privileged, striking at the hypocrisy of those with wealth hoarding it. At the sick joke that is the King of the Castle taxing the poor for what gold they have.”

“The ‘King’ clears his throat. And mutters.”

“SO.”

“MUCH.”

“FOR RESPECTFUL.”

“Because you don’t have a fucking leg to stand on going toe-to-toe with me, Vaughnie.”

“You want to police my fucking language?”

“Step into this fucking ring and shut my mouth for me.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re my partner, my brother, my mother, my ruler, my FUCKING GOD…”

“I climbed the MountainTop™, walking a road LITTERED with hypocrites, liars and SNAKES…”

“I made myself a legend for stripping false idols, adorned in gold… And casting them onto the ground to be fed upon by the rats they used to reign over.”

…

“So much for respectful, Vaughnie?”

…

“You want ‘respectful’?”

“How 'bout I write you a fucking eulogy…”

***

“So! Our data shows that 18% of XWF’s fans are of hispanic heritage! But, their purchases only account for TWELVE percent of concession sales!”

…

Irwin, Flynn's head simp, standing in front of a powerpoint with two side-by-side pie charts, lets this fact breathe.

The simps that surround the executive boardroom nod thoughtfully, like this is a true conundrum.

At the head of the Board Room, two men sit.

One, an older man, sits stone-faced. Staring at the presentation with full focus.

The other has the Universal Title draped over his shoulder. Wearing a suit and shades.

Hate-Staring at his phone as he rapidly types…

…Deletes…

…And types again…

“So!” Irwin continues. “Why the disconnect from proportion of fandom to direct revenue?” Irwin claps his hands. “Because our concessions don't TARGET totheir culture! We need a concession item that celebrates the intersection of Lucha Libre AND the XWF… (and creates a product XWF can sell for $24 a pop).”

“Thus! I pitch to our glorious leader, Mark Flynn…”

[Image: opt-aboutcom-coeus-resources-content-mig...7-06-2.png]

“THE LATINA SUBMISSION MICHELADA! Zesty chili-pepper and lime-juice cocktail with LSM’s face on it!”

A smattering of applause.

…The clapping dies down.

…

Until the only remaining sound.

Is Flynn’s thumbs firing machinegun fire.

RATTA TAT TAT.

…

Backspace.

RATTA TA TAT TAT.

…

The older man beside him casually turns until he stares into the side of Flynn’s head.

…

Still, he doesn’t look up.

…

Irwin dry-swallows.

His mouth involuntarily opens.

His first instinct is to beg for Flynn's opinion.

But his second instinct demands he waits until the genius Flynn is ready to speak.

…

The rest of the room becomes terrified by the silence.

Is Flynn displeased with the pitch?

Should one of them say a better pitch?

Would it draw Flynn's anger to check their idea notebooks for better merch ideas?

The entire room is held hostage by Flynn’s disinterest.

…

Still, Flynn types.

With the older man staring into the side of his head.

The elder’s eyes narrow, ever-so-slightly.

“I believe…” The senior cuts in quietly. But, in a room so deathly silent, even the quietest interruption is jarring to  all parties. The twenty-four simps seize momentarily, as they all rapidly shift their seats toward the authority.

“That Mister Flynn is… *intrigued* by this pitch. An… Efficient opportunity to monetize a star that… resonates with a demographic that remains… incompletely engaged.”

The two-dozen simps all look around and nod at each other, murmuring thoughts like ‘of course!’ and ‘that’s so true!’ and ‘what impeccable vision!’

“Irwin. Why don’t you guide your fellow…  Contingent Stakeholders™… to expand this very… promising… concept. A brief seven-minute meeting should put more… SUBSTANCE toward this... bold direction.”

Irwin, giddy to receive praise AND take direction, claps his hands and sprints toward the door.

“All right, guys! Board Room #2! We’re putting MEAT on this Bone! Speaking of which, someone trademark ‘EDWARD’s Brontosaurus Ribs! Meat falling off the bone quicker than the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs!”

In seconds, the boardroom is emptied.

Leaving Mark Flynn…

Future-Flynn.

And Flynn’s rapidly typing fingers.

…

“Your… inattention… is introducing… IN-EFF-I-CIEN-CY… to our designs.” Future-Flynn hisses. His eyes burn like a raging housefire.

“You see this tweet Vaughnie put out?” Flynn mutters, still typing…

…Future-Flynn glowers downwards, irritated at being ignored.

“...In the hopes of… REMOVING this BLOCK, we shall divert to your topic-of-preference.”

Future-Flynn sits beside Flynn.

“What tweet?”

“Vaughn had the gall. The FUCKING AUDACITY… to suggest that *I* disrespected *him*...”

…

“And? What is the issue? We disrespect many people.”

Flynn shifts his neck upwards at himself, squinting in disbelief.

“Are you fucking stupid? HE is controlling the narrative. HE purports to the FUCKING WORLD that I am disrespectful. And those fucking mental children listen…’”

“Clearly, you’ve taken residency in his mind. Like a defenseless child, Peter strikes back by crying that you’ve violated some false rule of etiquette. If ‘The Mechanic’ had the solid ground on which to strike back, he would, instead of calling lines crossed in a game where nothing is out-of-bonds: The prep before a match.”

“I don’t give a SHIT if Vaughnie can strike back. HE’S the one disrespecting ME. And I’m sick and tired of being the alternative to the ‘truth’ invented by my challengers. It makes me FUCKING ILL… the idea that some fucking RUBE… thinks Vaughn has a rhetorical leg to stand on.”

“So, kick out his actual leg. Defeat him. History is written by the victor.”

Flynn slams his fist against the EXECUTIVE DESK™. “INSUFFICIENT.”

“I plan to DECIMATE Peter Vaughn on the MountainTop™. I will sacrifice Peter Vaughn at the top of the OPTIMAL PATH™, like Abraham did Isaac. But, SUCCESS™ will not spare Vaughnie’s life like the God of Abraham. Because SUCCESS™ never stops consuming…”

“...A wondrous plan. Shall we then return to the… office, to further... evaluate Peter's brand?”

“No.”

…

“No?”

“I will massacre Peter Vaughn. A fucking spectacle. If you could schedule a public execution by the Aurora Borealis. It will be VISCERAL and AWE-INSPIRING. And I want the world to see it.”

“So it shall be. The SnowJob Pay-Per-View pre-orders are already record-setting. It's the most successful January XWF Event in company history. The XWF Universe is begging for Flynn - vs - Vaughn.”

“I don’t *just* want the tens of millions of XWF die-hards to witness a pretender slew upon the rock.”

Flynn snorts imagining his masterstroke ignored by even one soul.

“I want BILLIONS OF EYES. EVERY FUCKING EYE THERE IS... ON ME. The FUCKING WORLD should have NO CHOICE… but to bear witness to my ULTIMATE ASCENSION.”

…Future-Flynn exhales, impatiently at the grandiose desires of this spoiled child he shares an identity with.

“How… do you propose we… distribute the news of this… Ascension to these... Eyes?”

“How did Theo Pryce promote his movie?”

“The late-night circuit.”

“*I* want that.”

…

Flynn smashes his fist against the executive desk. It jolts a few inches in the air, before clattering back to the ground.

“I DESERVE THAT. EVERYTHING THEO HAS. I SHOULD HAVE. If Theo did the late-night circuit, I SHOULD GET TO.”

…Future-Flynn briefly presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose… Trying to keep his composure.

“Talk-show hosts and anecdotes… are Old media. Dying. The average 18-to-29 year old can’t watch Jimmy Kimmel without bringing up his history of blackface. And Stephen Colbert hasn’t been funny since he replaced Letterman. These programs are hemorrhaging viewers weekly.”

“And YET. I'VE never made a late-night appearance.”

“Tristan Slater did ten years ago.”

“And Theo Pryce did last month.”

“WELL, I AM THROUGH BEING IGNORED.”

“I AM THE MASTER OF REALITY™. AND I CLAIM MY POWER OVER THE OLD MEDIA GODS AND THE NEW.”

…

“So. We'll return to work if I get you an appearance on Jimmy Fallon? THAT will end this IMPETUOUS DEMANDING?!?”

…Flynn eyes his future self with suspicion.

…

“Fine.”

Future-Flynn lifts a phone to his ear and presses a few buttons.

“Therse, connect me to Lorne Michaels. I need his giggling chimp-boy to bend to my will.”

“WAIT. NO.”

Venomously, Future Flynn spits at Flynn.

“WHAT? WHAT IS IT NOW?”

Flynn snorts.

“I don’t *just* want what Theo's sloppy seconds…”

“I.”

“WANT.”

“MOOOOOOOOOORE.”

…

“...Mark. If you want a late-night appearance, there is nothing above Jimmy Fallon. Jimmy Fallon is the Mountain Top™.”

“THEN PLACE ME ABOVE THE MOUNTAINTOP™. I wanna be on… fucking… DOUBLE FALLON.”

“...Double Fallon?”

“DOUBLE FALLON.”

…

Future-Flynn scratches his forehead.

…

He lifts the phone back to his ear.

“Therese, after I get off the phone with Mister Michaels…”

“Connect me to the XWF's cloning lab.”

...

“Yes, they'll be working overtime tonight...”

***

Mark Flynn. Suited.

The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon's logo on the back of his chair…

“Peter, what I want…”

FLAP! A new logo gets slap-plastered over the old...

[Image: Xv-YSkix-A9-U7-DD5y-Zh-GFyu-V-1.png]

“I get.”

“And what I want is for the world to see you for what you truly are.”

“A MEDIOCRE TALENT.”

“A fucking B+ player. Wearing so many belts around his waist to hide his lack of manhood.”

A trio comprising the hair and make-up team surrounds Flynn in his chair. They fawn over his appearance.

"Real easy to get dolled up, huh, Vaughnie?"

The makeup person dabs powder to add color to his cheeks. Suddenly, the deathly pale Flynn suddenly has the tanned face of a Malibu beach dweller.

“Easy to doll up the truth too... Trim the edges. Smooth down the rough bits."

His hairline is straightened and sharpened.

“Problem is, sometimes you paint the truth in so many coats of bullshit, it comes out the other side a FUCKING LIE.”

…

“I'm no saint, Vaughnie. But I have NEVER fabricated a victory out of nothing.”

“That’s the point of the statistics. The Brand Evaluation™. We strip fantasy from the facts”

“I deliver IRREFUTABLE EVIDENCE of past behavior. Accompanied by MY UNMATCHED DOMINANCE in the present… Leading one to logically conclude that my future performance will be equally UNDEFEATABLE™.”

…

“But, then. Here comes Peter Vaughn. Fabricating a victory.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-25-56-PM.png]

“How… deliciously misleading.”

Flynn shakes his head as gel is rubbed into his scalp.

“Let’s start with the undisputed facts.”

“FACT: Both you and I competed in the West Coast Rumble.”

“FACT: You won the West Coast Rumble.”

…

“Now, does that mean *technically* that you… beat me in the West Coast Rumble?”

…

Flynn’s eye twitches… Little flecks of flesh-colored powder fall off his face like snowflakes.

“Tech-nic-ally.”

…

“However, anyone with two brain cells might remember the Brawl before.”

“Where Vaughn and Flynn declared TOTAL WAR on the rest of the WGWF roster.”

“Where we promised that we would eliminate the ENTIRE SPECTRUM OF TALENT that the rest of the locker room represented…"

"That spectrum being From 'NONE' to 'LITTLE'…”

“We guaranteed that once it was down to just you… And I… that we would finally settle the argument of who is truly Better.”

…

“Then, the West Coast Rumble arrived.”

“Let’s hit the beats of Vaughn's CHAMPIONSHIP-CALIBER PERFORMANCE.”

“Vaughn slides in the ring with Raion Kido… And immediately retreats to grab a BRICK and a chair.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-36-50-PM.png]

“He returns to the ring and immediately loses the chair. He’s almost eliminated in SECONDS…”

Flynn grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose, as it's dabbed with concealer.

“...My partner, ladies and germs.”

“Speaking of Vaughn's incompetence, let's skip ahead a few minutes. I’m being double-teamed by Raion Kido and John Cable..”

“Vaughnie comes to the rescue. And his CLUMSY ass almost knocks me over the ropes and out of the ring.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-38-56-PM.png]

“Is that the part where you beat me, Vaughnie? I’ve watched this match over and over and OVER AGAIN. Could you point me to the timestamp where you prove you’re better than me?”

“Cuz, I gotta tell ya, I CAN’T FUCKING FIND IT.”

…

“Back to the tape.”

“Peter Vaughn tries to eliminate John Cable, all by himself, like an adult… And can’t fucking do it.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-42-45-PM.png]

“Minutes Later? His ol’ buddy Flynn finds the spot by himself. Aims the kick at Cable and tosses out Tristan FUCKING Slater.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-43-22-PM.png]

“The man who GUARANTEED that NEITHER OF US would win that night.”

…

“Yeah, no need to thank me, Vaughn.”

“Just doing my job AND YOURS…”

…

“Now, here we are… The Final Five.”

“Vaughn - vs - Kido. Two World Series of Wrestling FINALISTS.”

“How will Vaughn beat Kido this time?”

…

“By leaning on Mark Flynn like a fucking walking stick.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-47-31-PM.png]

“FINAL FOUR. Vaughn and Flynn - vs - Goth and Mark Cross.”

“We pair off. Cross goes for a dive. We side-step. Goth eats the dive and is eliminated.”

“Final Three: Peter Vaughn, Mark Cross and Mark Flynn.”

…

“Maybe this is when Vaughn proves he’s better than me?”

“Think a-fucking-gain.”

“After a little back-and-forth, we trap and corner Mark Cross deeper and deeper into no man’s land… GUARANTEEING he’ll be making an EXPEDIENT EXIT.”

“My back is to the ramp. I’ve stepped onto the apron to SURROUND and ELIMINATE Mark Cross.”

“Vaughn is beside me, facing the same direction. We’re about to two-man suplex Cross over the top rope to the outside.”

“THIS is what we promised on Brawl, Peter. Clearing out the WEAK and the FEEBLE, before the two best in the business settle the score.”

…

“Now, zoom in…”

“Enhaaaaaaance.”

…The screen closes in on the ramp behind Flynn and Vaughn

“Who rolls down the ramp?”

“Tristan Slater with a steel-folding chair.”

“The same guy who got my World Title Reigns excised from XWF History… Because of HIS steroid usage.”

…

“I'll repeat that, cuz it's INSANE."

"Slater did steroids SO HARD, that *I* had my World Title reign crossed out…”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-53-33-PM.png]

…

“Now, watch what comes next…”
[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-58-20-PM.png]

…

“I get whacked with a steel chair by Tristan Slater. NOT Peter Vaughn.”

“I get my ankle grabbed by Tristan Slater. NOT Peter Vaughn.”

“I get blindsided and pulled off the apron to the floor by TRISTAN FUCKING SLATER.”

“Vaughn sits there with his FUCKING THUMB UP HIS ASS.”

…

“But, don’t take my word for it, folks!”

“Or trust your own eyes.”

“Let’s go to the final scoreboard, shall we? And see just how dominant Peter Vaughn was in his World Championship winning performance.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-11-01-36-PM.png]

“...In a 20-man over-the-top rope battle royal. Peter Vaughn earned… ONE solo elimination. At the END of the match.”

“The other one (two if we count Goth) were done with MY FUCKING DIRECTION AND EXPERTISE.”

…

“Which raises the question… Did Peter Vaughn beat Mark Flynn in the West Coast Rumble?”

“Obviously, no.”

“Peter Vaughn was the DEAD WEIGHT that Mark Flynn carried on his fucking back to the Final Three of the match.”

“And when Flynn was ambushed in the last phase of the match… Vaughn had a CHOICE.”

“Slater hit Flynn with a chair? Vaughn did nothing.”

“Slater starts to pull Flynn off the apron? Vaughn did DICK.”

“Slater eliminates Flynn? Vaughn rolls right back under the rope to keep going.”

“Doesn’t bat a fucking eye that his ‘partner’ just got eliminated ILLEGALLY.”

“Why?”

…

“Because Vaughn did the math in his head.”

“He knew that if he interfered in Slater’s attack? I'd would stay in the match.”

“He and Flynn would easily eliminate Mark Cross.”

“And that would leave Vaughnie with his biggest obstacle between him and the belt.”

“The man who’d beaten him in every fucking match type imaginable. One-on-one, Tag-Team and Trios.”

“Vaughn made a choice to let Flynn get eliminated.”

“Because Peter Vaughn was AFRAID of sticking to his word.”

“And finishing the fight with Mark Flynn.”

“Because, Peter Vaughn is a… in the immortal words of my REAL partner…”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-11-09-35-PM.png]

“Rest in peace, NK.”

Flynn points down the camera's barrel.

“You want to talk 'respect', Vaughnie?”

“How about you respect what actually happened?”

“Did you win the West Coast Rumble?”

“Sure.”

“Did you BEAT me?”

“No. We partnered up. Then, someone else took me out."

"You didn't even have the balls to betray me yourself. You just LET me get ambushed."

"The belt fell in your lap."

“Just like your Uni Title win over Jimbo.”

"Just like your TPW belt you haven't had to defend in almost ten months."

“That WGWF TItle around your waist?”

“Peter Vaughn was once again... In the right place…”

“At the right time.”

…

“But, the MountainTop™ can't fall in your lap, Vaughnaroo.”

“There’s no shortcuts through the OPTIMAL PATH™.”

“There’s ONE WAY TO SUCCEED. And it’s OVER ME.”

“That’s the beauty of my Optimal Path™ match, Vaughn.”

"It doesn’t *benefit* me, you or anyone.”

“There’s not a shred of luck to it.”

“It is the ultimate test."

"The worthy climb.”

“The unworthy fall.”

…

“This is your chance at immortality, Vaughn.”

“Not beating that over-the-hill drunk, James Raven.”

“THIS IS YOUR ONE CHANCE TO PROVE ONCE-AND-FOR-ALL THAT YOU HAVE THE NERVE. TO GO TOE-TO-TOE WITH MARK FUCKING FLYNN.”

Clap-clap. The make-up team retreats.

…Flynn stands up, looking like a million bucks.

He approaches a red curtain.

“And when you try?"

"You’ll die.”

Above the curtain, Flynn taps the Double Fallon logo.

"Showtime..."

OOC: 2997 Words (wordcounter.com_word_count)]]> Total and complete darkness.

A fan whirring to life. A blue light on a wall.

Projecting an image…

Of a tweet.

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-3-33-13-PM.png]

“‘Respectful’, huh? That’s what you have to say?”

“So.”

“Much.”

“For respectful.”

…A low, spitting moan. Like steam escaping… Slowly transforming into a chuckle.

“That’s so… YOU, Peter.”

“A Five-Time World Champion.”

“Across five different companies.”

“Acting like a pampered fucking brat when I dare give him the lightest dusting of trash talk.”

“SO.”

“MUCH.”

“For respectful.”

…

Click. The light dims. The fan slows. The projector slows excruciatingly…

The darkness returns.

“That’s the difference between the hungry and the fed, Peter.”

“Those on top play ‘Respectability Politics’. They sit atop their ivory castles and watch those they think are BENEATH THEM LANGUISH IN AGONY. TOILING and STRUGGLING AGAINST A WORLD THAT DEEMED THEM LESSER.”

“A GOD THAT CHOSE THEM TO WALLOW IN SHIT… While lucky few live above them.”

“And when the serfs and the lowborn gather around the privileged, striking at the hypocrisy of those with wealth hoarding it. At the sick joke that is the King of the Castle taxing the poor for what gold they have.”

“The ‘King’ clears his throat. And mutters.”

“SO.”

“MUCH.”

“FOR RESPECTFUL.”

“Because you don’t have a fucking leg to stand on going toe-to-toe with me, Vaughnie.”

“You want to police my fucking language?”

“Step into this fucking ring and shut my mouth for me.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re my partner, my brother, my mother, my ruler, my FUCKING GOD…”

“I climbed the MountainTop™, walking a road LITTERED with hypocrites, liars and SNAKES…”

“I made myself a legend for stripping false idols, adorned in gold… And casting them onto the ground to be fed upon by the rats they used to reign over.”

…

“So much for respectful, Vaughnie?”

…

“You want ‘respectful’?”

“How 'bout I write you a fucking eulogy…”

***

“So! Our data shows that 18% of XWF’s fans are of hispanic heritage! But, their purchases only account for TWELVE percent of concession sales!”

…

Irwin, Flynn's head simp, standing in front of a powerpoint with two side-by-side pie charts, lets this fact breathe.

The simps that surround the executive boardroom nod thoughtfully, like this is a true conundrum.

At the head of the Board Room, two men sit.

One, an older man, sits stone-faced. Staring at the presentation with full focus.

The other has the Universal Title draped over his shoulder. Wearing a suit and shades.

Hate-Staring at his phone as he rapidly types…

…Deletes…

…And types again…

“So!” Irwin continues. “Why the disconnect from proportion of fandom to direct revenue?” Irwin claps his hands. “Because our concessions don't TARGET totheir culture! We need a concession item that celebrates the intersection of Lucha Libre AND the XWF… (and creates a product XWF can sell for $24 a pop).”

“Thus! I pitch to our glorious leader, Mark Flynn…”

[Image: opt-aboutcom-coeus-resources-content-mig...7-06-2.png]

“THE LATINA SUBMISSION MICHELADA! Zesty chili-pepper and lime-juice cocktail with LSM’s face on it!”

A smattering of applause.

…The clapping dies down.

…

Until the only remaining sound.

Is Flynn’s thumbs firing machinegun fire.

RATTA TAT TAT.

…

Backspace.

RATTA TA TAT TAT.

…

The older man beside him casually turns until he stares into the side of Flynn’s head.

…

Still, he doesn’t look up.

…

Irwin dry-swallows.

His mouth involuntarily opens.

His first instinct is to beg for Flynn's opinion.

But his second instinct demands he waits until the genius Flynn is ready to speak.

…

The rest of the room becomes terrified by the silence.

Is Flynn displeased with the pitch?

Should one of them say a better pitch?

Would it draw Flynn's anger to check their idea notebooks for better merch ideas?

The entire room is held hostage by Flynn’s disinterest.

…

Still, Flynn types.

With the older man staring into the side of his head.

The elder’s eyes narrow, ever-so-slightly.

“I believe…” The senior cuts in quietly. But, in a room so deathly silent, even the quietest interruption is jarring to  all parties. The twenty-four simps seize momentarily, as they all rapidly shift their seats toward the authority.

“That Mister Flynn is… *intrigued* by this pitch. An… Efficient opportunity to monetize a star that… resonates with a demographic that remains… incompletely engaged.”

The two-dozen simps all look around and nod at each other, murmuring thoughts like ‘of course!’ and ‘that’s so true!’ and ‘what impeccable vision!’

“Irwin. Why don’t you guide your fellow…  Contingent Stakeholders™… to expand this very… promising… concept. A brief seven-minute meeting should put more… SUBSTANCE toward this... bold direction.”

Irwin, giddy to receive praise AND take direction, claps his hands and sprints toward the door.

“All right, guys! Board Room #2! We’re putting MEAT on this Bone! Speaking of which, someone trademark ‘EDWARD’s Brontosaurus Ribs! Meat falling off the bone quicker than the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs!”

In seconds, the boardroom is emptied.

Leaving Mark Flynn…

Future-Flynn.

And Flynn’s rapidly typing fingers.

…

“Your… inattention… is introducing… IN-EFF-I-CIEN-CY… to our designs.” Future-Flynn hisses. His eyes burn like a raging housefire.

“You see this tweet Vaughnie put out?” Flynn mutters, still typing…

…Future-Flynn glowers downwards, irritated at being ignored.

“...In the hopes of… REMOVING this BLOCK, we shall divert to your topic-of-preference.”

Future-Flynn sits beside Flynn.

“What tweet?”

“Vaughn had the gall. The FUCKING AUDACITY… to suggest that *I* disrespected *him*...”

…

“And? What is the issue? We disrespect many people.”

Flynn shifts his neck upwards at himself, squinting in disbelief.

“Are you fucking stupid? HE is controlling the narrative. HE purports to the FUCKING WORLD that I am disrespectful. And those fucking mental children listen…’”

“Clearly, you’ve taken residency in his mind. Like a defenseless child, Peter strikes back by crying that you’ve violated some false rule of etiquette. If ‘The Mechanic’ had the solid ground on which to strike back, he would, instead of calling lines crossed in a game where nothing is out-of-bonds: The prep before a match.”

“I don’t give a SHIT if Vaughnie can strike back. HE’S the one disrespecting ME. And I’m sick and tired of being the alternative to the ‘truth’ invented by my challengers. It makes me FUCKING ILL… the idea that some fucking RUBE… thinks Vaughn has a rhetorical leg to stand on.”

“So, kick out his actual leg. Defeat him. History is written by the victor.”

Flynn slams his fist against the EXECUTIVE DESK™. “INSUFFICIENT.”

“I plan to DECIMATE Peter Vaughn on the MountainTop™. I will sacrifice Peter Vaughn at the top of the OPTIMAL PATH™, like Abraham did Isaac. But, SUCCESS™ will not spare Vaughnie’s life like the God of Abraham. Because SUCCESS™ never stops consuming…”

“...A wondrous plan. Shall we then return to the… office, to further... evaluate Peter's brand?”

“No.”

…

“No?”

“I will massacre Peter Vaughn. A fucking spectacle. If you could schedule a public execution by the Aurora Borealis. It will be VISCERAL and AWE-INSPIRING. And I want the world to see it.”

“So it shall be. The SnowJob Pay-Per-View pre-orders are already record-setting. It's the most successful January XWF Event in company history. The XWF Universe is begging for Flynn - vs - Vaughn.”

“I don’t *just* want the tens of millions of XWF die-hards to witness a pretender slew upon the rock.”

Flynn snorts imagining his masterstroke ignored by even one soul.

“I want BILLIONS OF EYES. EVERY FUCKING EYE THERE IS... ON ME. The FUCKING WORLD should have NO CHOICE… but to bear witness to my ULTIMATE ASCENSION.”

…Future-Flynn exhales, impatiently at the grandiose desires of this spoiled child he shares an identity with.

“How… do you propose we… distribute the news of this… Ascension to these... Eyes?”

“How did Theo Pryce promote his movie?”

“The late-night circuit.”

“*I* want that.”

…

Flynn smashes his fist against the executive desk. It jolts a few inches in the air, before clattering back to the ground.

“I DESERVE THAT. EVERYTHING THEO HAS. I SHOULD HAVE. If Theo did the late-night circuit, I SHOULD GET TO.”

…Future-Flynn briefly presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose… Trying to keep his composure.

“Talk-show hosts and anecdotes… are Old media. Dying. The average 18-to-29 year old can’t watch Jimmy Kimmel without bringing up his history of blackface. And Stephen Colbert hasn’t been funny since he replaced Letterman. These programs are hemorrhaging viewers weekly.”

“And YET. I'VE never made a late-night appearance.”

“Tristan Slater did ten years ago.”

“And Theo Pryce did last month.”

“WELL, I AM THROUGH BEING IGNORED.”

“I AM THE MASTER OF REALITY™. AND I CLAIM MY POWER OVER THE OLD MEDIA GODS AND THE NEW.”

…

“So. We'll return to work if I get you an appearance on Jimmy Fallon? THAT will end this IMPETUOUS DEMANDING?!?”

…Flynn eyes his future self with suspicion.

…

“Fine.”

Future-Flynn lifts a phone to his ear and presses a few buttons.

“Therse, connect me to Lorne Michaels. I need his giggling chimp-boy to bend to my will.”

“WAIT. NO.”

Venomously, Future Flynn spits at Flynn.

“WHAT? WHAT IS IT NOW?”

Flynn snorts.

“I don’t *just* want what Theo's sloppy seconds…”

“I.”

“WANT.”

“MOOOOOOOOOORE.”

…

“...Mark. If you want a late-night appearance, there is nothing above Jimmy Fallon. Jimmy Fallon is the Mountain Top™.”

“THEN PLACE ME ABOVE THE MOUNTAINTOP™. I wanna be on… fucking… DOUBLE FALLON.”

“...Double Fallon?”

“DOUBLE FALLON.”

…

Future-Flynn scratches his forehead.

…

He lifts the phone back to his ear.

“Therese, after I get off the phone with Mister Michaels…”

“Connect me to the XWF's cloning lab.”

...

“Yes, they'll be working overtime tonight...”

***

Mark Flynn. Suited.

The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon's logo on the back of his chair…

“Peter, what I want…”

FLAP! A new logo gets slap-plastered over the old...

[Image: Xv-YSkix-A9-U7-DD5y-Zh-GFyu-V-1.png]

“I get.”

“And what I want is for the world to see you for what you truly are.”

“A MEDIOCRE TALENT.”

“A fucking B+ player. Wearing so many belts around his waist to hide his lack of manhood.”

A trio comprising the hair and make-up team surrounds Flynn in his chair. They fawn over his appearance.

"Real easy to get dolled up, huh, Vaughnie?"

The makeup person dabs powder to add color to his cheeks. Suddenly, the deathly pale Flynn suddenly has the tanned face of a Malibu beach dweller.

“Easy to doll up the truth too... Trim the edges. Smooth down the rough bits."

His hairline is straightened and sharpened.

“Problem is, sometimes you paint the truth in so many coats of bullshit, it comes out the other side a FUCKING LIE.”

…

“I'm no saint, Vaughnie. But I have NEVER fabricated a victory out of nothing.”

“That’s the point of the statistics. The Brand Evaluation™. We strip fantasy from the facts”

“I deliver IRREFUTABLE EVIDENCE of past behavior. Accompanied by MY UNMATCHED DOMINANCE in the present… Leading one to logically conclude that my future performance will be equally UNDEFEATABLE™.”

…

“But, then. Here comes Peter Vaughn. Fabricating a victory.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-25-56-PM.png]

“How… deliciously misleading.”

Flynn shakes his head as gel is rubbed into his scalp.

“Let’s start with the undisputed facts.”

“FACT: Both you and I competed in the West Coast Rumble.”

“FACT: You won the West Coast Rumble.”

…

“Now, does that mean *technically* that you… beat me in the West Coast Rumble?”

…

Flynn’s eye twitches… Little flecks of flesh-colored powder fall off his face like snowflakes.

“Tech-nic-ally.”

…

“However, anyone with two brain cells might remember the Brawl before.”

“Where Vaughn and Flynn declared TOTAL WAR on the rest of the WGWF roster.”

“Where we promised that we would eliminate the ENTIRE SPECTRUM OF TALENT that the rest of the locker room represented…"

"That spectrum being From 'NONE' to 'LITTLE'…”

“We guaranteed that once it was down to just you… And I… that we would finally settle the argument of who is truly Better.”

…

“Then, the West Coast Rumble arrived.”

“Let’s hit the beats of Vaughn's CHAMPIONSHIP-CALIBER PERFORMANCE.”

“Vaughn slides in the ring with Raion Kido… And immediately retreats to grab a BRICK and a chair.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-36-50-PM.png]

“He returns to the ring and immediately loses the chair. He’s almost eliminated in SECONDS…”

Flynn grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose, as it's dabbed with concealer.

“...My partner, ladies and germs.”

“Speaking of Vaughn's incompetence, let's skip ahead a few minutes. I’m being double-teamed by Raion Kido and John Cable..”

“Vaughnie comes to the rescue. And his CLUMSY ass almost knocks me over the ropes and out of the ring.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-38-56-PM.png]

“Is that the part where you beat me, Vaughnie? I’ve watched this match over and over and OVER AGAIN. Could you point me to the timestamp where you prove you’re better than me?”

“Cuz, I gotta tell ya, I CAN’T FUCKING FIND IT.”

…

“Back to the tape.”

“Peter Vaughn tries to eliminate John Cable, all by himself, like an adult… And can’t fucking do it.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-42-45-PM.png]

“Minutes Later? His ol’ buddy Flynn finds the spot by himself. Aims the kick at Cable and tosses out Tristan FUCKING Slater.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-43-22-PM.png]

“The man who GUARANTEED that NEITHER OF US would win that night.”

…

“Yeah, no need to thank me, Vaughn.”

“Just doing my job AND YOURS…”

…

“Now, here we are… The Final Five.”

“Vaughn - vs - Kido. Two World Series of Wrestling FINALISTS.”

“How will Vaughn beat Kido this time?”

…

“By leaning on Mark Flynn like a fucking walking stick.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-47-31-PM.png]

“FINAL FOUR. Vaughn and Flynn - vs - Goth and Mark Cross.”

“We pair off. Cross goes for a dive. We side-step. Goth eats the dive and is eliminated.”

“Final Three: Peter Vaughn, Mark Cross and Mark Flynn.”

…

“Maybe this is when Vaughn proves he’s better than me?”

“Think a-fucking-gain.”

“After a little back-and-forth, we trap and corner Mark Cross deeper and deeper into no man’s land… GUARANTEEING he’ll be making an EXPEDIENT EXIT.”

“My back is to the ramp. I’ve stepped onto the apron to SURROUND and ELIMINATE Mark Cross.”

“Vaughn is beside me, facing the same direction. We’re about to two-man suplex Cross over the top rope to the outside.”

“THIS is what we promised on Brawl, Peter. Clearing out the WEAK and the FEEBLE, before the two best in the business settle the score.”

…

“Now, zoom in…”

“Enhaaaaaaance.”

…The screen closes in on the ramp behind Flynn and Vaughn

“Who rolls down the ramp?”

“Tristan Slater with a steel-folding chair.”

“The same guy who got my World Title Reigns excised from XWF History… Because of HIS steroid usage.”

…

“I'll repeat that, cuz it's INSANE."

"Slater did steroids SO HARD, that *I* had my World Title reign crossed out…”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-53-33-PM.png]

…

“Now, watch what comes next…”
[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-58-20-PM.png]

…

“I get whacked with a steel chair by Tristan Slater. NOT Peter Vaughn.”

“I get my ankle grabbed by Tristan Slater. NOT Peter Vaughn.”

“I get blindsided and pulled off the apron to the floor by TRISTAN FUCKING SLATER.”

“Vaughn sits there with his FUCKING THUMB UP HIS ASS.”

…

“But, don’t take my word for it, folks!”

“Or trust your own eyes.”

“Let’s go to the final scoreboard, shall we? And see just how dominant Peter Vaughn was in his World Championship winning performance.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-11-01-36-PM.png]

“...In a 20-man over-the-top rope battle royal. Peter Vaughn earned… ONE solo elimination. At the END of the match.”

“The other one (two if we count Goth) were done with MY FUCKING DIRECTION AND EXPERTISE.”

…

“Which raises the question… Did Peter Vaughn beat Mark Flynn in the West Coast Rumble?”

“Obviously, no.”

“Peter Vaughn was the DEAD WEIGHT that Mark Flynn carried on his fucking back to the Final Three of the match.”

“And when Flynn was ambushed in the last phase of the match… Vaughn had a CHOICE.”

“Slater hit Flynn with a chair? Vaughn did nothing.”

“Slater starts to pull Flynn off the apron? Vaughn did DICK.”

“Slater eliminates Flynn? Vaughn rolls right back under the rope to keep going.”

“Doesn’t bat a fucking eye that his ‘partner’ just got eliminated ILLEGALLY.”

“Why?”

…

“Because Vaughn did the math in his head.”

“He knew that if he interfered in Slater’s attack? I'd would stay in the match.”

“He and Flynn would easily eliminate Mark Cross.”

“And that would leave Vaughnie with his biggest obstacle between him and the belt.”

“The man who’d beaten him in every fucking match type imaginable. One-on-one, Tag-Team and Trios.”

“Vaughn made a choice to let Flynn get eliminated.”

“Because Peter Vaughn was AFRAID of sticking to his word.”

“And finishing the fight with Mark Flynn.”

“Because, Peter Vaughn is a… in the immortal words of my REAL partner…”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-11-09-35-PM.png]

“Rest in peace, NK.”

Flynn points down the camera's barrel.

“You want to talk 'respect', Vaughnie?”

“How about you respect what actually happened?”

“Did you win the West Coast Rumble?”

“Sure.”

“Did you BEAT me?”

“No. We partnered up. Then, someone else took me out."

"You didn't even have the balls to betray me yourself. You just LET me get ambushed."

"The belt fell in your lap."

“Just like your Uni Title win over Jimbo.”

"Just like your TPW belt you haven't had to defend in almost ten months."

“That WGWF TItle around your waist?”

“Peter Vaughn was once again... In the right place…”

“At the right time.”

…

“But, the MountainTop™ can't fall in your lap, Vaughnaroo.”

“There’s no shortcuts through the OPTIMAL PATH™.”

“There’s ONE WAY TO SUCCEED. And it’s OVER ME.”

“That’s the beauty of my Optimal Path™ match, Vaughn.”

"It doesn’t *benefit* me, you or anyone.”

“There’s not a shred of luck to it.”

“It is the ultimate test."

"The worthy climb.”

“The unworthy fall.”

…

“This is your chance at immortality, Vaughn.”

“Not beating that over-the-hill drunk, James Raven.”

“THIS IS YOUR ONE CHANCE TO PROVE ONCE-AND-FOR-ALL THAT YOU HAVE THE NERVE. TO GO TOE-TO-TOE WITH MARK FUCKING FLYNN.”

Clap-clap. The make-up team retreats.

…Flynn stands up, looking like a million bucks.

He approaches a red curtain.

“And when you try?"

"You’ll die.”

Above the curtain, Flynn taps the Double Fallon logo.

"Showtime..."

OOC: 2997 Words (wordcounter.com_word_count)]]> <![CDATA[Break From Insanity, Or Break From Reality - P2]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45486 Fri, 27 Jan 2023 15:47:03 -0800 Peter Vaughn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45486


The Road So Far:

Seeing The Other Side

A Sin Revisited - A Fight Finally Ends (CCPE Vs. The World)

Break From Insanity, Or Break From Reality - P1


[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

Sometimes you just feel like you have to get away.

Apparently this was the case with "The Mechanic" Peter Vaughn. After attending so many 'meetings' involving the Custodial Coalition, the PMV Ranch, and CCP Enterprises, Vaughn suddenly made the decision to disappear off the board. With Bill Sykes, Thomas Hill, and Chris Page all looking for him, Vaughn jumped onto a bus headed towards the mountains, his destination unknown.

All that's known is that it involves the picture of William Kimble, a young man who was badly injured while running across the road to see one of his favorite wrestlers - Peter Vaughn. The Mechanic recently had a violent encounter with William's father, who told him that William had since passed away due to complications. Vaughn hasn't acted the same since, and now, he appears to be on the run from his responsibilities... or is he? We will soon find out.



~We find ourselves back on the PMV Ranch, as Chris Page is angrily pacing outside the main homestead, speaking on the phone to one of his aides.~

Chris Page: This is unacceptable! How can you not find Peter Vaughn's name on a flight manifest? I don't care what you need to do, but I need to find out where he was headed! The man has an XWF Universal Title fight coming up, he can't just go off the reservation! Okay, fine, ranch, whatever!!

~As Page angrily paces off to the side, Thomas Hill can be seen, walking out from the ranch-hands' building. He and Sadie are talking, as they walk our direction.~

Thomas Hill: Until we locate Peter, I'm going to need your help in keeping this ranch moving forward. I know we've got the plumbing getting installed in those ditches out there. What else do we need to keep an eye on?

Sadie: Just the animals we've got locked away in their protective enclosures. We've got a schedule to feed and chickens and pigs multiple times a day, and they've been able to stay sheltered and avoid all the snow we've had, so I don't see any problems there. So, you really don't know where Pet- ummm, Mr. Vaughn is?

Thomas Hill: No, not at the moment. But c'mon, we all know Peter can take care of himself. Right?

~Thomas doesn't sound all that confident, but Sadie nods along with him all the same. As they break apart, with Sadie heading over to the animal enclosures, we see a small car making its way painfully up the trail. While some of the roads have been paved to the ranch, it's still not an easy journey for anything without four-wheel drive. It still manages to make it to the parking area, though, pulling itself off to the side. The car's engine seems to wheeze for a moment before it turns off. The door opens, with Bill Sykes getting out. He sees where Thomas and Page currently are, and heads that way.~

Bill Sykes: Mr. Page? Mr. Hill? It's good to see you both. I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Mr. Vaughn recently.

~Thomas stares at Sykes, then turns towards Page, who is just hanging up his phone. He turns towards Sykes, studying him for a moment.~

Chris Page: ... And who the hell are you?

~This seems to take Sykes off-guard. He glances over at Thomas, who gives an imperceptible shake of his head. Sykes then looks back at Page, who doesn't look very patient at the moment.~

Bill Sykes: I'm... an associate of Mr. Vaughn's, from the old days. I currently... work as a custodian.

Chris Page: Really? I thought Vaughn left all that behind him? Interesting.

Bill Sykes: So I take it neither of you know anything? Mr. Vaughn and I were, uh, supposed to meet today to discuss some... projects he's been helping out on.

Chris Page: No, we don't know anything right now, other than he took off without his cell phone. Who does that nowadays?? Damn it, hold on...

~Page walks away as his phone is once again ringing, perhaps symbolically showing why Vaughn left his own behind. As Page gets out of range, Thomas steps closer to Sykes, leaning in towards him.~

Bill Sykes: Page hasn't been told about the Coalition?

Thomas Hill: Well, I mean, I guess Peter never said anything, and it didn't seem like my place to reveal a secret underground organization, y'know? So...  the Coalition doesn't know anything, either?

Bill Sykes: Oh, I wouldn't say that. We know that Mr. Vaughn took a bus out of the Dallas depot headed west towards the mountains. His truck is still sitting in the parking lot there, and we were able to get witness accounts from a few janitors that were working at the time.

Thomas Hill: He took a bus?? Strange...

Bill Sykes: Even stranger is that we know he contacted one of our analysts less than an hour before he went to the bus station. We're still trying to track that analyst down, she might know something. Until then, I guess we have no choice but to wait.

Thomas Hill: Yeah... waiting sucks.

Bill Sykes: Tell me about it.

~The two men look off to the west, where you can see some storm clouds on the horizon. The camera zooms towards the weather front, focusing on the darkness of the clouds...~



~The image distorts for a second, then becomes a different stormy sky, one that seems to be bringing down flakes of snow. The camera zooms out, showing us Peter Vaughn as he stares upwards, even as he steps off the bus. He walks forward, making no motion of going back to pick up any additional luggage other than the shouldered backpack. He's wearing a ski cap and a heavy jacket, which might help keep anyone else from recognizing him... although he knows complete anonymity will be impossible, with so many groups likely looking for him at the moment. After a few seconds, Vaughn turns and walks up the street of the town, immediately seeing what he's looking for. He stops in front of a stall filled with snowmobiles, all locked down and covered to protect from the oncoming storm. A man steps out, seeing Vaughn, and comes over to him.~

Man: Can I help you, sir?

Peter Vaughn: I'm looking to get one of these snowmobiles. How much?

Man: Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid we're not renting any snowmobiles out at the moment, due to the winter storm advisory. It's just too dangerous to allow anyone out into the wilderness right now. But if you wait until tomorrow, we might be able to...

~Vaughn already has his wallet out, and is counting out what appear to be one hundred dollar bills. The man, seeing this, abruptly stops talking, even as Vaughn lays out a healthy stack of bills.~

Peter Vaughn: Is $3000 enough?

Man: I... sir, I really can't rent these out. We have to take your health into consideration, and plus... these snowmobiles cost $10,000 each, and we really can't afford to let one go if it's too much at risk.

Peter Vaughn: So maybe I stole it... and you don't know what happened to it. And if I happen to return it to you, you don't have to worry about the rental fee, you just get to pocket that $3,000 yourself.

~The man looks awfully tempted, as it's not often he gets offered this much money way out here. He looks back at the store front, seeing if the old owner had noticed anything, but there's no sign of him. He's probably in the back, watching Jeopardy or something. The man then turns and picks up the cash, before quickly unlocking one of the snowmobiles.~

Man: It's fully gassed up and has been checked over by me personally.

~The man reaches into his pockets, finding a set of keys. He starts to hand them over, then looks at Vaughn again.~

Man: Are you REALLY sure about this? Is it really that important to get up the mountain today? I'd hate to have your death on my conscience.

Peter Vaughn: Well... we wouldn't want that, would we?

~Vaughn then jumps forward, surprising the man as Vaughn plants him with the Revenged!!! The man, unconscious, is quickly rolled back behind the snowmobile pile. Vaughn then reaches into the man's pocket, pulling out the cash and pocketing it again.~

Peter Vaughn: There. Now you won't feel guilty, will you?

~With a twist of the key and the turning of the throttle, the snowmobile comes to life. Vaughn takes off, working to control the snowmobile until he's off the main streets, where he can get into deeper snow. He disappears on the path up the mountain, leaving the small town behind.~





See, some might think the inability to fear death and dismemberment would be a bad thing. But for me personally, it's always seen me through the hard times.

I just don't let myself care, and it all works out. Usually.

I suppose that's what has led me to this match at Snow Job. Others might have been concerned with upsetting their tag-team partner and ally by accepting a match for their XWF Universal Title, but not me. I honestly saw it as an exciting test of strength, as it's always been a thrill to wrestle someone like Meanie Mark Flynn. The guy's earned a lot of glory for himself, after all, and has a high placement on my List of the Vanquished.

I was coming into this one mostly just thrilled for the opportunity to become a two-time Universal Champion, while fighting someone I happen to respect. I saw it as a business maneuver, one that shouldn't put any strain on our relationship, just one that would pit two amazing superstars against each other.

But now I'm starting to wonder, Mark, after seeing your reaction to the news on Jenny's talk show and hearing your promo that aired just recently. You went out of your way to try and make me look bad. Me, your tag-team partner, your CCPE ally. It's a very interesting reaction, friend.

It's the reaction of someone, who, perhaps, is feeling a little... afraid?

That can't be true, can it? The King of the Midcarders can't be scared of little ol' Peter Vaughn, a man who's defeated him a few times now outside of the XWF. This is your territory, after all, you should feel confident and relaxed coming into this one. So why dredge up the past? Why try and talk yourself into feeling that I don't actually deserve the Universal Title shot?

Are you trying to convince Theo Pryce? Or yourself?

I'm still looking at this one as a true dream contest for the XWF, a headlining event that everyone will be on the edge of their seat watching. I'm coming into this one intent on tearing you down, sure, but I'm not seeking a violent end for you or anything, other than maybe knocking your ass unconscious for a victorious period of time. But you? You seem to be wanting to make things personal.

You know what? I don't give a damn. I'm just coming to kick your ass, I don't really need to see it as a blood feud or anything. I could spent time correcting all your mistaken statements, but I'm tired of doing that. Guys like you will always try to twist every single accomplishment of mine so that it doesn't matter, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm one of the greatest wrestlers alive today.

I'm the man who got the victory over James Raven and then pinned Jack Sullivan to win it all at CCPE Vs. The World. You missed out on that, Flynn, taking a break while I did all the work. I'm the one who survived everyone, including yourself, to win the WGWF West Coast Rumble. I'm the World Series of Wrestling 2022 winner.

You want to talk past accomplishments, like that matters? We could talk about all the times NKWC carried your ass, or how you weren't a World Champion before Chris Page started backing you, but what's the point in doing that? What's that going to accomplish? It won't change a thing.

I mean, I could talk for hours like you did... sans the Halloween costumes and everything... and list every failure you've ever had in your career. All the times where you were supposed to come out on top, and for some reason came up short to guys like Thunder Knuckles, Bobby Bourbon, and others. I could comb through your history, bringing up every relevant data point I can find that makes you look like a piece of shit wearing a fancy gold belt around it.

I could... but I don't see a reason to do so, because does it really matter now? You're the Universal Champion here. I'm the World Champion elsewhere. Why not see it as a true spectacle for the crowd to ooh and ahh over, even as I'm using your body like a ski board and slide you all the way back down the mountain after I'm triumphant?

Let's face reality, mate. All that really matters is who takes the optimal path at Snow Job... who can avoid all the boobytraps and false flags to make it to the top of the mountain. I'm a hell of a climber, Marky Mark. I'm known for ascending to the top faster than anyone alive, as you yourself pointed out. So are you really trying to doubt my accomplishments and the danger I present to your championship, Mark? Or are you just trying to convince yourself that you still stand a chance against me?

Suppress the fear, Mark. Contain it. Just come out there knowing that we're both going to give everyone watching the match of their lifetimes, and if it ends with me walking out as the Universal Champion once again... well, then, I guess that fear of yours was justified.

If you're not too terrified, maybe I'll give you a rematch at March Madness, even as I'm winning that whole damn tournament as well.

Because I'm not afraid, Mark. I'm just positively THRILLED to have this chance to drop you down the leaderboard once again.

Don't fear me, Mark. Just accept the truth and deal with what's to come, partner: you just might be taking the Plunge from the top of a mountain, and what a hell of a way to go.





~We find ourselves back at the ranch, as Sykes has just stepped off with his phone. With Sykes and Page both occupied, Thomas is the only one left staring at the sky, wondering what's happening.~

Thomas Hill: Hope you're okay, brother. Come back safe. We need you here.

~As Thomas continues to contemplate the cloudy night sky, Sykes comes back over, nodding to Peter's half-brother.~

Bill Sykes: Okay, we finally heard back from the analyst. We had to interrupt her Lamaze class, which she didn't take too well. I had to offer her an additional week of parental leave when the time comes.

Thomas Hill: Good for her. So what did Peter call her about?

Bill Sykes: Well, apparently he just wanted a current address of someone, which she had no problem getting for him. After all, he's the Head Custodian for us.

Thomas Hill: Who was it? Wait, it wasn't Mark Flynn's address, was it? Because that could be disastrous.

Bill Sykes: No, no. It was someone named... Sally Kimble.

Chris Page: Kimble? Like that crazy guy who tried to shoot Vaughn a few weeks ago?

~Page walks over, having overheard the conversation. If he picked up any of the Coalition discussion, he opts to ignore it at this point, as he's only interested in Vaughn's location.~

Bill Sykes: Yes, well, apparently... she's the mother of William Kimble.

Thomas Hill: Okay, well, that's good, then, right? We know where Peter is headed. What's the address?

Bill Sykes: You see, that's the problem. Unfortunately, Ms. Kimble is apparently looking to get away from the world with her young daughter. They're apparently staying in an old hunting cabin that's been refurnished up in the Rockies. The problem is... there's a major snowstorm going on there now.

Thomas Hill: So... you think Peter's waiting at a hotel in a nearby town for it to clear up?

Chris Page: That doesn't sound like the Peter Vaughn I know...

~Page shakes his head, picking up his phone once again to make more calls, now that he has a general location in mind. Sykes moves off in the other direction, with Thomas thinking it over before pulling out his own phone. He presses a speed-dial, waiting for it to finish ringing.~

Thomas Hill: Hey, Mom? We... we might have a problem with Peter...

~As Thomas goes to fill his (and Peter's) mother in, we slowly cut away, with the image almost looking like static at first...~



~The static appears to be less technological snow and more actual snow, though, as it continues to come down in our path. Despite the snowstorm that's going down, we can still barely see Peter Vaughn as he continues on his way up the mountain, revving the engine of the snowmobile as it clears another hill. He stops at the top, consulting his watch, which appears to have a built-in GPS locator.~

Peter Vaughn: It's... it's not much further, William... we'll get there... we'll get there...

~Vaughn figures out where he wants to go, even as his hands seem to be shaking on their own volition. Despite this, Vaughn gets them back on the throttle and continues forward, quickly disappearing into the snowy night, with the engine of the snowmobile moving further and further away from us. We slowly fade out.~


]]>


The Road So Far:

Seeing The Other Side

A Sin Revisited - A Fight Finally Ends (CCPE Vs. The World)

Break From Insanity, Or Break From Reality - P1


[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

Sometimes you just feel like you have to get away.

Apparently this was the case with "The Mechanic" Peter Vaughn. After attending so many 'meetings' involving the Custodial Coalition, the PMV Ranch, and CCP Enterprises, Vaughn suddenly made the decision to disappear off the board. With Bill Sykes, Thomas Hill, and Chris Page all looking for him, Vaughn jumped onto a bus headed towards the mountains, his destination unknown.

All that's known is that it involves the picture of William Kimble, a young man who was badly injured while running across the road to see one of his favorite wrestlers - Peter Vaughn. The Mechanic recently had a violent encounter with William's father, who told him that William had since passed away due to complications. Vaughn hasn't acted the same since, and now, he appears to be on the run from his responsibilities... or is he? We will soon find out.



~We find ourselves back on the PMV Ranch, as Chris Page is angrily pacing outside the main homestead, speaking on the phone to one of his aides.~

Chris Page: This is unacceptable! How can you not find Peter Vaughn's name on a flight manifest? I don't care what you need to do, but I need to find out where he was headed! The man has an XWF Universal Title fight coming up, he can't just go off the reservation! Okay, fine, ranch, whatever!!

~As Page angrily paces off to the side, Thomas Hill can be seen, walking out from the ranch-hands' building. He and Sadie are talking, as they walk our direction.~

Thomas Hill: Until we locate Peter, I'm going to need your help in keeping this ranch moving forward. I know we've got the plumbing getting installed in those ditches out there. What else do we need to keep an eye on?

Sadie: Just the animals we've got locked away in their protective enclosures. We've got a schedule to feed and chickens and pigs multiple times a day, and they've been able to stay sheltered and avoid all the snow we've had, so I don't see any problems there. So, you really don't know where Pet- ummm, Mr. Vaughn is?

Thomas Hill: No, not at the moment. But c'mon, we all know Peter can take care of himself. Right?

~Thomas doesn't sound all that confident, but Sadie nods along with him all the same. As they break apart, with Sadie heading over to the animal enclosures, we see a small car making its way painfully up the trail. While some of the roads have been paved to the ranch, it's still not an easy journey for anything without four-wheel drive. It still manages to make it to the parking area, though, pulling itself off to the side. The car's engine seems to wheeze for a moment before it turns off. The door opens, with Bill Sykes getting out. He sees where Thomas and Page currently are, and heads that way.~

Bill Sykes: Mr. Page? Mr. Hill? It's good to see you both. I was wondering if you'd heard anything from Mr. Vaughn recently.

~Thomas stares at Sykes, then turns towards Page, who is just hanging up his phone. He turns towards Sykes, studying him for a moment.~

Chris Page: ... And who the hell are you?

~This seems to take Sykes off-guard. He glances over at Thomas, who gives an imperceptible shake of his head. Sykes then looks back at Page, who doesn't look very patient at the moment.~

Bill Sykes: I'm... an associate of Mr. Vaughn's, from the old days. I currently... work as a custodian.

Chris Page: Really? I thought Vaughn left all that behind him? Interesting.

Bill Sykes: So I take it neither of you know anything? Mr. Vaughn and I were, uh, supposed to meet today to discuss some... projects he's been helping out on.

Chris Page: No, we don't know anything right now, other than he took off without his cell phone. Who does that nowadays?? Damn it, hold on...

~Page walks away as his phone is once again ringing, perhaps symbolically showing why Vaughn left his own behind. As Page gets out of range, Thomas steps closer to Sykes, leaning in towards him.~

Bill Sykes: Page hasn't been told about the Coalition?

Thomas Hill: Well, I mean, I guess Peter never said anything, and it didn't seem like my place to reveal a secret underground organization, y'know? So...  the Coalition doesn't know anything, either?

Bill Sykes: Oh, I wouldn't say that. We know that Mr. Vaughn took a bus out of the Dallas depot headed west towards the mountains. His truck is still sitting in the parking lot there, and we were able to get witness accounts from a few janitors that were working at the time.

Thomas Hill: He took a bus?? Strange...

Bill Sykes: Even stranger is that we know he contacted one of our analysts less than an hour before he went to the bus station. We're still trying to track that analyst down, she might know something. Until then, I guess we have no choice but to wait.

Thomas Hill: Yeah... waiting sucks.

Bill Sykes: Tell me about it.

~The two men look off to the west, where you can see some storm clouds on the horizon. The camera zooms towards the weather front, focusing on the darkness of the clouds...~



~The image distorts for a second, then becomes a different stormy sky, one that seems to be bringing down flakes of snow. The camera zooms out, showing us Peter Vaughn as he stares upwards, even as he steps off the bus. He walks forward, making no motion of going back to pick up any additional luggage other than the shouldered backpack. He's wearing a ski cap and a heavy jacket, which might help keep anyone else from recognizing him... although he knows complete anonymity will be impossible, with so many groups likely looking for him at the moment. After a few seconds, Vaughn turns and walks up the street of the town, immediately seeing what he's looking for. He stops in front of a stall filled with snowmobiles, all locked down and covered to protect from the oncoming storm. A man steps out, seeing Vaughn, and comes over to him.~

Man: Can I help you, sir?

Peter Vaughn: I'm looking to get one of these snowmobiles. How much?

Man: Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I'm afraid we're not renting any snowmobiles out at the moment, due to the winter storm advisory. It's just too dangerous to allow anyone out into the wilderness right now. But if you wait until tomorrow, we might be able to...

~Vaughn already has his wallet out, and is counting out what appear to be one hundred dollar bills. The man, seeing this, abruptly stops talking, even as Vaughn lays out a healthy stack of bills.~

Peter Vaughn: Is $3000 enough?

Man: I... sir, I really can't rent these out. We have to take your health into consideration, and plus... these snowmobiles cost $10,000 each, and we really can't afford to let one go if it's too much at risk.

Peter Vaughn: So maybe I stole it... and you don't know what happened to it. And if I happen to return it to you, you don't have to worry about the rental fee, you just get to pocket that $3,000 yourself.

~The man looks awfully tempted, as it's not often he gets offered this much money way out here. He looks back at the store front, seeing if the old owner had noticed anything, but there's no sign of him. He's probably in the back, watching Jeopardy or something. The man then turns and picks up the cash, before quickly unlocking one of the snowmobiles.~

Man: It's fully gassed up and has been checked over by me personally.

~The man reaches into his pockets, finding a set of keys. He starts to hand them over, then looks at Vaughn again.~

Man: Are you REALLY sure about this? Is it really that important to get up the mountain today? I'd hate to have your death on my conscience.

Peter Vaughn: Well... we wouldn't want that, would we?

~Vaughn then jumps forward, surprising the man as Vaughn plants him with the Revenged!!! The man, unconscious, is quickly rolled back behind the snowmobile pile. Vaughn then reaches into the man's pocket, pulling out the cash and pocketing it again.~

Peter Vaughn: There. Now you won't feel guilty, will you?

~With a twist of the key and the turning of the throttle, the snowmobile comes to life. Vaughn takes off, working to control the snowmobile until he's off the main streets, where he can get into deeper snow. He disappears on the path up the mountain, leaving the small town behind.~





See, some might think the inability to fear death and dismemberment would be a bad thing. But for me personally, it's always seen me through the hard times.

I just don't let myself care, and it all works out. Usually.

I suppose that's what has led me to this match at Snow Job. Others might have been concerned with upsetting their tag-team partner and ally by accepting a match for their XWF Universal Title, but not me. I honestly saw it as an exciting test of strength, as it's always been a thrill to wrestle someone like Meanie Mark Flynn. The guy's earned a lot of glory for himself, after all, and has a high placement on my List of the Vanquished.

I was coming into this one mostly just thrilled for the opportunity to become a two-time Universal Champion, while fighting someone I happen to respect. I saw it as a business maneuver, one that shouldn't put any strain on our relationship, just one that would pit two amazing superstars against each other.

But now I'm starting to wonder, Mark, after seeing your reaction to the news on Jenny's talk show and hearing your promo that aired just recently. You went out of your way to try and make me look bad. Me, your tag-team partner, your CCPE ally. It's a very interesting reaction, friend.

It's the reaction of someone, who, perhaps, is feeling a little... afraid?

That can't be true, can it? The King of the Midcarders can't be scared of little ol' Peter Vaughn, a man who's defeated him a few times now outside of the XWF. This is your territory, after all, you should feel confident and relaxed coming into this one. So why dredge up the past? Why try and talk yourself into feeling that I don't actually deserve the Universal Title shot?

Are you trying to convince Theo Pryce? Or yourself?

I'm still looking at this one as a true dream contest for the XWF, a headlining event that everyone will be on the edge of their seat watching. I'm coming into this one intent on tearing you down, sure, but I'm not seeking a violent end for you or anything, other than maybe knocking your ass unconscious for a victorious period of time. But you? You seem to be wanting to make things personal.

You know what? I don't give a damn. I'm just coming to kick your ass, I don't really need to see it as a blood feud or anything. I could spent time correcting all your mistaken statements, but I'm tired of doing that. Guys like you will always try to twist every single accomplishment of mine so that it doesn't matter, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm one of the greatest wrestlers alive today.

I'm the man who got the victory over James Raven and then pinned Jack Sullivan to win it all at CCPE Vs. The World. You missed out on that, Flynn, taking a break while I did all the work. I'm the one who survived everyone, including yourself, to win the WGWF West Coast Rumble. I'm the World Series of Wrestling 2022 winner.

You want to talk past accomplishments, like that matters? We could talk about all the times NKWC carried your ass, or how you weren't a World Champion before Chris Page started backing you, but what's the point in doing that? What's that going to accomplish? It won't change a thing.

I mean, I could talk for hours like you did... sans the Halloween costumes and everything... and list every failure you've ever had in your career. All the times where you were supposed to come out on top, and for some reason came up short to guys like Thunder Knuckles, Bobby Bourbon, and others. I could comb through your history, bringing up every relevant data point I can find that makes you look like a piece of shit wearing a fancy gold belt around it.

I could... but I don't see a reason to do so, because does it really matter now? You're the Universal Champion here. I'm the World Champion elsewhere. Why not see it as a true spectacle for the crowd to ooh and ahh over, even as I'm using your body like a ski board and slide you all the way back down the mountain after I'm triumphant?

Let's face reality, mate. All that really matters is who takes the optimal path at Snow Job... who can avoid all the boobytraps and false flags to make it to the top of the mountain. I'm a hell of a climber, Marky Mark. I'm known for ascending to the top faster than anyone alive, as you yourself pointed out. So are you really trying to doubt my accomplishments and the danger I present to your championship, Mark? Or are you just trying to convince yourself that you still stand a chance against me?

Suppress the fear, Mark. Contain it. Just come out there knowing that we're both going to give everyone watching the match of their lifetimes, and if it ends with me walking out as the Universal Champion once again... well, then, I guess that fear of yours was justified.

If you're not too terrified, maybe I'll give you a rematch at March Madness, even as I'm winning that whole damn tournament as well.

Because I'm not afraid, Mark. I'm just positively THRILLED to have this chance to drop you down the leaderboard once again.

Don't fear me, Mark. Just accept the truth and deal with what's to come, partner: you just might be taking the Plunge from the top of a mountain, and what a hell of a way to go.





~We find ourselves back at the ranch, as Sykes has just stepped off with his phone. With Sykes and Page both occupied, Thomas is the only one left staring at the sky, wondering what's happening.~

Thomas Hill: Hope you're okay, brother. Come back safe. We need you here.

~As Thomas continues to contemplate the cloudy night sky, Sykes comes back over, nodding to Peter's half-brother.~

Bill Sykes: Okay, we finally heard back from the analyst. We had to interrupt her Lamaze class, which she didn't take too well. I had to offer her an additional week of parental leave when the time comes.

Thomas Hill: Good for her. So what did Peter call her about?

Bill Sykes: Well, apparently he just wanted a current address of someone, which she had no problem getting for him. After all, he's the Head Custodian for us.

Thomas Hill: Who was it? Wait, it wasn't Mark Flynn's address, was it? Because that could be disastrous.

Bill Sykes: No, no. It was someone named... Sally Kimble.

Chris Page: Kimble? Like that crazy guy who tried to shoot Vaughn a few weeks ago?

~Page walks over, having overheard the conversation. If he picked up any of the Coalition discussion, he opts to ignore it at this point, as he's only interested in Vaughn's location.~

Bill Sykes: Yes, well, apparently... she's the mother of William Kimble.

Thomas Hill: Okay, well, that's good, then, right? We know where Peter is headed. What's the address?

Bill Sykes: You see, that's the problem. Unfortunately, Ms. Kimble is apparently looking to get away from the world with her young daughter. They're apparently staying in an old hunting cabin that's been refurnished up in the Rockies. The problem is... there's a major snowstorm going on there now.

Thomas Hill: So... you think Peter's waiting at a hotel in a nearby town for it to clear up?

Chris Page: That doesn't sound like the Peter Vaughn I know...

~Page shakes his head, picking up his phone once again to make more calls, now that he has a general location in mind. Sykes moves off in the other direction, with Thomas thinking it over before pulling out his own phone. He presses a speed-dial, waiting for it to finish ringing.~

Thomas Hill: Hey, Mom? We... we might have a problem with Peter...

~As Thomas goes to fill his (and Peter's) mother in, we slowly cut away, with the image almost looking like static at first...~



~The static appears to be less technological snow and more actual snow, though, as it continues to come down in our path. Despite the snowstorm that's going down, we can still barely see Peter Vaughn as he continues on his way up the mountain, revving the engine of the snowmobile as it clears another hill. He stops at the top, consulting his watch, which appears to have a built-in GPS locator.~

Peter Vaughn: It's... it's not much further, William... we'll get there... we'll get there...

~Vaughn figures out where he wants to go, even as his hands seem to be shaking on their own volition. Despite this, Vaughn gets them back on the throttle and continues forward, quickly disappearing into the snowy night, with the engine of the snowmobile moving further and further away from us. We slowly fade out.~


]]> <![CDATA[Iron Sharpens Iron]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45480 Thu, 26 Jan 2023 04:01:18 -0800 Raion Kido]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=45480 “Strike a nerve, did I?”

*SCREEEEEECH!*

It seemed that Mark Wright had felt disrespected, even though the Lion had no such intent. But there was little to do about it now - battle was joined, and at Snow Job, there was nothing else to do but win.

“No matter! I did not come all this way just to lose at the anniversary of my first year - and I’ve had enough of lingering in the middle of the pack!”

*SCREEEEEECH!*

And for his part, Raion Kido did not mean for his year anniversary in the XWF to end in anything more than victory. Nor would March Madness - this time with 32 people - find him unprepared. This was, more than ever, the time to seize victory.

“And if Mark Wright cannot handle my words, he’s definitely not going to withstand what I mean to do at Snow Job. For iron sharpens iron, and I bring a very sharp blade.”

*SCREEEEEECH!*

Sparks fly and metal cries as the young Saint of Athena rubs a metal blade over another, and soon the sword on which Raion is working begins to show its edge. The Benson Designs workshop in Green Bay is host to a blacksmithing school, and it is there the Lion is located, clad this time in a simple cotton black T-shirt and work jeans, sharpening the blade he has just forged into shape. Soon the shop’s owner approaches to see the Lion’s work.

“Ahh, our guest is hard at work it seems. Thank you very much for finding the time to come here, Raion.”

“Not at all, sir! Thank you most kindly for your invitation as well - I always have a great time teaching people.”

Raion then holds up the blade for the master smith to see, and the middle-aged man takes it, and weighs its balance in his hand, sighting down the edge.

“Magnificent! It is plain and unadorned, of course, but it’s clear it’s fit for its purpose!”

The Lion nods.

“That is because, above everything else, a blade needs to be sharp. It can be made beautiful later, but one must never forget its purpose is to cut.

But let’s now show them how to finish the job!”

“Okay people, pay attention! Our guest is going to show us the final step!”

The rest of the class - aspiring blacksmiths of all genders and ages - gather round in front of the Lion and the master smith.

“But of course, we’re still not done here, friends. There is one more step before this blade is finally ready.”

The teacher hands the blade back to Raion, and the Saint of Athena soon dunks it into a barrel filled with water.

*SPLASH!*

Mists of metallic steam billow from the barrel, filling the hall and raising the temperature as the morning passes. After a while, the Lion picks up the blade once more.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s finally done. If I may demonstrate…”

The master smith nods and brings up an iron rod that he holds before the Lion.

“In my country, in ancient times, a blade was made by beating iron into shape, then quenching it in cold water. That way the iron hardened into steel, which was what made a sword so deadly. Because at the end of the day, iron is strong, yes, but ultimately brittle. If pushed hard enough, it will eventually break, the same way you would snap a twig. As you’ll now see… HYAH!”

*SCHWING!*

The Lion holds up the blade in two hands, and slashes the iron rod the master was holding, making a very clear cut that splits the blade into two halves.

“As you can see, the blade is very hard, but it’s not hardness alone that made it cut like this. In order for any blade, from a sword to a simple knife at the table, a blade must be sharpened into an edge, which we do with a grindstone, or by rubbing the blade with another.

Iron sharpens iron, by opposition to one another, by putting the metal through exertion and adversity, so that its strength finally emerges, and it is fit for the purpose it was created.”

And at this point, the Lion cracks a winning smile.

“But this proverb isn’t valid just for metalworking, friends. This is also true for life.

Because this Sunday, you shall see me face someone that, despite whatever glory he might have earned in the past, still needs to learn this lesson.

One that I shall very gladly teach.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It is said that iron sharpens iron. This is a known proverb, and true to life in the working of metal. And the essence of this proverb, as it is in life, is that for something to prove its strength, it requires opposition, for that way weakness is purged.

Is that not, in fact, the very reason we wrestlers do what we do? Is it not because we recognize the value of putting ourselves in opposition’s way just to come out stronger? And aren’t those accomplishments we earn, those titles we win, the proof that we have, in fact, been sharpened - as iron sharpens iron?

Why is it, therefore, that you started rambling and raving like a true exemplar of your moniker, Mad Dog?”

So the Lion begins, amidst the fires and the rumbling of the forge at his back, in his left hand an iron rod, and in his right hand the steel sword he has just forged.

And as the forge burned, so did his cosmos.


“You of all people, Mr. Wright, should know exactly that of which I speak. After all, you’ve prospected coal in the mountains. You should be no stranger to adversity, to opposition, and you should know more than anyone what it is to defy fate. And here you are, in what could be - and probably is - your biggest match in the XWF, and you’ve chosen to be offended.

So tell me, if you cannot take a single speech of mine in stride, what exactly are you doing in an XWF ring? Do you think I have not been talked down worse than I could ever have done to you? Did I not say you were booked against me on the premise that you could very well shock the world? Newsflash, genius - that was me giving you credit, because that is what I did when I made my debut.

You had the first chance to do that when going against a former Universal Champion and you failed; now you’re given another one to beat another former Universal Champion, and you’re already failing again - at measuring who stands in front of you, at the very basic interpretation of my words, and at going into a match without breaking down at the first sign of adversity.”

A clenched fist and a steely gaze follow Raion’s words. If Mark Wright wished - inadvertently or otherwise - to make a fool of himself, let him. But that would not deter the Saint of Athena from doing his duty.

“For you want to claim I have disrespected you, but I made certain to give you a credit you still have not earned, something that, by the looks of it, shall remain the same after Snow Job. Two straight losses and no wins, but don’t worry, Mad Dog - I’m sure your family shall still think you’re proud, and I’m sure you’ll still hold your job. Seems to work well enough for Geri Vayden and Marf Swaysons, whom I just so happened to beat last show and put in less effort than you do.

And speaking about effort, you might want to try to scare someone else with your previous achievements. I did not have that argument when I first came here, nor did I need it to make my way through the XWF Universe. Even former XWF Champions and certified XWF Legends cannot wield their accomplishments against me - go look at my earliest matches, and see how Centurion fared. You may claim to have held gold everywhere you have been, but Xavier Lux tried to tell me the same thing upon my debut, and the only thing he achieved was to be given his first loss by a replacement.

Because that’s exactly what I was when I made my debut here, Mad Dog. There was no hype train, there was no previous fame, there was nothing but my words and the skills I was going to show - those same skills that you cannot hope to match - and mark my words, you cannot. Not here, not now. Maybe we’ll face again, some time in the future, and we may put that to the test again. But at Snow Job, you’re going to find out that there is nothing a Mad Dog might have of which a Lion doesn’t have exceedingly.”

Now the Saint of Athena bares his teeth, his canines now on display. Let the Mad Dog slobber and froth at the mouth - in the end, the Lion’s bite would tear out his throat.

“The only thing you seem to have is shouting to the four winds about how hungrier you are than me, and while I do not doubt your sincerity, I can tell for a fact that you don’t know the depth of your own words. Speak to me about hunger once you’ve held, and lost, the XWF Universal Title.

Speak to me about hunger when the world thinks of you as one of the very best and something happens at the very end that allows someone else to take an accomplishment from you. Speak to me about climbing when you win the Leap of Faith briefcase I now hold.

That very hunger I know, is the reason that has kept me going forward without anyone being able to derail me from my path, and at Snow Job, the road ends with you. Next is the March Madness tournament, and in Athena’s name I shall finally get it right, and you’re going to be the message I send to the XWF Universe - that a well-forged, honed, and sharpened blade may never be turned aside.”

*SLASH!*

Putting all of his strength into the move, Raion drives the steel sword through the table, burying it almost to its hilt.

“As for you, Mr. Mad Dog, you’ve already said it - it’s back to the grindstone. Iron sharpens iron, but without the temperance and honing required for it to reach its full potential, iron is as brittle as dried reeds, and so it is for you. You face a Gold Saint of Athena whose fist is plated in steel - and against that, there is but one single possible outcome when you face the Lion’s fangs!”

*SNAP!*

Letting out a primal roar, the Lion snaps the iron bar, which breaks in two as if it were no more than a twig. The broken iron fragments clatter as they hit the solid ground, and a smirk appears on Raion’s lips - a smirk that contrasts the ferocious glint in his eyes.

“Just. Like. That.”

At this point, the Osaka wrestler makes a swift point towards the camera, almost as if its fingertip were to make contact with the lens.

“I’d advise you to be careful, because if there’s no change for you after our meeting, you’re going to be there for a very long time.

Oh, and one last thing - the only thing this outburst of yours has shown is that underneath that blue collar, hard-working everyman you portray yourself to be, your mettle is weak. So be very careful once you put your nose to the grindstone, Mad Dog…”

Drawing his fist back, the Lion lets out an explosive punch, the swift thrust of his fist cutting the very air about him.

“.. because at this point, the only thing you’ll do is break.”

Fade to black.
2000 words (wordcounter.net)]]> “Strike a nerve, did I?”

*SCREEEEEECH!*

It seemed that Mark Wright had felt disrespected, even though the Lion had no such intent. But there was little to do about it now - battle was joined, and at Snow Job, there was nothing else to do but win.

“No matter! I did not come all this way just to lose at the anniversary of my first year - and I’ve had enough of lingering in the middle of the pack!”

*SCREEEEEECH!*

And for his part, Raion Kido did not mean for his year anniversary in the XWF to end in anything more than victory. Nor would March Madness - this time with 32 people - find him unprepared. This was, more than ever, the time to seize victory.

“And if Mark Wright cannot handle my words, he’s definitely not going to withstand what I mean to do at Snow Job. For iron sharpens iron, and I bring a very sharp blade.”

*SCREEEEEECH!*

Sparks fly and metal cries as the young Saint of Athena rubs a metal blade over another, and soon the sword on which Raion is working begins to show its edge. The Benson Designs workshop in Green Bay is host to a blacksmithing school, and it is there the Lion is located, clad this time in a simple cotton black T-shirt and work jeans, sharpening the blade he has just forged into shape. Soon the shop’s owner approaches to see the Lion’s work.

“Ahh, our guest is hard at work it seems. Thank you very much for finding the time to come here, Raion.”

“Not at all, sir! Thank you most kindly for your invitation as well - I always have a great time teaching people.”

Raion then holds up the blade for the master smith to see, and the middle-aged man takes it, and weighs its balance in his hand, sighting down the edge.

“Magnificent! It is plain and unadorned, of course, but it’s clear it’s fit for its purpose!”

The Lion nods.

“That is because, above everything else, a blade needs to be sharp. It can be made beautiful later, but one must never forget its purpose is to cut.

But let’s now show them how to finish the job!”

“Okay people, pay attention! Our guest is going to show us the final step!”

The rest of the class - aspiring blacksmiths of all genders and ages - gather round in front of the Lion and the master smith.

“But of course, we’re still not done here, friends. There is one more step before this blade is finally ready.”

The teacher hands the blade back to Raion, and the Saint of Athena soon dunks it into a barrel filled with water.

*SPLASH!*

Mists of metallic steam billow from the barrel, filling the hall and raising the temperature as the morning passes. After a while, the Lion picks up the blade once more.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s finally done. If I may demonstrate…”

The master smith nods and brings up an iron rod that he holds before the Lion.

“In my country, in ancient times, a blade was made by beating iron into shape, then quenching it in cold water. That way the iron hardened into steel, which was what made a sword so deadly. Because at the end of the day, iron is strong, yes, but ultimately brittle. If pushed hard enough, it will eventually break, the same way you would snap a twig. As you’ll now see… HYAH!”

*SCHWING!*

The Lion holds up the blade in two hands, and slashes the iron rod the master was holding, making a very clear cut that splits the blade into two halves.

“As you can see, the blade is very hard, but it’s not hardness alone that made it cut like this. In order for any blade, from a sword to a simple knife at the table, a blade must be sharpened into an edge, which we do with a grindstone, or by rubbing the blade with another.

Iron sharpens iron, by opposition to one another, by putting the metal through exertion and adversity, so that its strength finally emerges, and it is fit for the purpose it was created.”

And at this point, the Lion cracks a winning smile.

“But this proverb isn’t valid just for metalworking, friends. This is also true for life.

Because this Sunday, you shall see me face someone that, despite whatever glory he might have earned in the past, still needs to learn this lesson.

One that I shall very gladly teach.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It is said that iron sharpens iron. This is a known proverb, and true to life in the working of metal. And the essence of this proverb, as it is in life, is that for something to prove its strength, it requires opposition, for that way weakness is purged.

Is that not, in fact, the very reason we wrestlers do what we do? Is it not because we recognize the value of putting ourselves in opposition’s way just to come out stronger? And aren’t those accomplishments we earn, those titles we win, the proof that we have, in fact, been sharpened - as iron sharpens iron?

Why is it, therefore, that you started rambling and raving like a true exemplar of your moniker, Mad Dog?”

So the Lion begins, amidst the fires and the rumbling of the forge at his back, in his left hand an iron rod, and in his right hand the steel sword he has just forged.

And as the forge burned, so did his cosmos.


“You of all people, Mr. Wright, should know exactly that of which I speak. After all, you’ve prospected coal in the mountains. You should be no stranger to adversity, to opposition, and you should know more than anyone what it is to defy fate. And here you are, in what could be - and probably is - your biggest match in the XWF, and you’ve chosen to be offended.

So tell me, if you cannot take a single speech of mine in stride, what exactly are you doing in an XWF ring? Do you think I have not been talked down worse than I could ever have done to you? Did I not say you were booked against me on the premise that you could very well shock the world? Newsflash, genius - that was me giving you credit, because that is what I did when I made my debut.

You had the first chance to do that when going against a former Universal Champion and you failed; now you’re given another one to beat another former Universal Champion, and you’re already failing again - at measuring who stands in front of you, at the very basic interpretation of my words, and at going into a match without breaking down at the first sign of adversity.”

A clenched fist and a steely gaze follow Raion’s words. If Mark Wright wished - inadvertently or otherwise - to make a fool of himself, let him. But that would not deter the Saint of Athena from doing his duty.

“For you want to claim I have disrespected you, but I made certain to give you a credit you still have not earned, something that, by the looks of it, shall remain the same after Snow Job. Two straight losses and no wins, but don’t worry, Mad Dog - I’m sure your family shall still think you’re proud, and I’m sure you’ll still hold your job. Seems to work well enough for Geri Vayden and Marf Swaysons, whom I just so happened to beat last show and put in less effort than you do.

And speaking about effort, you might want to try to scare someone else with your previous achievements. I did not have that argument when I first came here, nor did I need it to make my way through the XWF Universe. Even former XWF Champions and certified XWF Legends cannot wield their accomplishments against me - go look at my earliest matches, and see how Centurion fared. You may claim to have held gold everywhere you have been, but Xavier Lux tried to tell me the same thing upon my debut, and the only thing he achieved was to be given his first loss by a replacement.

Because that’s exactly what I was when I made my debut here, Mad Dog. There was no hype train, there was no previous fame, there was nothing but my words and the skills I was going to show - those same skills that you cannot hope to match - and mark my words, you cannot. Not here, not now. Maybe we’ll face again, some time in the future, and we may put that to the test again. But at Snow Job, you’re going to find out that there is nothing a Mad Dog might have of which a Lion doesn’t have exceedingly.”

Now the Saint of Athena bares his teeth, his canines now on display. Let the Mad Dog slobber and froth at the mouth - in the end, the Lion’s bite would tear out his throat.

“The only thing you seem to have is shouting to the four winds about how hungrier you are than me, and while I do not doubt your sincerity, I can tell for a fact that you don’t know the depth of your own words. Speak to me about hunger once you’ve held, and lost, the XWF Universal Title.

Speak to me about hunger when the world thinks of you as one of the very best and something happens at the very end that allows someone else to take an accomplishment from you. Speak to me about climbing when you win the Leap of Faith briefcase I now hold.

That very hunger I know, is the reason that has kept me going forward without anyone being able to derail me from my path, and at Snow Job, the road ends with you. Next is the March Madness tournament, and in Athena’s name I shall finally get it right, and you’re going to be the message I send to the XWF Universe - that a well-forged, honed, and sharpened blade may never be turned aside.”

*SLASH!*

Putting all of his strength into the move, Raion drives the steel sword through the table, burying it almost to its hilt.

“As for you, Mr. Mad Dog, you’ve already said it - it’s back to the grindstone. Iron sharpens iron, but without the temperance and honing required for it to reach its full potential, iron is as brittle as dried reeds, and so it is for you. You face a Gold Saint of Athena whose fist is plated in steel - and against that, there is but one single possible outcome when you face the Lion’s fangs!”

*SNAP!*

Letting out a primal roar, the Lion snaps the iron bar, which breaks in two as if it were no more than a twig. The broken iron fragments clatter as they hit the solid ground, and a smirk appears on Raion’s lips - a smirk that contrasts the ferocious glint in his eyes.

“Just. Like. That.”

At this point, the Osaka wrestler makes a swift point towards the camera, almost as if its fingertip were to make contact with the lens.

“I’d advise you to be careful, because if there’s no change for you after our meeting, you’re going to be there for a very long time.

Oh, and one last thing - the only thing this outburst of yours has shown is that underneath that blue collar, hard-working everyman you portray yourself to be, your mettle is weak. So be very careful once you put your nose to the grindstone, Mad Dog…”

Drawing his fist back, the Lion lets out an explosive punch, the swift thrust of his fist cutting the very air about him.

“.. because at this point, the only thing you’ll do is break.”

Fade to black.
2000 words (wordcounter.net)]]>