Skrabal's Motel Room
Orlando, Florida
October 18th 2021
1.25AM
Skrabal swayed and stumbled on his feet as he walked slowly across the parking lot, it's lose gravel surface crunching beneath the soles of his black and red Jordan 4's as he limped towards his room. He swiped his entry card one, two, three times before it finally worked and the door clicked open. He made his way inside slowly, using the wall for support, partly due to his inebriation and partly as a consequence of the viscous beating handed to him by Leah Aguero. Skabal removed his hoody, followed by his black Toll Gang T-Shirt, as he made his way towards the bathroom, stopping to pic up a bottle of beer from his box of beers along the way. Inside the bathroom he twisted the lid off the beer and took a long drink before turning to the sink. He placed his beer on the shelf, next to his toothbrush, then placed his hands on the sink.
There he stood, hunched over, his head down, breathing heavily.
After a few moments he raised his head and made eye contact with himself in the mirror in-front of him. He raised his right hand to his brow.He traced his fingertips along the line of stitches in his eyebrow. His fingers continued on, tracing the dried blood as it contoured around his cheekbone and down to his jaw line. He placed his hand back on the sink, bracing his weight on it, as his eyes continued scanning his body and the many bruises covering his ribs, chest and abdomen.
He lifts his head up and stares deep into his own eyes, anger burning in the depths of his core.His heart rate rises and his chest heaves with each breathe.He looked away from the mirror, setting his gaze towards the cracked tiled flooring. His heart rate slowed and after a few moments he grabbed his beer from the shelf and stumbled back into the wall behind him. He slid down the wall into a seated position on the bathroom floor. He stared into the space in front of him, his glassy eyes set on nothing in particular.
Skrabal lifted his beer to his mouth and took a drink, his mind racing.
Skrabal held the beer bottle in his right hand, spinning it slowly, the bottom of the bottle scraping on the cracked titled flooring as he reminisced.
He lifted the bottle to his mouth for another drink as the memories flashed by.
Skrabal rubbed his shoulder as he remembered the pain of being locked in the Tyke's Crippler Cross Face at the end of their Iron Man match.
A smile rose at the edges of his lips as thought of his victory over Jansen Myrrh in the city he grew up in. He took a sip of his beer, toasting the memory.
Skrabal stood up from the cold bathroom floor, his brightest memories fading in his minds eye. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, dried blood still highlighting his facial structure, bruises and welts covering his torso. He shook his head and looked away, anger rising in him once more, he kicked the empty beer bottle at the wall then left the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
Skrabal's Motel Room
Little Rock, Arkansas
24th October 2021
11:10AM
An irate Skrabal slams the door closed behind him and storms into his rented accommodation. He throws his gym bag across the room, into a wall, hard. He takes a joint from his box of joints and lights it then begins pacing the room as he smokes. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out, the screen reads "Video Call from Ty". Skrabal swipes at the screen answering the call.
"My G!" Ty exclaims, a smile beaming on his face that quickly rescinds as he becomes aware of Skrabl's current mood.
"Bredda, the fuck gotten into you? Where you at?!"
"Fuckin' Arkansas fam. Arkansas!" Skrabal snaps back.
"Shit, it can't be that bad!." Ty quips, attempting to lighten the mood.
"Nah? Tell me whatchu heard about Arkansas, in detail..."
"Nothin'..."
"Exactly!" Skrabal snaps again, this time with an undertone of humour.
"I hear you. Still I ain't think that's what wrong widya."
"It's bullshit fam! I nah you seen how man's been treated lately."
"I seen it, I seen it.."
"That ain't all fam, nah! Jus' as I be about take back the strap they say, nah, get it done an' go home, come back next year'. Bullshit!"
"I getchu, I done heard it was an early finish now. Still, ya nah I always appreciate ya confidence but that War Queen no joke..."
"Fam this entire ting been a joke since May."
"Naw you ain't mean that, you gettin' worked up and carried away widya self."
Skrabal doesn't reply.
"Any way, look bredda you jus' gotta do whatcha do, focus on the night at work not the day after it. And when it come time to go to work you gotta keep ya head on ya shoulders my G, you know she prob'ly ain't gonna be alone out there. What''s his name? He sit at the table, fought Chris Mosh a few years back..."
"Wavy Crockett innit."
"Yeah that him, he had it right you know. You shoulda been prepared for that shit but since you weren't you got all kindsa fucked up. I see those stitches. So hope you learned somthin' coz that's the shit you needs to be focussin' on."
Again Skrabal doesn't reply.
"Plus you lookin' at it backwards anyway. You go out there, do whatchu do, and you comin' back to London wid that strap on your shoulder."
"I hear that."
"I knew you would. So what whatchu doin' then?"
"Catchin' the dub, raisin' the strap, an' jumpin' straight pon a plane back to yard." A hint of self doubt edges his words but goes unnoticed by Ty.
"That sound like a plan bredda. I'mma see ya soon. Toll"
"Toll."
Skrabal swipes at the phone, ending the call, and continues smoking his joint and pacing the room.
I don't get mad, I get productive
These fuckwits already know I'm nuttin to fuck wit'
I been up top where the Gods sit
Did it through my own work fam never sucked dick
Listen!..
I ain't bitchin' about the game
I'm jus' sayin I'm doin' me don't be strayin' into my lane
Ain't say it loud; their frame afraid a the weight
These bitches talk in whispers it's poor an' they ain't ashamed
Look...
You might not wanna co-sign it, but shit
If I ain't top five all time; you takin' the piss!
Pick a fighter you think liver than this that guy a myth
Grind for my pride in the ring this shit be why I exist!
They ain't wanna put BIG SKRABZ on they list
That be fine I ain't pissed...
Jus' don't be actin' like this Mi' High shit ain't been mine when it is!
Skrabal's Motel Room
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
October 30th
12:05AM
Skrabal sits on the black sofa in his New Orleans motel room, his right eye crowned by a row of stitches weaved through his brow. He slouches in his chair but keep his head up, his confident stare set firmly on his phones camera. He lifts a joint to his mouth and inhales deeply, an exhale follows, carrying with it a cloud of pungent smoke.
He speaks slowly, calmly.
"These words spell the belt is mine now at Black Magic"
He laughs smugly and shakes his head.
"Nah, I said... These words? SPELLS! The belt is MINE! Now that's BLACK MAGIC!
He laughs arrogantly then takes another toke on his joint. He reaches for a bottle of beer from his ever present box of beers.
"Not long left now fam."
He twists the lid off the bottle.
"Black Magic soon come."
He takes a quick drink.
"Biggest main event in Mi' High history"
He takes another quick drink.
"Man like Skrabz, Leah Aguero, one on one for first the first time ever. Big strap on the line."
He finishes his beer and drops the bottle on the floor.
"It be bitter-sweet though... nah it be more like bitter-fuck you coz this how they gonna do me?"
He stares into the camera, disgust, anger and contempt mingling on his face,
"After five months on the grind, jus' as I be about to stomp my way right back to the tippy top they closin' the doors. Well shit, London be along way from Denver or wherever the fuck they plan on pitchin' back on up in, an' when I take that big strap back to yard wit' me I might not feel to make the journey back here come January. I might jus' take that shit home an' put it pon my wall, permanently.... Or maybe not, shit I guess you gonna have to wait an' see innit."
His arrogant stare lingers on the camera for several seconds before he takes another toke on his joint, followed by another one, and another one.
"But it finally happenin'... Man like Skrabz an' the War Queen, one on one, big strap on the line."
He reaches for another beer and twists the lid off before continuing.
"Leah I don't blame you fam. Shit, in your position many woulda done the same ting. I get it, shit I be the only one here that does. The pressure, the stress. Shit it be a hard time there at the top. All those eyes on ya, the paranoia getchu in a second. You had it a lil harder than me too coz lets be real... I jus' set the standard, you the one been havin' to try live up to it."
With arrogance radiating from his core he smirks at the camera before taking a long drink of beer.
"How she been doin' then?"
He finishes his second beer and drops the bottle on the floor.
"Shit I can't lie fam. You stared out strong, you earned your shit wit' that big four way ting pon the first show back then caught a big dub from Bullet to take the strap. True say when ya first got your hands on the shit ya coulda said you earned it... Prollem for you is it ain't never been yours to earn in the first place. Coz e'rybody know I ain't ever lose the ting, it be well documented, I ain't have to tell ya. But fam I ain't ever lose the ting! So that mean for the past five months you been walkin' 'round wit my property..."
He re-lights his joint and takes a couple of rapid tokes and then stubs it out.
"But they say you a real champion... I think they lyin'! Coz you ain't even have the pedigree to respect the legacy I done built wit' it. I respect ya drive to keep the shit, kinda, but ya methods offend me, for real. Coz man like Skrabz repped the ting true, on his ones, time in - time out, gettin' the job done! You?..."
He leans forwards and locks his eyes on the camera.
"You?...
He laughs and shakes his head then leans back again.
"Well you caught dub after dub after I can't lie but shit, if it ain't Diaz or Coffey backin' you up, you got Jansen Myrrh handlin' tings for ya. An' they call you a real champion too. Coz you do it by any means necessary... Fam when you got three other heads fightin' ya corner the only ting it means is you ain't necessary.... But still you started so strong... on your ones, like a champion innit. Turned up after winnin' the strap an' whooped El D all over that there Magness Arena bu...."
He stops himself, uncharacteristically biting his tongue.
"You took yourself a lil trophy witchu too then made it a habit. Yeah you walked 'round like the big dick for a minute or two, ignorin' the doubts. Then it happened though..."
He reaches for another bottle of beer.
"What happened?"
He twists the lid off the bottle and throws it across the room.
"Man Like Skrabz an' that War Queen, tag team ting, against lil Miss Maloney an' Bullet. That be when ya saw it up close innit, that's when ya caught sight a the steeze, that's when ya caught a whiff a the greaze an' that be the doubts started gettin' to ya, coz that's when ya saw man like Skrabz in the flesh an' realised that as long as he here you ain't ever a real champion."
He takes a quick drink of beer.
"So what happen nex' fam?.. Two weeks later you out there wit' Diaz and Coffey by ya side an' you been hidin' behind 'em ever since. And like I already done said, I ain't blame ya fam... Shit if I had myself loomin' over my own head I'd want back up too."
He laughs and takes another drink before continuing.
"I gotta give it to ya though, you caught me lackin' back there in Florida, you and ya gyal there, Diaz. Yeah you whooped me good I ain't even about to front, man had all manner a bruises. That shit ain't change nuttin' though did it, it ain't silence the doubts. It' ain't change the fact that you walkin' round with a strap that shoulda never been there to be won... It gotta be hard for you fam. There be other champions here innit, they talk big an' try back it up but ain't nobody else walkin' around knowin' that man like Skrabz out there somewhere wantin' what they got. There be other champions, but ain't a single other one of 'em walk around constantly bein' reminded that man like Skrabz ain't ever lose the strap they posin' wit'. An' that right there be the true measurement a your success so far, coz they ain't let you forget that shit while at the same time El D out there wit' that Phoenix Strap an' I ain't ever lose that shit either... But ain't nobody remind hima that. Why you think that is?"
He finishes his beer and drops the bottle on the floor.
"Ya seen you had it all twisted from the start, e'ry single one of ya. Coz the belt ain't make the champ, nah! The champ make the belt an' that Mil' High Ultimate title was made by man like Skrabz!... But they say you finally got an opportunity to make it ya own. They say you got an opportunity to finally prove yaself. Live on Splat, right there in that Smoothie King Center... Your opportunity to prove yaself... Shit, that gotta be hard to hear fam. I bet that shit piss you off an' if it don't it should. Coz you the Queen, right? You on the Mi' High throne, right?... Well that shit gotta be gold plated coz ain't nuttin' else been solid aboutchu."
He reaches out of shot for fresh joint, puts it his mouth and lights it.
"Butchu the queen, right?"
He shakes his head while taking a long, deep draw on his joint.
"They wanna talk about real a champion?... Well shit, lets talk about your first night at work wit' the strap on ya shoulder. The War Queen Leah Agurero, that's you innit. It was you an' man like El D, champion verses champion vibe... Like I said earlier you whopped that man all 'round that arena, gotchu yourself a dub but on the level, can you say you proud a that shit? You earned that, did ya? Nah, I ain't think ya did, as a matter a fact fam I know ya didn't, and that shit right there be what your Queendom built on.... That shit be emberrassin' fam.
He shakes his head again, disgust etched on his face.
"That'd leave me dead inside... Butchu boast on it. Coz you the queen, right?"
He laughs, despite the disgust emanating from within him, and takes another toke.
"Ya nah I shouldn't be laughin' coz ain't none a this shit been funny... When I take a step back an' look at the entire ting, I had to buy a ticket jus' to come back an' watch you make a mockery outta e'ryting I done did in the past. I had to go through five other bodies in one night to get a shot at what's already mine an' now I got it they shuttin' this shit down again. After five months a work, after five months wit' my head down, grindin' the only way I know how, I'mma get jus' a couple minutes wit' the ting I been doin' it all for, an' you know what?"
He looks into the camera, intensity burning in his bloodshot eyes,.
"That shit worth e'ry second!... That shit be worth the sleepless nights, it be worth gettin' choke slammed through a table. That shit be worth gettin' dropped off a car, it be worth gettin' my head bust open. That shit be worth the cuts an' contusion, it be worth e'ry drop a sweat an' blood I ever shed for it an' if I had half a chance I'd do it all again an' more... Ya nah despite the hate, despite the bullshit, man like Skrabz done lived an' breathed Mi' High Wrestlin' for three years straight an' I'd rather never live another day than see you walk out wit the strap this Sunday."
He pauses, his confident stare locked on the camera.
"But shit, that ain' gonna be a prollem."
He shrugs his shoulders and takes a toke on his joint.
"Coz it ain't matter if you bring Diaz an' Coffey, it ain't matter if you bring that neek from the seats."
He reaches for another bottle of beer.
"Butchu the queen, right?... Yeah, an' this ain't gonna be nuttin' but a regicide!"
He twists the lid off his beer.
"Coz they say this be your opportunity an' the reason for that be real simple. That Mi' High Ultimate title belong to man like Skrabz"
He takes drink of beer.
"So come Black Magic."
He looks into the camera, his face a mask of smugness.
"I'm already the champ."
He pauses momentarily, arrogance emitting from every fibre of his being.
"Consider it your title shot."
He maintains eye contact with the camera, a confident smirk on his face, and after a few seconds the video ends.
