|
|
Post by Admin on Jul 12, 2018 5:37:49 GMT -6
***THE MAIN EVENT***
Six Person Tag Team Match
Skrabz, Azurine Vebbins, and Tyke Index
vs
Forge, RJ Mitchell, and Samantha "The Titaness" Hamilton Roleplay Limit: 1 Roleplay Deadline: Wednesday, July 18, 2018 @ 2AM Central Time |
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2018 13:28:10 GMT -6
Prologue:
Sunset in Phoenix
I locked the door, sat on the floor cross legged and closed my eyes gently.
As my mind finally began to disconnect from my soul for the first time in what seemed a lifetime, I felt a breeze of whispering emanate from the pit of my stomach as
every breath I exhaled removed me further from this crippling and at times compressing anxiety I had been suffering from the past month.
These whisperings had been the voices of doubt which at best were an unpleasant unreachable itch on the small of my back and at worst provided a very dark and
serene shadow of dull set grey emulsion on anything and everything I was trying to achieve in life.
Meditation and yoga was crucial yet no matter how many people told me I should try these ancient healings to relieve stress – lazy and predictable as it sounds I just
never had the time.
Well, that was only half the truth but as you would find out in due course with Tyke Index my life is dealt accordingly and exclusively in half truths.
Silence…
Lasted all of ten seconds, I could hear a knock on the door.
My business advisor Harvey Goodfellows was gasping for air as I opened the door frustratingly, his menacingly hyper active smile suggested that he had either finally
broken his virginity or more likely found out some sort of disclosed information.
Harvey was great at getting to the bottom of things, not so much the former.
“Tyke you gotta see this, I’m telling you”
In the palm of his sweaty little hands lay a smartphone and on the screen of that smartphone was the match I had literally just watched before trying to fetch a bit of
shut eye.
“You see that? You see it. Tyke, this place is money! M-O-N-E-Y, lots of faaaaaaaacking money!”
Harvey had been watching our glorious high and mighty President of the Shieldmaidens RJ Mitchell dispose of Anaquin Adams.
“Look, how about this one?”
Now all I could see was a really bad moustache dancing about in a cage like a trapped buffoon, oh wait, that’s just ‘Forge’, the husband of the previous. Harvey was
flicking through clips on his phone one at a time like an excited school pupil who has just been told school is cancelled for the week.
“Am telling you brother, we are going to be loaded by the end of summer at this rate, this guy here even sounds like Danny Dyer when he speaks”
Harvey then composes himself briefly before waving and flapping his arms around like a constipated chicken.
“Fam, I got 99 problems but speaking proper tongue is just one. Fam, fam, I am a hard ass, ya sayin’ ta me fam? Ya speakin to me saaanshine? Look at me fam, let’s
all break names fam and have a big fat fucking joint together. Fam. Fam. Fam”
Harvey was glancing over Skrabz winning the Mile High Heavyweight Championship while attempting to impersonate the lads accent, I say that loosely.
I mean there were noises coming out Harveys mouth but as every single syllable tumbled out from beneath his tongue so did splutter and confusion.
Truth be told, I was very confused at what was happening in front of me right now.
“Harvey can you be quiet for one minute? Christ. Let things slide for a night. Too much shit is happening right now for you to be frequenting about like a delinquent on
day release. C’mon, give it a rest, why do you have to be so damn fucking loud all the time?”
Long story short, Harvey had found his own petrol fuelled paradise – a petrol fuelled paradise of cash. Harvey was a business man and business men like c…
Yeah, you get it and hell I got it to.
In due time if things worked the way I expected them to work here then the two of us were going to be very rich very soon.
Hell, we were hardly struggling at the moment.
Unless your head has been under a cloud then you will have seen that I am the World Heavyweight Champion in competition fed Hardcore Championship Wrestling and
if you’ve been a real clever clog and done your research you might even know that along with that super annoying piece of shit best friend of mines Lance Mikes – we
went and won ourselves a little battle earlier on.
Dolla bills would flow from the Mile High accounts into mines, Harvey’s and Mikes’ accordingly.
That sound there?
That was the sound of dolla hitting the bank.
Ca ching, ca ching, ca motherfuckin’ ching!
Stinking rich bitch.
Now we’re friends and seem to know each other a little better I guess I can drop the G-Dawg overtones and get very real with ya’ll.
“Harvey, turn off the light and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Harvey looked disappointed, I could tell he was looking for a night on the tiles to celebrate the arrival of his client in Mile High and as you’ll probably find out in due
course – there is a reason they call me the King of Coke Mountain.
I love to party.
I love to get higher than the empire state.
Tonight?
Tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
“But Tyke…”
I glanced over at the gaping chubby puppy eyes of Harvey.
“No buts Harv, catch you tomorrow dick head. Get some sleep; you got a mountain of negotiating to do in the morning”
“I was hoping we’d be doing mountains of something else tonight…”
“Oh, I bet you were. We got plenty of time for partying once our feet are firmly under the table here”
Harvey huffed and puffed feigning to be upset but I knew he got it, over the years Harvey had made more rich top 10 lists than Roman Abramovich and Richard
Branson combined – he was astute when it came to creasing the t’s and joining the dots of any paper which would lead to more dolla bills reigning thick and fast. Harvey hadn’t made us a small fortune without making a plethora of wise decisions along the way it would take a fool to underwrite him on the evidence of tonight or
last week.
As Harvey shut the door and made his exit I would try to shut my eyes again but I was struggling, the moment to meditate had seemingly long gone and the need for calm was replaced with a fiery overwhelming passion to cause mayhem.
I stood up and switched the light back on before grabbing my phone off the table…
Chapter One
Hospital Raid
“Yeah, I guess we could meet there. Just don’t look suspect.”
I was going somewhere I hadn’t been in a long time, well since April.
“You sure you can get the big green?”
I could barely make the crackly distortion stumbling its way down the phoneline and into my earlobe.
“That’s fine, just make sure you get the green.”
As I stepped outside the rental car there were sirens, long faces and incredibly tired looking staff – if you can even call them that.
Can you guess where I am yet?
“Yo, drop off point is here – bay three”
I waited for what seemed seconds but that soon turned to minutes and those minutes eventually turned into hours.
I’d been waiting here for hours.
Whooooooooooooooooooosh
A force of wind from the speeding ambulance halting in front of me would lift my hair upwards to the point where my fringe resembled a poorly cut quiff.
Well, isn’t that just great?
Roll the credits, this one is done.
Lance Mikes leaps out of the van wearing a ridiculous nurses gown three sizes too small for him and carrying a large bag full of majestically enchanted green sweet weeds.
“Lance, what the hell are you wearing and why did you high tail an ambulance?”
“Hey, I had to make things look legit! Did you expect me to just waltz into a hospital and raid the scientific labs of marijuana without at least trying to camouflage in with the natural habitat?”
Honestly, I have to say it again.
Lance looked absolutely ridiculous but whatever, it is what it is – he got the good shit and that’s all that matters.
Defiance bitch.
Chapter
1 and Three Quarters
I Was Trying To Finish This Chapter But Then I Got High...
So yeah, we raided a hospital for some green.
That’s how stressful this week has been, ten years ago we had every drug dealer on speed dial and now we were raiding hospitals for weed.
Certainly not something that would go on either of our CVs but let’s be honest there was a whole lot more of where that came from and our precious curriculum vitae’s
were hardly unedited over the years.
I made a deal with Lance that I wouldn’t remind him once on the drive back to the hotel how ridiculous he looked but fuck man…
“Lance, I mean…”
Lance glanced at me on the front mirror as if to say “don’t you dare say it again”; I could tell he was raging. Lance was a guy of swagger, a gentleman of leisure and
the sophistication of his appearance was everything, so for him to be sitting in the front passenger seat of a broken down rental car wearing a nurses gown which
smelled of lentil marinade and urine.
Yeah…
Anyone that was anyone in the wrestling world will tell you that, that’s partly the reason Lance Mikes was so hated in the first place.
Lance Mikes was in the money, he was fucking loaded.
That guy we just drove by heading into the brothel probably works for Lance Mikes…
“Hey Tyke, that was our old cleaner from HcW. Remember him? The one we had to future endeavour for trying to suck off Al Locker…”
JESUS, you honestly couldn’t make it up…
Finally settled in the hotel topics and matters suddenly took a slightly more serious turn, well almost...
“Last night worked out alright in the end then.”
Lance placed the foil inside the bong and rolled the papers of our doobie tightly he looked at me laughing.
Lance lit the paper and took a massive draw; I swear if he breathed in the vape any deeper he would be able to provide vacuum suction similar to that of a black hole
crawling along the surface of our darling universe
“Ya know Tyke, this whole Mile High thing, I put my hands up – I have never been a fan of it, you know that and I know that. The production budget is smaller, the crew staff are uglier and the actual talent look like folk who should be working at a McDonalds drive thru instead…”
Lance took another draw of the smoke.
“One and only good thing that’s came of all this is that we get to be boys again, we get to ride the wings and cause shit for everyone, it’s like oh eight all over again.
Last night was only the fizz of the champagne, now it’s time to take the full bottle. So tell me champ, what’s going down wit chu? I see Rob has booked you again, did
you agree to that?”
Lance passed me the bong and as I took a huge draw out of it, I could feel my face sink into a numb fuzziness and my body become ten pounds lighter, that hospital
shit is real good...
“You know how it is, Rob agreed to a similar deal for this match. He may act goofy and paint himself up with some wack clown shit but he knows and we know that this
guy right here equals money. Crazy thing this match on Wednesday, it’s a straight up cop off. I mean have you seen who I am teaming with?”
Yet despite blurting out with it I hadn’t really thought about it, next Wednesday I would be teaming with two people on the opposite ends of the spectrum.
Literally.
One of them was a guy who had watched too much of the movie football factory and the other was a red haired nonsense.
Lance was starting to feel the ooze of the smoke dangle around his peanut shaped brain as he slumped into his chair..
“Ya know, those Shieldmaidens. I’ve heard real talk about them; word is that they are the new Defiance – hell Tyke, they getting bigger by the minute. Those dirtsheets you like to talk about have said they the next big thing but how can they be the next big thing if they can’t get past the thing.”
Lance for the planet he was presently occupying just made his wisest comment yet, he was right. I couldn’t concern myself with who my tag team partners were, hell, I
didn’t even trust Lance Mikes at Rise in Phoenix. I would just need to do what I always do and take care of number one and let the rest take care of itself.
I was the thing; I always had been the thing.
“Yeah, you see what that creepy Forge dude said to me on Twitter? Guy wants to bounce my head off the pavement. I think I freaked him out when I said I wanted to
shave his moustache. He really should shave that thing off though, what a disaster.”
Lance started laughing
“Why you always gotta hit out with the creepy psychological shit, Tyke? I’ve always wondered that, you even freak me out sometimes and I’ve know you since naaaam.”
I took the bong back off Lance and had another draw, I think I was on draw six or seven, fucccccccccccck it was starting to feel good.
“It works, it always has. This might be the drugs talking but you wanna know why I’ve remained the best all these years? It’s about getting under that thing there”
I pinched the top of Lances arm referring to the skin
“See, when I get under that and seep deep inside that persons brain like a cancerous tumour, there is no way back, it’s over, I’ve already won the battle before even
stepping into battle.”
Just as I gave away the biggest secret of my career for the very first time I noticed that Lance had drifted to sleep, typical.
Yet as I puffed the remainder of the bong I started thinking about next Wednesday further.
The Shieldmaidens were a very new threat and a very real threat to everything I aspired to achieve in Mile High Wrestling, they were legit and they were badass.
I was under no illusions.
Two things they were not though: invincible or unbeatable.
See, I could see through the entire mirage after all it was cut from the exact same cloth I had donned for the past ten years.
On the surface these guys and girls were relentless and successful, ruthless in their pursuit of domination.
I admired that, I really did.
Beneath it all though lay a fragility that no one had ever dare to question.
These people were insecure, they were contemptuous of each other and deep down each and every one of them wanted to be their own person.
It was easier to hide, though, easier to hide in the fragrance of cowardice.
Just ask Samantha Hamilton…
In fact while we were on the subject of asking the question, let’s talk about RJ Mitchell shall we? Yes, lets.
Word has it that it was witness intervention which caused our dear darling Shieldmaiden president to go prison.
I wanted to find out more, in fact one better than that, I was desperate to find more out.
Who? Why? Where?
What happened? How did it happen?
What are you hiding RJ?
C’mon tell Uncle Tyke.
There were so many layers of RJ I was desperate to reveal but just like everything else in life there would need to be patience…
Nothing to see here…
Honest.
I put the bong down and stretched my feet and finally got that shut eye I craved 27 hours ago…
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2018 23:59:42 GMT -6
††† Parental and NSFW Advisory †††
††† Scenes will contain Violence of a graphic nature, Foul Language and Adult Content. †††
††† You've been warned. ††† 12th July, 2018
3:04 AM
New Orleans, Louisiana
Exact Location: Shieldmaidens Clubhouse
Status: Off-Camera Sam was an absolutely shitty patient. There was just no sugar coating it. However, a combination of Joseph being more persistent than usual and the doctors insisting she take a few days off - if only to be cautious about her ribs - made her agree. So, even if the irked looked spells she’s reluctant, the Titaness is laying atop her bed. Well … maybe not her bed, per se. But it is included in the room RJ showed her to within the clubhouse some the Shieldmaidens primarily lived in. Normally, Samantha would have been fine waiting in Denver. This week, however, felt different, and not simply because Sam was now an official Shieldmaiden. Whatever the reason, she opted to accompany the others after the PPV came to an official end. Aside from her ribs almost getting re-fractured, Sam’s back and midsection have some rather large, nasty bruises. But what stands out the most is a set of stitches across her forehead from when she fell atop both the concrete floor and table. A frustrated groan resounds from Sam’s lips as she taps her feet impatiently on the floor. Initially, the pain had woken her up. Now, however, she was finding herself resisting the urge to rip the stitches out. ”Fucking things are itchy as all hell. Goddamn … “ The words were murmured, kept to a softer volume so Joseph could keep resting. Otherwise, the complaint would have been in a much more audible voice. Her fingers begin tapping against her jeans as she starts quickly thinking what can help out. Painkillers? Ibuprofen, specifically? Maybe. Her head is still throbbing a bit. And it’s something. ”Better than nothing,” Sam mutters to herself, nodding as she stands up and grabs a now empty cup on her bedside mantle and walks into the nearby bathroom. When she returns from the bathroom with a now full cup of water, Sam easily downs the Ibuprofen. Her head jerks as the door quietly, but still audibly, opens. RJ walks in, holding a manila folder against her. She doesn’t say anything, merely making a ‘come here’ motion towards Samantha. The Titaness nods, setting her half-empty cup down before following Robi into the hallway. ”So … I’m assuming you’re not here just for the fuck of it?” ”Nope. Recognize these three faces?” A considerable amount of color drains from Sam’s face as she does indeed know whom she was looking at. Her head shakes as she replaces her anxiety with a smirk, eliciting a low ”Hmph” in response to the pictures. Specifically, they’re the three remaining men who raped her in the alley years ago. ”So what? They got … ohh … thirteen plus years to go before … “ When Sam sees RJ begin moving her head from side to side, her eyes narrow, heart beat almost immediately racing. ”The fuck do you mean by that?!” ”Exactly what it looks like. They’re out. Marchand let them go early.” Samantha’s fists clench tightly as she bites on her lower lip. Her head turns away, disgust and rage appearing on her face. When she looks back at RJ, she can be seen trembling visibly. Slightly … but still enough to be noticed all the same. ”Where are they? Are those fuckers trying to track me down or some shit?!” ”Not sure yet. But I can have the twins look into it.” ”Please do. So … I guess those files mean you know about everything linked with them, including me serving time.” Robi quickly nods. ”Confirmation,” she explained, “We had to make sure you weren’t aligned with Marchand or anything like that. If you are? Well, this is a damn good set-up. But nah. This proves you’re on the same side as far as I can tell.” Sam manages to chuckle and smirk at the thought of being aligned with a clearly corrupt cop like Marchand. ”Fuck no. Definitely not with him. Lying’s not my style. Never has been, never will be. I just didn’t feel there was a need to bring that night up, so I didn’t. Guess it’s become relevant again though.”The Titaness stares at the photos one last time before turning around. ”Let me know when they find everything out about those fuck faces, will ya? I wanna deal with them personally.” Only after seeing Robi reply with an affirmative nod did Sam walk back inside her room. Good. The Ibuprofen was kicking in. Enough to make not only the pain dull, but Sam finally begin to feel tired enough to try falling back asleep.
16th July, 2018
14:48 PM
Denver, Colorado
Exact Location: Magness Arena
Status: On-Camera As the camera focuses on The Titaness, we see her forehead has healed enough that the stitches are gone. In their place is a long scar, extending from a bit above her left eyebrow and stopping in the center. About half of her bruises have started fading away, though most of the larger ones remain prominent and able to be easily spotted on her flesh. ”So … this is an even odder tag team than just Azurine and Anya. In fact, Azurine? Between you and me, you better hope you can figure a way to sober those two up. They’re gonna need to be coherent to help you in the ring. Since you were one of the two who brought this up, I’m gonna get this issue outta the way.” Her arms go over her chest as Samantha leans against the ropes. ”You and Tyke both thought I was hiding?” Her head moves from side to side as she scoffs. ”Bitches, please. You both have known me long enough to know I never take the coward’s way out. I thought you did, anyway. Apparently not, if you’re gonna accuse me of such nonsense. No, no. At most, I hid the fact I was going to become a Shieldmaiden, yes. But that wasn’t done out of shame. It was to hype up the moment for when it finally arrived. Nothing more … but certainly nothing less. If I truly wanted to run away, I wouldn’t have even shown up at the PPV and went against my new sister-in-arms, Bullet.
“I also want it to be known I didn’t join to increase my odds of winning or something like that. Sure, extra numbers do help. But go back. Check my Twitter feed. You’ll find the truth in front of your eyes. And that, my three opponents for this week, is the simple facts. RJ approached me. I didn’t have to beg her for this chance. This was another opportunity I earned. Much like how I have with all title shots, in and out of Mile High. The biggest difference? Also an easy revelation, really.” Turning her thumbs at herself, Sam continues. ”This last Ladder Match was much more of a win-win than a lose-lose. Who better to suffer defeat against than another comrade? As of now, the Shieldmaidens have two of three of the belts here in Mile High. And with how strong they've proven themselves to be, I don’t see those belts easily changing hands. That being said, Skrabz, enjoy that gold while you can. I won’t be amazed if the next contender is any one of us. You did well to prove Candi was all bark, no bite. But I don’t envision you keeping that belt by the next PPV easily, if at all.” Samantha leans down, picking a water bottle she’d set down up and unscrews the cap. After downing a long sip, she keeps it held in her hands, looking back to the camera. Her fingers lightly tap against the bottle before she nods. ”Consider this our tie breaker, Azurine. I’ve beaten you once and lost once. This will be a fight to determine which of us is indeed the better woman. And frankly? Even if I were by myself, I’d still bet on myself. That first win was no fluke, and I’m sure that while we fought - before, during, and after the interruptions at the 4th of July show - you saw it wasn’t easy to best me.
“Same with you, Skrabz. Victory didn’t come easily. Prior to Rob coming out, I was manhandling you with ease. You don’t have to like it, I’m simply pointing facts out. In fact … Bullet was right about that. You can say I have a loser’s mindset all you want. That’s not what it is though, boy. Haven’t you heard the saying about history repeating the moment its forgotten? That is what I work on avoiding, and why I often bring the past up.
“Don’t like it? Tough shit.” Her smile widens as she sits atop the ropes now rather than just leaning against them. ”And now … Tyke Index. I won’t lie - I was very disappointed I never got to go against you before HcW decided to wrongfully arrest me. While you weren’t wrong about boasting you’re tough … there’s one problem with your arrogance.” Sam points downward, gesturing to the center of the ring she’s standing in. ”No matter how good or strong you are … your record doesn’t transfer with you. Nor do any belts you may have elsewhere. Nah. You gotta start over from square one. And I hate to break it to you, but Lance was actually right for once. The Shieldmaidens are a very real, legitimate threat here in Mile High. Compared to opponents like Gabriel Ohio or Martin ‘The Master’ Seas? You’re not nearly as intimidating as you could be.” As a thought comes into Sam’s mind, she ponders briefly on it before waving her hand through the air. ”I’m not even gonna touch our own past. Because … it’s exactly that. Dead. Gone. And if you truly are that pent up and still regretting not winning me over? Take a page from Elsa’s proverbial book and let it go. No means no … and my god, you were so fucking stupid to try to hit on RJ. But don’t worry - I’ll let Forge better go on about that if he so chooses. Given that’s his wife, I wouldn’t be amazed if he chews you out - both in and out of the ring.” Sam sneaks in another sip of water, tucking several strands of hair behind her ear before resuming. ”If you all wanna try to label me as the weakest link … go for it. Just know this isn’t a handicap match where, if that were the case, maybe you all would be correct. Furthermore, what Widow and Bandit said against Azzy and Anya's the truth. There are no 'weak links' amongst the Shieldmaidens. This also isn't a typical tag match. No, it's a 6 person tag. Despite tags not being my usual forte, Skrabz knows personally I can - and will - adapt. That’s how he and I beat Lara and Candi’s sorry asses. Now? It’s your guys’ turn. Plain and simple.
“Like it or not, I am officially the sixth Shieldmaiden. And soon, you’re going to meet not just me, but my new comrades.I will not only begin my life in Mile High as a Shieldmaiden, but a new and much more improved Samantha Hamilton. I fully intend on proving to Robi she didn’t make a mistake in selecting me to wear this cut. And what better way to start by going against some of the best talent here, including our new champion?” The Titaness smiles, looking rather content and proud with herself. ”The time to put up or shut up is drawing near. Soon, you’ll see for yourselves all of the victories the Shieldmaidens have secured were definitely not flukes. And if you thought they were tougher without me? I promise you all, the stakes have only gotten that much higher. Until Wednesday … “ Samantha waves to the camera, slipping off the ropes. Before she exits the ring, however, she turns and glances back at the lens, her smirk even further expanding. ”Oh … and for the fools who still wanna think I ‘hide’? You’ll see that theory proven wrong. No matter who the legal person is, I’ll gladly confront them. Not only that … I’ll personally show them why I’ve been at the top of Mile High’s roster since episode one.” Sam turns back around, picking up where she left off and going back to leaving both ring and stadium. The camera follows her for a few seconds before cutting out. |
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 17, 2018 17:13:04 GMT -6
> …
> ...
> Playing video “file010.wma”...
> ...
> Date: 07/11/18
> Time: 7:55pm, Central
> Location: New Orleans, Louisiana
> ...
> Scene: Chrome Dragons Clubhouse, “The Lair”
> …
> Starting...
The scene opens up to an impressive and imposing sight: the literal chrome dragon, welded at the hands of Forge himself, that is bolted to the wall of the large-yet-intimate chamber on the uppermost floor of the Chrome Dragons’ clubhouse. A masterwork of twisted metal and implied ferocity, the polished piece oversees the whole of the dimly-lit room, the wall around it spotted with framed pictures big and small, plaques beneath each bearing names, dates, places… the full roster of the Chrome Dragons since their inception. Literal scrolls above and below the dragon render it a perfect, three-dimensional manifestation of the symbols sewn into each MC member’s cut. Framed glass cases bear the leather and, in some cases, ordinance of the fallen Dragons. There are precious few of these, however, given the length of the MC’s existence and how ferociously they protect their own, however.
There’s more to see, perhaps, but for now the view lowers from the wall toward a massive table… large enough to seat fourteen, perhaps more. The table, much like the dragon, is entirely metal. A smaller version of the scaled beast is beneath glass in the center of the table, standing out against the gears and cranks, pistons and cylinders, that make up the bulk of the inches-thick surface. The Lair, as it is referred to, is lined with several chairs on each side of the large table, along with one at the head. It is here that Trenton ‘Forge’ Mitchell sits, leaned forward with his large, bloodletting hands folded before him on the table. To his left sits Khary, the Sgt-At-Arms, though the right-hand seat usually reserved for the Vice President is conspicuously empty. Further down on the right side sits Kyojin and Goldie, while to Khary’s immediate left sits an unidentified man long, messy brown hair that hangs into his face a bit and cold brown eyes beneath it. Near the other end of the table, Jackie, Boner and another unnamed prospect have taken their seats, filing in as the view pans back. Once all have taken their seats, Forge speaks.
”Getting straight to the fuckin’ point here, boys: the Pride showed up on our doorstep unannounced and uninvited, pulling a piece on Jackie. We hunted their asses down and laid a beating on them but you all know as well as I do that that won’t keep them out of our hair for long. We did, however, get a little info from the dreg we picked up after the brawl. Fill them in, Khary.”
Leaned back in the chair, one arm draped behind it while the other rests on the table, the thick-built Samoan speaks up.
”Someone paid them off, not just to show up and start shit but to hound Bryce and try to put a stop to our business.”
”Who, though?”
”Little fucker wouldn’t budge, boss. And there’s only so damn much you can do to someone before they’ll tell you what you want to hear just to stop the pain. All I could learn is that it was under the table and they never saw the guy face-to-face.”
Scoffing, Forge sits back in his chair, a snarl twisted into his rugged features.
”Fuckin’ figures. What’d you do with the prospect?”
Cracking a small grin, Khary chuckles.
”Sent him scrambling down the main drag in his boxers thinking I was gonna sic your dogs on him again. He’s probably still running.”
Chuckles and outright laughter sound from around the table, the loudest bit coming from Jackie himself. Naturally he’d take pleasure in the guy who drew iron on him getting what was coming to him… even if he wasn’t a direct part of the vengeance. Forge smiles, albeit thinly.
”Any word on the scanners or in town about heat coming our way? You can bet your ass that the Pride will want a piece in return, even if we don’t hear about it directly, but I’m talking more about the police…”
There’s murmurs around the table before Goldie speaks up.
”Heard the prospect got picked up by the locals and shuttled to the hospital. He’ll probably be there for several days after his run-in with Ol’ Smokey. Nothin’ on the cops lookin’ out for us or plannin’ any visits.”
”Keep watching AND listening. If that changes, I want to know immediately.”
”Absolutely, boss.”
Nodding in response, Forge turns to the cold-eyed member sitting next to Khary, inclining his chin in his direction.
”Chase, what’s the word from the suppliers?”
As he unfolds his arms, a Treasurer patch is seen on the right breast of Chase’s cut. When he speaks, his voice is far smoother, far calmer, than his appearance would belie.
”Still communicating, still moving product like usual. The shit between Bryce and Takama is being settled as we speak, but we’re expecting that the prices will remain… boosted… until that’s done. If it gets done.”
”’If’ is a bad word, Chase.”
”I hear you, boss, but you know these Nippon fuckers and how they feel about honor and all that shit. It ain’t us, it’s Bryce. Soon as he pulls his head from his ass and rights things with Takama, the sooner profits go back up. On the other hand, there’s a Latin team comin’ to town in the next couple of weeks. Heard about us through word of mouth, so to speak, and I think they’d be interested in talking business.”
More murmurs around the table as Goldie speaks up.
”You talkin’ ‘bout the Thunderbirds?”
”Didn’t know they were expanding.”
Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, Chase nods with a small smirk.
”That’s them. Matter of fact, one of ‘em seems to know you from back in Plant City, boss. Wouldn’t give a name, though. Said he wanted it to be a surprise.”
”Fuck surprises. If he wants to meet and do business we’ll make that happen. But before that goes down, I want some answers. Have a chat with ‘em on neutral ground this weekend… soon as possible otherwise. Kyojin, you go with him and take one of the prospects with you. Your choice.”
The massive man smiles, then nods in the direction of Boner, who shoots back a grin of his own. That settled, Forge turns back to the table at large.
”Anyone else got new business?”
Silence and the shaking of heads prompt the MC President to continue on his own.
”Then the last thing on the agenda is a matter for members only.”
That being said, Jackie, Boner and the unnamed prospect rise and leave the lair, the door closing behind them. Once they’re gone, Forge looks to the other four.
”Bottom line, boys? Our numbers are anemic. With Vice out of the picture indefinitely along with Georgie and Lance still in lock-up and Eddie still serving, we need to fill the ranks. I’ll be speaking to Noah and an associate of Sam’s by the name of Joseph this coming week about prospecting... possibly Shonn as well, but right now we have a vote to make.”
Goldie, Khary, Kyojin and Chase exchange looks, then refocus on Forge.
”Putting it to a vote here and now-”
The President continues as he opens one of the drawers on the heavy metal table and takes out a couple patches, setting them in sight of everyone.
”-on whether or not to patch in Jackie and Boner. They’ve been at it for months now and have earned their keep at the garage and in the mix. So let’s hear it.”
To a man, each of the Dragons at the table, Forge included, respond with an ‘aye’ which draws a rare smile, being that it has a bit of warmth in it, from the Martyr Machine.
”The ‘ayes’ have it. Goldie, go get ‘em.”
Grinning, knowing how awesome it feels to be patched in as he had just done so himself mere weeks ago, Goldie gets up to go bring Jackie and Boner back in. However, the scene changes before we get to witness the event...
> ...end of video playback...
> ...
> Playing video “file010a.wma”...
> ...
> Date: 07/16/18
> Time: 5:01pm, Central
> Location: Metairie, Louisiana
> ...
> Scene: The Blaque-Donnely Residence, Outside
> ...
> Starting...
Seeing a person like Forge ill-at-ease is hard to accept; a man of confidence and strength is rarely at a point where he is uncertain of the proper course of action. Always decisive, always moving forward, never looking back. At this very moment, however, Forge is exactly that. Trapped between a mental, and perhaps emotional, rock and a hard place, he sits outside the home of Shieldmaiden, and one-half of the MHW World Tag Team Champions, Ophelia Blaque-Donnely, better known as Widow. In the van rather than on one of his bikes, Forge sits and chews somewhat angrily on a Marlboro, exhaling smoke around it as he angrily thumps his fingers on the steering wheel. The ashtray is nearing maximum fullness and several grocery bags sit on the passenger seat and floorboard, a bit of condensation on them indicating that the Martyr Machine has been sitting there for a while.
He shoots look at the quiet exterior of the house as well as to the bikes in the driveway, then back to the door, then back to the wheel. The more his attention wavers, the more agitated the big man seems to become. Something is clearly on his mind but there’s no one to tell what, no one to listen to the reasons why. His phone insistently yet intermittently buzzes on the console but he barely gives it a passing glance.
”Motherfucking…”
The word is muttered darkly as the mostly-burnt cig is shoved angrily into the pile already in the tray. Finally picking up the phone, he reads the text before dialing a number from member, cursing under his breath as he waits for someone to pick up, which happens before the first ring ends.
”Baby, where the hell are you?! It’s been a couple hours now!”
”Out front. For the last half-hour.”
One could practically hear Robi rolling her eyes.
”Little Sister is asking about you! What’s the problem?!”
”The problem is not knowing what the fuck to do about this! I got half of you wanting to hunt this Dazi bitch down and beat her half to death and the rest saying go ahead and end her for good! That ain’t good shit to deal with when there’s already heat raining all over us after what’s gone on in the last week!”
”The bitch deserves it and you know this!”
”Any of you bother to ask Widow or Noah what THEY want? Here’s me again sounding crazy and not at all like the baddest sonofabitch on the planet, but maybe we oughta hear what they’re thinking before we go spilling blood!”
Silent for a few moments, Robi sighs angrily before responding, sounding like she’s trying to hold herself back.
”If you’re worrying about the match-”
”You think I give two shits about the match right now? Skrabz is nothing to me, belt or not, and Azzy would run screaming from a thunderbolt and a stiff wind. Don’t even get me started on this Tyke prick and his face fuzz fetish. We’re going to stomp the life out of them same as we always do. I’m concerned about our goddamn family!”
Finally calming proper, Robi adjusts her tone again.
”I know you are. Widow keeps asking where Papa Bear is. Even Noah is asking when you’re gonna show up. I know you don’t want us leaping into action without thinking it through… but maybe you ought to talk to them yourself if you’re worried about what they’re thinking. Decide then. Just… come in already. We’ll make sure they’re settled and once that’s done we’ll handle the cronies in front of us in the main event, yeah?”
”Yeah… all right. I’ll be in shortly.”
Hanging up, Forge looks to the door again. Briefly is the curtain pulled back and for a moment he sees Robi’s face before she disappears again. Deciding that there’s nothing to be gained by waiting, Forge exits the van and gathers the multitude of bags, carrying them up to the front door and letting himself in.
> ...end of video playback...
> ...
> Playing video “file010b.wma”...
> ...
> Date: 07/17/18
> Time: Unknown
> Location: Unknown
> ...
> Starting...
It’s hard to tell exactly where Forge is at this point. Presumably it’s very late considering the darkness and the chirp of crickets along with the odd lightning bug (that’s what they call them down here, so shut up) flickering on and off. Other animalistic noises and shuffles along with the rustle of bushes and branches… it sounds a lot like the Martyr Machine is taking a late-night sojourn through the woods of all places. The wooded areas of Louisiana are just a bad place to be in general, never knowing when you’re gonna cross the border into swampland or step in something nasty… or in the way of something nastier. If Forge is trying to make a point… it had best be a damn good one.
Moments later, his face appears as though illuminated by artificial light. It doesn’t give us much insight into his location, but perhaps that doesn’t matter. The shadows are long and the dangers are real. Danger, though… isn’t something Forge has much concept of. Looking at him is enough to tell you why that is.
”Talk, talk, talk… jabbering and fucking carrying on and fucking rambling and motherfucking TALKING! That’s all you motherfuckers do and it amounts to nothing but a hot wind over wet garbage in the end! I wouldn’t give a damn if it weren’t for the fact that every time you morons open your ball-washers I have to step in and run my mouth right back! It’s in the fuckin’ contract, you see, one that you can bet your ass I’ll be renegotiating real damn soon. That… and your stupidity seems to be contagious. Luckily for everyone that has to listen to your tripe, I’m the cure to all things stupid.”
Sitting on a fallen tree, now nothing more than a dead log, Forge has a long branch clutched in his hand and balanced on his lap, his other hand digging into his jeans pocket and drawing a knife that would make Crocodile Dundee smile and nod. You can practically hear the tired line from the movie of the same name in the air. Putting blade to branch, Forge starts carving as he talks, paying more attention to his whittling than to the camera… not that anyone’s going to tell him he should do otherwise.
”Got my fuckin’ work cut out for me there as you can imagine. You’d think that after, what, seven weeks or so of beating the dog out of every motherfucker put in front of me that someone might wise up. There might be a memo passed around the locker room saying that if you see my name across from yours on the card, you pick up a fuckin’ dictionary, clear your throat and sound off like you got a set. That means being real with yourselves, children, not tossing out tons of weak insults and aspersion, acting like you’re gonna be the exception. There are NO exceptions. If you enter that ring on any Mile High show and see me across the ring, you’re tasting your own blood. That’s the fucking gospel. Once might be a fluke and twice might be luck, but seven or eight times? Etch that shit in stone because it’s a foregone conclusion.
But don’t tell that to people like Tyke Index. No, because all you’ll get is shit-talk about championships and dominating places next to no one has ever heard of and pulling up past business that no one gives a damn to hear about. Don’t even try and tell me that he’s recounting his worthwhile history to inform the world about who he is and what he intends to do in Mile High, because that talk won’t fuckin’ wash. You haven’t even taken two sips out of the cup of weak coffee that’s your tenure in this place, dumbass. You think beating Deuce Holmes and Robert Mack... or Snakeskin or Wormfucker or whatever his Joker-lookin’ ass is calling himself impresses anyone?”
Scoffing, Forge pays more attention to the growing pile of shavings on the ground at his boots than to the camera, finding only marginal amusement at Tyke’s ramblings.
”You beat a suit-and-tie with a personality problem. And it took you fifteen goddamn minutes. With fucking help. Mack, in the ring with me, would last literally ten seconds if that. Headbutt, Twisted Steel, one-two-three and his dippy ass getting a $2,000 ambulance experience on the way to the ER. And Deuce? There’s a reason that he didn’t do shit-else in the ring between your match and his last one with me. Wanna know why? Because a fight with me changes lives and ruins careers. He’ll never be the same again, no matter what his Twitter feed might say. You got my scraps and could barely handle that much.
So the question, Tyke, is when do you start fucking impressing me?”
Holding up the stick, examining the smooth length evened out by careful strokes. Still no idea what he’s doing, though. Making a cane? Just feeling the urge to cut something? Might be better off not asking.
”The training wheels are comin’ off for your ass at Mile High #10, boy. The Pretty Bitch is in my rear view where he belongs, another example set for the brainless masses. One that you apparently didn’t get. But hey, I’m a giving soul. I’ll give you another hole in your face, making a fracture or two… hell, I’ll ram your nose into your fucking skull if you ask nicely. I’m a giving fellow, deep down.”
Giving? Right. Giving bloody wounds and multiple fractures, maybe! Soon the whole of the branch is carved down, skinless and smooth. Wonder if he’s imagining it were someone else...
”Here’s the thing: the passes you’re making at Robi, the smack you’re trying and failing to talk and all that so-called notoriety you’re shoulderin’ from that tide pool where you’re packing gold? None of it rates, Tyke. Robi’s out of your league in or out of the ring, and the last time someone thought they were gonna sidle up to her and make a grab? They were swallowing their own teeth in less than two minutes. The other place you fight in? They mean less than nothing to me, to Robi, to Sam… to everyone. You’re not there now, spanky. You’re in Mile High now. MY turn. MY yard. And I don’t fucking like trespassers.
Almost cracked a smile, though, when you talked like you were inside my head. Psychology, Tyke? Really? You’re not smart enough to get in here-”
He taps his temple with the tip of the knife, smirking as he lifts his head to glare into the camera.
”-and if you somehow managed, the violent, bloody thoughts swirling around would put your ass in a torpor. Look it up if you don’t know what that means. You don’t rattle me, kid, and you damn sure don’t give me pause. You’re another mouth attached to a warm body ripe for feeding to the Martyr Machine, same as any other jackass I’ve put to the canvas atop a smear of red. All your lip is doing is making it out to be that much more fun to me to try and put you in traction when the bell rings. Violence is what I do. Suffering is what I offer. You’re just the Flavor of the Week… and I’m ready to spit you out.”
Putting away the large blade after wiping the blade on his jeans, Forge takes out a much smaller blade, the width about that of a finger and the length equal to one as well. Now the carved wood is starting to take form… not unlike that of a snake.
”Azurine Vebbins, though… you’re a weird one, girl. And I’ve known some weird motherfuckers in my time. One of ‘em just patched into the club, in fact. Luckily for you, though, Boner won’t be coming to the show. He might hump your leg if I let him.”
He’s… he’s not joking, is he?
”Funny-ha-ha aside, you’ve got some fight in you, girl. You showed it trying to tangle with the Maidens at Rise, though it amounted to nothing in the end. Hell, you’re one of the few around here who at least tries to come correct. I won’t blow sunshine up your ass by telling you that I respect that because everyone and their momma knows that’d be bullshit. I will tell you that it counts for something. Believe me when I say, though, that if I get hold of you that you’re going to sleep painfully and waking up to bloody nightmares with my face looming over yours. That ain’t a threat and it ain’t a symbol of any beef between our sides. That’s just how this game gets played. All the spunk and fire in the world doesn’t mean shit if you’re kicking and punching a brick wall. Yeah, if you had all the time in the world and were oblivious to pain you might eventually chip or even break some of those bricks… but that ain’t the case, is it?”
Ridges along the length of it from head to tip, the end flaring out a bit. Forge’s eyes are back on the stick again and his efforts are bringing a form of life to it.
”If you see me coming, Azzy, tag the fuck out. Get Tyke or Skrabz in there. Don’t think for a moment that this is gonna be some Davina and Goliath shit. I will send you back to your Mistress or whoever you’re boning on that particular day in a body cast. No matter what off-the-wall shit you’re into in the bedroom, that’ll be something that probably ain’t on the list. And it’s hard to trot with jacked-up legs, pony girl. Just saying.”
Not that Forge is anything close to a prude. Nah, he was probably throwing that in there just to be a dick. It’s practically an art form.
”And speaking of the spankin’-new Mile High World Heavyweight Champion…”
Purposely cutting his thumb, Forge smears some blood along those back ridges, a little at a time. Symbolic? Maybe. Hard to tell.
”If you’re expecting a few words of respect for beating Candi Bratton, maybe a little congratulatory applause for taking her title… don’t hold your fuckin’ breath. You’ll suffocate. At least for a while you’d be quiet.”
It is faint, barely there… but there IS a hint of a smile. Not a kind one, though.
”How many times we done this dance now, Skrabz? Three, is it? Triple threat, tag match, First Blood… and the only decisive victory in any of those is on my side. You can argue that till you’re blue in the face, but facts are facts and you can’t talk your way out of that shit. You pinned Deuce in the triple threat, not that that’s a fucking challenge, and took home the winner’s check. You didn’t pin me, though. The tag match sees a loss on your record on account of me putting that fat bitch on her back where she belongs. I didn’t pin you, though, so no points for me. And the fucking travesty that was the First Blood match? You owe that cheap win to the lumpy whore you kicked to the curb at the pay-per-view. So the question still stands as far as Mile High is concerned:
Which of us is more dominant?”
Forge growls, opening the wound again and continuing to ‘paint’ the rod he’s carving.
”I don’t do respect. You know this. But if there’s one person in that locker room that I have to give credit to, whether I like it or not, it’s you. Not because of your championship status, not because of your win/loss record and sure as hell not because of your rapping. But because you keep coming up against me in that ring and escaping before I can take my pound of flesh. Don’t bother trying to spin that ‘round on me, Skrabz. Don’t waste your breath or my time. It’s fuckin’ fact… borderline scripture. You could practically write a song about it.”
Again that sneaky smirk, though it turns to a glower as, once again, Forge directs his gray stare to the camera.
”You ain’t once beat me straight up. For that matter, no one in Mile High has. It ain’t a statistic that’s gonna change any time soon. You, though… you ain’t got time to worry about that with the gold around your waist. Welcome, Skrabz, to having the world against you and snapping at your heels… every one of them, worthy or not, ready or not, scratching and clawing for a pound of your flesh. Thing is, I ain’t one of those unwashed masses. Oh, I’m worthy and more than ready, but there’s someone in the line in front of me who has earned the first crack at taking your pretty title. And she’s tagging with me tomorrow night.
How do you think you’re gonna handle that at Mile High #10, campeon? The monster from your nightmares that sends you scattering and scrambling just by stepping in the ring, the hell-born Wicked Witch of the Bayou who has designs on your precious and the Titaness who just pledged her life and soul to the Maidens’ patch… where do you run, Skrabz? How do you handle the pressure the heat comes down on your fuzzy noggin from three dangerous directions?”
Seems to be a dragon’s head forming at the head of the cane thanks to Forge’s careful strokes.
”You can’t. And you don’t.”
Simple answers, spoken with considerable conviction.
”You’re tagging up with a trespasser with no sense of self-preservation and a My Little Pony cosplaying as a human. At your best you’re carrying around 400 pounds of dead weight into that ring with you, and if you had a lick of sense you’d pull the same bullshit you did weeks ago and keep your ass in the locker room. Show some intelligence for once, Skrabz, and leave these morons to their fate. Teach them a lesson about what it takes to survive around here through not throwing yourself against the Martyr Machine for the fourth time. The life you save might be your own. Those two? They’re going to suffer. They’re going to hurt and bleed and beg.
You… should be considering your status and what you have to lose, which is now everything. The masses sing your praises and beg for a few words and pictures, falling all over one another to be in your presence. I can put a stop to that in a big fucking hurry, Skrabz. There’s only so many times you’re going to escape me before I snatch you by the scruff of the neck and put you through the fucking ring. The chase is only going to be fun to me for so long before I tire of playing with my food and go in for the kill, putting you in the same boat as Deuce Holmes and Luke Corvo, running from the ring rather than facing the Mile High Monster. Bring up your purported two-and-one record against me and bray about your gold all you want. I know you’re going to. And I’ll be hitting the mute button when it happens and filling in the seconds with the sounds of you screaming. Music to my motherfucking ears.”
When he finishes with the blood, rubbing leaves against the still-pliable and moist surface adds some green, fitting in with the crimson nicely. Forge holds it out, balancing it on two fingers and examining his work. Idle though it was, it’s actually pretty nice.
”The hand that creates is the hand that destroys. Ricky Stanton forced mine and I created the steel prison in which I tore him apart. As easily as I made that happen with his worthless hide so can I do the same with you three. Creator and Destroyer in equal measure is the Martyr Machine. I’m coming for you with the Shieldmaidens at my side, and I’m not stopping until we have our arms raised high. Neither are they. Same as always. No running, no plotting, no bullshit.”
Rising, Forge grasps the head of the cane, pressing it into the soft earth as he glares into the camera one last time.
”Prove me wrong if you can, but be prepared to bet your life… if it’s worth that much.”
Turning, he walks off into the trees and brush, enveloped soon enough by the shadows before the feed cuts out.
> ...
> End feed...
> ...
> Shutting down...
|
|
|
|
Post by Skrabz on Jul 17, 2018 19:21:40 GMT -6
Location: Toll Gang Hotel Suite, Phoenix, Arizona
Date: 12th July 2018
Time: 1:05 PMSkrabal Stanzas groans as he stirs in his bed after another night of heavy drinking. Reaching out to the bed side table in search of his phone he accidentally knocks over a partially filled bottle of champagne, the glass bottle clinks against an empty vodka bottle as it tumbles over, spilling it's once fizzy liquid onto the floor "Allow it fam" mumbles Stanzas as he picks up his phone. The bright light from the screen burns his bloodshot eyes as he squints at it, trying to focus. Through his blurry vision he tries to lower the brightness but accidentally opens his gallery, filling his screen with photos from the previous night, he swipes through a few before stopping on one in particular. The photo shows him sitting on a sofa with Ty and Nash either side of him and a woman on each of their laps, Quite Man squats on the floor in the foreground mean mugging and stood tall in the background, towering over the other four seated men and each holding a cheese burger, stand the two men who caused a stir when they tried to involve themselves in the main event at The Rise in Phoenix. The MHW Championship title belt is laid out, taking pride of place on a table of debauchery, surrounded by empty alcohol bottles and various drug paraphernalia, empty baggies, cannabis stems, cut straws and white powders scattered all over. His dry eyes now adjusted to the light, Skrabal takes a few seconds to gaze upon the image, relishing in the memory of the night before, when he became the Mile High Wrestling Champion and the night that followed that success. The sound of plates and cutlery clanging and banging against each other, seemingly coming from the main room, snaps Skrabal from his day dream. With his head foggy from a combination of his match with Candi Bratton, plus the excessive drug and alcohol use he inflicted upon himself in the name of celebration, he wearily pulls himself up to a seated position on the edge of the bed. He slips on a pair of jeans that were on the floor before standing up and stretching. As he turns around to the exit the room he sees her for the first time, sleeping in the bed a few inches from where he was just laid. He squints as he looks down at her, trying to remember how she came to be there but soon gives up, shrugs his shoulders and leaves the room. He enters the main room to absolute carnage. Tables are broken, the large red leather sofas have been ripped and gutted of most of their stuffing, revealing the metal coils and springs inside, there are a pile of broken televisions in the corner and as he scans the room he sees on the feature wall, a wall that was adorned with works of art less than twenty four hours earlier, in 6 foot black spray painted letters are two words, "Toll Gang". "The fuck we do?" Skrabal asks no-one hypothetically, his voice rough and croaky. He again hears the sound of plates clanging from a smaller room and walks towards it through the mess and madness. He pushes open the door to the room and walks inside. Sitting at a table next to a room service cart full of food, each with a roast chicken sitting in front of them and eagerly chomping down bite after bite sit those same two big men. "Fuck... you two ain't ever stop." says Skrabal as he leans between them, picking up a bottle of beer and a half smoked blunt from the table. The two men pause mid bite and look at each other, then at Skrabz with a bottle of beer in his hand. "Neither do you." they say at the same time as Skrabal twists the cap off the bottle and takes a swig of beer. "Seen... fair play." replies Skrabal while placing the blunt in his mouth an setting it alight. "You seen the mess? The fuck we do last night?" Skrabal asks them between tokes. "Party." says one of them with his mouth full of chicken. "Celebrated." says the other one also with his mouth full of chicken. "You two a disgusting, ain't ya mother ever tell yas not to speak with food in ya mouth?" Skrabal asks them jokingly. "But then they be mute too bredrin' and it's bad enough with Quite Man out here sayin' nothin." Says Ty poking his head into the room and laughing. Suddenly Ty is shoved through the door and Quiet Man soon appears behind him smiling. Quiet Man moves in to the room followed by Nash who is carrying a large, flat parcel. "Have you man seen the mess?" Skrabal asks the three men who's facial expressions all scream "what did youe expect?" "Allow the mess fam and take this ting I been workin' on back home for you brudda." Says Nash handing Skrabal the parcel. Skrabal takes the parcel and places it on the floor, he unwraps it to reveal a painting.  "Oh shit fam I dunno what to say." Skrabal says as he stands up and walks towalks Nash embracing him in a hug and slapping him on the back. "You're welcome fam, it ain't a ting. I know I been gettin' on ya back but it's all love and this just a lil somthin' to show that." Replies Nash. "What we doin' for our last day States side?" Ty asks the group. "Sorry fam, man is flyin' back to Denver today." Skrabal informs them. "The fuck you mean today?" asks Nash as Quiet man looks at Skrabz sternly while shaking his head. "Ya-nah I have to do it. I'm glad you man came for this title ting but it ain't the end, it goes on fam. Man has to work." "More like man has to go reclusive now, shut himself away and smo..." Nash stops talking as Ty interrupts. "Do what you gotta do blad. Us man can occupy ourselves anyway." Ty says to Skrabal. "We not goin' back." say the two men at the table in unison, their mouths full of chicken. "The fuck you mean you ain't comin' back?" Nash asks them. "We stayin' here." They respond. "Where? In Phoenix?" Asks Ty. "We workin'." they both reply. "Shit... where ya workin?" Asks Skrabz. "Doesn't matter." they both reply. "Shit, man ain't surprised ya-nah? I knew you two be lookin' stay once you got here." says Skrabal. "So when you flyin' back bredrin'?" Ty asks Skrabal. "Few hours. Man is about to shower and pack." Skrabal tells him. "You done know I was hopin' to hit up a booth or somethin' and make you lay that verse down. Weeks we be waitin' brudda and nothin'" Ty says to Skrabal with a hint of appointment in his voice. "Allow it man. It soon come. I'm a hit up the shower now innit but listen, their be some chick sleepin' in that room there, make sure she ain't steal nuttin'." Skrabal says changing the conversation and ducking out of the room. "Bruv there be gyal dem sleepin' everywhere, aintcha seen?" Nash asks him. The question hits Skrabal's ears just as he enters the main room. He looks around a notices four young women all sleeping where they dropped or were thrown the night before, in various states of undress. Skrabal carries on towards the shower room surveying the damage as he walks. Jagged pieces of broken vases litter the floor, paintings on the wall tagged with the words Toll Gang, an internal glass pane that separates the kitchen from the main-room stands in place shattered. Skrabal reaches the shower-room and turns around to take in the full extent of the comprehensively destroyed hotel suite. "What a fuckin' night" he says with a smile on his face as he closes the shower room door behind him.
Location: Skrabals motel Room, Denver, Colorado
Date: 18th July 2018
Time: 1:15 AMThe scene opens with an already inebriated Skrabal back in his grubby Denver motel room and back in that same old dingy chair. He has his MHW Championship belt sat in his lap, a bottle of beer in his right hand and a lit joint hanging from his mouth. He takes a deep draw on the joint then grips it between his fingers. He exhales the smoke then throws his head back and starts singing, badly, to the tune of I'm A Believer by The Monkees. "Then they saw my reeeiign, and now they beliiieeveerrs. Not a traaace... of doubt in their miiiinds. I'm on toooop , and now they believers they couldn't beat us if they triiiieed"He laughs and picks the MHW Championship belt up in his left then holds it out towards the camera so it is framed by the shot. He turns the belt around so it is facing him and looks at it for a second or two before fixing his gaze firmly on the camera. "So what d'ya think was gonna happen?". He twists the top off the beer bottle and quickly drinks the majority of it's contents. "That's a rhetorical question fam, it ain't need an answer. I already done know what ya answer would a been though. What ya thought would happen is exactly what did happen coz over the past couple a months there man like Skrabz has proved himself time and time again." The rest of the beer makes it's short journey down his throat. "I came to the scene with some flows and a plot... it run so deep it could drown you. This cat got the cream and rose to the top, now I rule everythin' around you."He sneers at the camera as he drops MHW Championship belt to the floor in front of him, where it lands with a thud. "Ya see you got heads." he puts his left hand out to the side of him, at a height that would be roughly waist high on an average sized man. "And then you got bars." he lifts his hand way up in the air, as high as he can reach without standing up. "You got the rest." he lowers his hand back down to it's original position. "And then you got man like Skrabz." his hand shoots back up to as high as he can reach. He brings his hand back down and places the joint back in his mouth then relights it, taking a few quick tokes. I came, I saw, I conquered... ahead of my time like a flight on Concorde."He laughs again then takes a final few puffs on the joint before dropping in to an ashtray. "But that's the past blud, we keep it movin' now. And what we movin' on to? We movin on to suttin' that prove the bossman listen real close fam and he done hooked me up again, trust. Takin' it back to them Laura Bratton days ya get me? See let me take ya back real quick and man a explain, what was it? A couple a weeks or so, nuttin' more than that when I done told Anya I stay jealous of her still." He leans down beside his chair and picks up a bottle of beer. "Why does man like Skrabz, why does champ like Skrabz... say he stay jealous of the Desert Rose?" The cap is twisted off the bottle and tossed on to the table out of the cameras view. " Ya remember? Four words, thirteen lil' letters... she felt Dat Azz"" He takes a drink from the bottle then leans forward reaching behind the camera with his left hand. He bring it back in to view with a joint fresh joint gripped between his fingers. "And what is it next blud? What we movin on to? Man like Skrabz teaming with Azurine Vebbins. Ya-nah I'm startin' to see why everyone been sayin' you playin' favorites with me now bossman. That prolly jus' be that paranoia talkin' so all I'm a say is there ain't a better favorite to have." He throws the joint up towards his face and catches it between his lips. He lights it and takes several deep tokes. ""But you ain't though, coz this hook up done come with some fuckery still, ya-nah man has been put in tag matches before, with Sam and Candi and I done made myself clear about my feelin's on them situations. But tings were different this time, for a while. Man felt to smile when a seen my name next to Azurine's but that smile soon vanish when I seen suttin' that turned my happy face all kinda screwed up." He pauses for a few quick tokes and stifles a cough, a quick sip of beer soothes his throat. "Ya-nah it's a six person ting and we got another man on our team, some new man. Yeah I said it fam, you a new man in these ends Tyke." He pauses for a few deep draws on the joint then sneers at the camera, smoke drifting out with every word. "Your rep elsewhere ain't matter here, blud. Nah, never." He drinks the rest of his beer and places the bottle on the floor. "But that's about all the time man is gonna focus on you for now, I'm a even gonna let ya lil twitter outburst from a couple week back slide too. Talkin' about man like Skrabz can't lace ya boots... fam your boots don't have laces here, ya see me?" He laughs and shakes his head then takes a few quick puffs on his joint. "But shit if we gotta team then we gotta team so we gonna get it done regardless, I'm a catch that dub and make you matter around here jus' a lil' bit coz that's how I do. And who we against?" A few more deep draws on the joint ans it's tossed in the ash tray with the rest. "Man like Forge. You is like a bad smell ya-nah? Man jus' can't get rid a ya. Every few weeks you pop back up standin' in my way. I knew it though still, since day dot fam. Back when you bus' man's face up with that big ol' head of yours. Yeah I remember, shit how I coulda ever forget? On some Phil Collins shit. It ain't a ting though, weren't then and ain't now. Never will be." He pauses again and looks down at the floor, where he dropped the MHW Championship. "On the real though fam I beg ya stop crying, I mean you too big to keep goin' on like this bredrin. Talkin' about decisive dubs and shit like man has ever claimed different. I said last time man weren't happy with the first blood ting brudda so ya need to listen better. And yeah I pinned Deuce... after I dumped ya from the ring. I mean what are you even on blud? You need to get some better ventilation in that workshop of yours coz the fumes be fuckin' up ya whole shit or suttin, got you rememberin' in halves." He pauses, shaking his head. "For real I ain't ever try to play the first blood ting off for anythin' less than the bullshit it was but Candi was out there's tryina hit me, not you. And as for the tag match, again fam your memory fail you. I done told ya this before but I guess ya forgot that too. The only reason I ain't pin you in that ring already is coz Candi Bratton saved ya. I had you beat blud, everyone saw it, everyone. So who the fuck ya keep tryina kid out here with that bullshit?" He leans down the side of the chair again, picking up up another bottle of beer and opining it before continuing. "Who else we got? Forge wife and the Titaness... shit Titaness another one come poppin' back up now, thinkin' coz she a Maiden now, thinkin' coz now she down to ride she gonna cruise right on back in to contention. Back to man's level? Bun that! She had her chances, too many, and she fell off each time." He takes a few gulps from the bottle then looks at the camera red eyed. "Well now she stuntin on two wheels so if she fall off again she best be wearin' full leathers and a helemt coz that cut ain't cut it when flesh hit the streets at speed fam nah, it's Road Rash time and man like Skrabz be comin' along side swingin' a crowbar, ya get me?. " He drinks the rest of his beer and drops the bottle on the floor then sneers. "Nah, you ain't get me." He reaches forward and picks up another fresh joint from behind the camera. "Then there's Forge wife, Robi Jean Mitchell. Ya-nah I seen your win at The Rise there, catchin' that dub over Anaquin. Been a lot a hype over that shit, people talkin' 'bout it on a match of the night tip. RJ Mitchell beat The Universal Superstar. And what fam? You beat some journey-woman who stop by for nuttin but a cup a coffee on a crazed crusade and now everyone talkin' bout you like ya 'bout it?" He pauses and twirls his joint between his fingers. "Shit maybe you is, I guess I'm a find out soon enough." He leans forward, retrieving the MHW Champions title belt from the floor and places it across his lap. "And I guess I'm a find out soon enough who it is wanna step up and try take this ting here from me. I'm a tell you one time It ain't matter, it ain't matter who it is or when they do it coz man like Skrabz is rollin' strapped, finger firmly on that trigger and from here on out it's a stick up ting, straight balaclava business ya get me? The joint goes into his mouth and is quickly set ablaze. "Nah." He takes a few deep puff on the joint then leans forward sneering at the camera, smoke escaping with every word. "You ain't get me." He wobbles slightly as he leans forward and swipes at his phone, turning of it's camera and ending the recording.
|
|
Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
|
Post by Deleted on Jul 18, 2018 0:15:57 GMT -6
††† Parental and NSFW Advisory †††
††† Scenes will contain Violence of a graphic nature, Foul Language and Adult Content. †††
††† You've been warned. †††
>> Phoenix, AZ - After The No DQ Match <<
She won the match. There was blood pouring from a bunch of places. Hell, there was blood even pooling around her left foot as she walked. It took everything she had to make it to the back on her own.
Once she made it past the curtains, she stopped. It was Angel who realized that Robi wasn’t with them and turned to look for her.
“Shit!”
The woman who had once been RJ’s rival pivoted on her heel and rushed to Robi’s side just as Robi leaned forward to get her head right and try to see straight and then ended up falling forward instead.
“Robi!”
Angel looked back to the other Maidens.
“Someone go get a medic!”
It was Fianna who turned and ran for a medical team as the others came over to her.
“She ok?”
It was Widow who asked as Angel was helping Robi not bust her head open even more as she toppled over.
“That was a brutal match. She’s lost a LOT of blood.”
It was about that time that the medical team came and picked Robi up and put her on a stretcher to take her to the room that had been set aside for the superstars of Mile High.
Just as she was being lifted from the stretcher to the table, she was coming ‘round.
“...the fuck?”
“Mrs. Mitchell, you need to lay back. You need stitches and you’ve lost a good amount of blood.”
Robi widened her eyes after blinking and glared at the one speaking.
“Get the stitches in and make it quick.”
Ten minutes and twenty-four stitches later, Robi was sitting on the edge of the bed against the doctor’s orders. A doctor who was trying, and failing, to get Robi to stay put. Robi was sitting on the edge of the bed in only her bra and lower half of her ring gear trying to wash the blood off of her. And Fianna was helping.
“Shouldn’t you be relaxing right about now?”
Widow asked from the doorway. Robi looked up and shook her head.
“No. We still have to prepare for the Phoenix Title match and the aftermath of that. And then there’s Forge’s match against the Pretty Bitch. So, no.”
Far be it from Widow to argue with RJ at this point. She knew how hard headed the woman could be. So, she hefted her Tag-Team belt on her shoulder and motioned that she would follow behind RJ.
By the time they got to the back of the entrance area, the match with Sam and Alex was over. Alex having gotten to the belt first. The Maidens now holding two of the three belts in Mile High.
With that done, it was now her turn to watch her husband’s match from the back. She only just managed to catch him long enough to wish him good luck by way of a kiss as he headed out.
As she watched from the back, she paced. Robi was good with the pacing. Hell, she paced enough for each and every Shieldmaiden and Chrome Dragon combined. She always had something on her brain.
“Dios Maldito, Robi! Will you stop pacing? You’re making me dizzy.”
Came the jest from the Maidens’ VP, Alex. Robi shot a look at her that had the Latina holding her hands up and shaking her head.
It was like that the entirety of Forge’s match. And when the bell rang and Forge was declared the winner, she let out a whooping cheer.
“YES!!”
>> Sunday After Rise <<
Robi had called Church to be held later that night. They had a new sister that had come and showed interest in prospecting for the Maidens. Once that was all done and official, they were stopped by Widow.
"Guys.. I need ya'lls help with something. Can ya'll come downstairs with me?"
Robi turned to look at Widow and arched a brow.
"....Widow? What's going on?"
All she could do was give Robi a look and head downstairs. She led them to her SUV and opened the back hatch. Inside... Lay Noah.
"We have a problem. And I need ya'll's help to fix it."
Jade took a deep breath, not knowing a lot about Noah, but ready to be part of her first Shieldmaidens mission
“I'm on it...what we gotta do?”
Widow looked back to the others.
"It's hard to explain.. Suffice to say, I need to take him into the gym, have him chained up to the ceiling so he's standing and then let me do what I need to do to help fix him."
Angel was the one that spoke first.
"What do you mean 'fix' him?"
Fianna just stood there dumbfounded. That is, until Widow asked her a question.
"Fi, could you ask Khary to come over here?"
Robi was just.. She turned to look at Widow.
"Ok, let me get this right... You need help fixing him by chaining him up in the gym... And then what?"
Widow inhaled deeply and went into explaining.
"He has.. what can be akin to.. A split personality. Noah, is obviously the primary. But then there's a second one that calls himself Noah's Shadow. He went away for a couple of days to get help from his friend Dazi. She said the boys call it a 'Cleansing'. Pretty much, she beats and tortures him until the split breaks and all that's left is the primary personality."
She looked at all of them.
"That's the best way I can think to describe it."
Fi nodded about calling Khary and walked off to do just that.
Jade grins, ready to make a good Impression
"I'm ready to join you, Widow...the fixing sounds like fun!"
"Hijueputa..."
Widow kinda snorted a short laugh.
"You're telling me."
Though, she did look over to where Fianna was on the phone. Waiting.
Jade looks at Alex, smiling at her.
“Berraquísimo, parce...the situation calls for us to do what we do best.”
Fianna got off the call and came back over.
"Khary is on his way."
It was Angel that spoke up then.
"How did you manage to drug him?"
This is when Widow actually smiled.
"I used special oils. Laced with other herbs that cause the same effect as if he were drugged."
Robi whistled lowly.
“That's... ingenious. Damn woman.”
>> Fourty-Five Minutes Later <<
"So... let me get this straight: this Dazi chick beat the fuck out of Noah trying to chill him out, and had done it before, but this time it didn't take. So he comes to Little Sister all jacked up, she figures it out and knocks him out. Then she figures... maybe she needs to set herself up for a beating because THAT might work, for who the hell knows why... and you get tagged to line her up in front of him? Now both are laid up for a week or two at least? Is that what I'm hearing?"
"It worked, though."
"Technically I tagged him first, but... yes."
"...and both of them are gonna heal up, right?"
"Should, I wasn't hitting either oen of them to injure.”
"Then that's that, then. None of you would have gone along with something like this if you weren't sure. I'm gonna leave it at that."
Ohhh, Robi wanted Dazi's head. The Maidens President was seeing red after the exchange she'd had with the woman on Twitter earlier that morning.
She looked to her husband.
"It needed done, Trent. Once she explained everything, and then to see the realization in her eyes at what needed to happen.. It wasn't easy for us to watch. Believe me. Even for Angel; and we both know how tough she is."
She was leaning against her bike arms crossed. She looked at Khary.
"You could see on his face that he didn't want to do it. But, it was Ophelia asking. And we all trust that she knows what she's doing."
She looked down at the gravel and sighed.
"We all know what Widow did before joining the Maidens. She's gone through, and hell done, worse. She'd do this for any of us. When that woman loves.. She loves completely. And she loves Noah."
"It's easy to sit back and talk about it before or after the fact, Robi..."
Starts Forge, sitting on one of the old couches in a corner of the garage's office. One arm on the back of the cushioning, the other upon the arm rest, he stared off into the distance except for when his attention shifted to Khary or Robi. For now, he was calm. But who knew how long that would last?
She finally looked back up to the two of them.
"Can either of you say that you wouldn't do the same? Khary.. you for Fi. And Trent... You for me? I know I would."
"...and you know damn well any of us would do that for anyone we cared about. Right now, though, all I'm seeing is little sister and a man who could end up a Dragon in due course laid up because someone else couldn't get the job done. I don't know Dazi. Don't know who she is or what she does aside from wrestling. But I can hear it in your voice, Robi."
Truth told, he felt as though he should do something about it himself. But despite Khary's involvement in the situation, this still struck him as Shieldmaiden business…
"I knew this was gonna go over like a lead zeppelin..."
Robi shook her head at Khary.
"She asked you because she knew that none of us could've done it. And..."
She shrugged.
"And because she trusts you. You're both SGT at Arms of the MCs. Who better to ask than a brother? You didn't do anything wrong."
At least that's how she felt about the whole situation. She looked to her husband and knew what his stand on it would be. But, this was a joint endeavor.
"I want this bitch's head. She fucked up. She failed. And because of that.. Widow had to go to such lengths to get her husband back. And, I say again, it worked."
"So the bottom line is she couldn't get the job done and you want to fuck her up for that. Is that what I'm hearing, Robi?"
Forge finally breaks his temporary silence.
"Yeah. Pretty fucking much, Trent. Can you honestly sit there and say you don't want the same?"
Robi was starting to get heated all over again.
"Part of me does, yeah, but I'm trying to figure out why it fucking matters to? The way it happened was within the clubs with no outside influence. I say that this bitch doesn't get to have a say anymore at the very least. But taking her out? That invites retaliation. Might be fucking crazy to hear me talking sense…”
She pushed herself up and away from the bike and started pacing. Her arms still crossed.
"Lil' bit."
She snapped at the "might be fucking crazy" comment.
“... when Little Sister and a future prospect are all laid up..."
He trailed off a little. Perhaps had he been there for it all his mindset would be different. It would be a bald-faced lie to say that part of him didn't want to wreck this bitch, too. Something about the idea, though…
"Widow and Noah will heal. Physically. Mentally, Widow will be ok.. Noah? I don't know. We can only hope that this doesn't have to happen.. ever again. We can only hope, and trust, that what she did... worked. Otherwise, she wouldn't've done it."
She laughed a bit though.
"Gotta give her credit though.. She was smart enough to not take any chances by using her drugged bath oils. Shit worked like a fucking charm. Sometimes even I underestimate how smart that woman is."
She stopped pacing for a moment and turned to both, very large, men.
"I want us to talk to Noah. Get his side of what happened before he got home. And I'd like to 'strongly' suggest that he break off all ties with this Dazi chick. It'll all come down to who he wants more.. Dazi or Widow. Somehow, I think he's gonna choose his wife."
"If he doesn't, he's done. That's fuckin' flat. Someone does what she did for you? You owe them more than a life. I'll personally beat him the rest of the way down if he takes that other cunt over his spider-girl."
"I'd wanna smack him til my hand hurts then smack him some more for making my hand hurt."
"A smack from you is a knockout shot for most people."
"Of that we're in agreement."
She twisted her head and neck and they could hear the audible pop.
"At any rate.. Let's all go to Widow's place and do what we need to to help them through these next few days."
And then she heard Khary and couldn't help but to laugh.
"Ya know.. I can see you doing that, Khary."
"I'll stop off at the store on the way... you two go on ahead. I need to prepare myself for what I'm going to see."
Translation: a hurt Widow under his eyes would provoke a dangerously violent reaction until he's mentally ready.
"You sure you wanna be ridin' alone?"
"I'll take the van. Need to pick up some things for Widow... groceries an' shit."
"Ok."
Robi nodded and headed over to her husband. Lifting her arms up, she placed them around his neck.
"I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at the whole fucked up situation."
She raised up on tip toe and kissed him. She knew what his words meant in translation. Widow and Forge had a special bond. One that no one would ever be able to break. Or figure out. Most of the Maidens had taken to calling Forge "Papa Bear". But Widow was the only one that Forge ever referred to as "Little Sister".
Such as it had always been between the two.
"Go, get your head right and then come on over."
Not that the other Maidens didn't have Widow's love for Forge, but it was indeed special with these two... somewhere between what he had with Robi and what he had with the others. Little Sister was up high on the short list. Forge had to avoid his first impulses at all costs. Trying to do the smart thing, the kind thing, and put something together to help her recover was the best idea for now. He returned Robi's kiss and nodded to Khary, saying only one more thing before departing.
"No one outside the clubs sees her. Not friends, not blood relations... no one. Period. They have a problem with that, you tell them they can take it up with me when I get there. Little Sister needs to be around people she cares about. Same goes for Noah. We all in agreement on that?"
Robi nodded in agreement.
"Yeah. With only one caveat. Mona. She and her husband are the only ones outside of the clubs that I trust and am ok with them being there. Moan can give us more insight of what this was all about. At least from Noah's side of things."
"Um... didn't you contact Epsilon and Nikki too?"
"Yeah. But I didn't tell them they could come over. So..."
"We don't need a goddamn convention over there, Robi. I trust your judgment, but Widow needs time and space, not a bunch of fucking rubberneckers clucking over her like a gaggle of nosy fucking hens."
And then she looked back at her husband.
"I get it, babe. I do. Ok? Outside of us only Mona is allowed."
And by "us" she meant both clubs.
Forge nods, walking over to the desk and grabbing his keys. Goldie had the shop and would close up when it was time. Once Trent told him what was going on, even the blonde got grim.
"Somehow, I think I'm gonna need to get used to having people pissed at me over this."
Robi looked back to the big Samoan.
"No one is pi...."
"I ain't pissed at you, Khary. You got put in a hard spot and did what you had to do. And hell, if Widow or Noah ain't mad at you, how could any of us be? That shit wouldn't be right."
She started and then Trent beat her to the punch. She hooked a thumb back towards her husband.
"What he said."
Case File: NO07.17-07 Open
“Loyalty.”
“A lot of people seem to forget what that word means. Even more forget what that word entails. People have forgotten to be loyal to each other. And don’t even get me started on the state of Politics. Hell, our own President showed his true loyalty with this recent summit that he had with Russia.”
“The only people who know what the word truly means fall into two categories: The Rich… And then there’s Us.”
“The Shieldmaidens and the Chrome Dragons.”
"The Rich are loyal to only themselves and their money. And us? We’re loyal to our clubs and our families. The way it is with most MC’s.”
“Hell, even then some loyalties are tested.”
“But let me let you in on a little secret… Tyke.”
The scene opened up to Robi sitting on the front steps of an old Victorian Mansion. The mansion itself looked well kept. Painted in a dark grey color with dark purple shutters and trimmings.
“There is one thing that you should never question of me… And that’s my loyalty.”
“Loyalty to my club, loyalty to my fellow Maidens, loyalty to my children… And least of all… My loyalty to my husband.”
“I gotta admit, it takes someone with a set of balls to hit on me. And that’s before Forge even gets involved. Cause had you done that in person? You’d be walking out of the ER with your balls placed firmly on my mantle due to my cutting them off because you had the nerve to step to me and even trying that lame ass attempt on me.”
“Or haven’t you been paying attention?”
She was sitting on the steps with her elbows resting on her knees.
“When I walked out of Rise, I didn’t walk out of there with a belt. I walked out of there with the same thing each and every person who won did.. My dignity and pride. I walked out of there being able to hold my head high because I faced the toughest fight of my career. Hell, the toughest fight of my life. Sure. I still have the stitches in my head and the bruises on my body. And I’ll carry a few scars to remind me of that night. Proudly, in fact.”
“And if you think for one hot second that you could do, or say, anything that would turn my attentions from my husband…”
She actually laughed!
“...Boy do you have another think coming.”
“See, when Forge and I got married… When we spoke our vows to each other… This was ten years ago. And here, ten years later.. We’re still going strong. And grow stronger as the days go by. Nothing, short of either of us cheating on the other, could ever… EVER… pull us apart. And believe me.. I have just as many bitches scalps on my mantles as I do balls. The balls from the morons who thought it was a smart idea coming to try and mack on me… Scalps of the whores who even looked at my husband sideways.”
“And go ahead, call it jealousy or whatever… The way I, as well as my husband, see it?”
“We’re not jealous. We’re territorial. Jealousy is when you want something that’s not yours. Territorial is protecting what is already yours.”
“A lesson you may want to pay attention to.”
“Now, you also wanna come in here tossing around this championship and that. This win/loss ratio and that. Ok? And? That means fuck all here in Denver. Here in Denver… I’m top bitch on the totem pole. No matter of what Scrabz wants to say or think about it.”
“See, there are exactly three of us who have undefeated records. And all three of us are Shieldmaidens. Now technically, you can ‘say’ you have one too. But one win does not a streak make. You’ve yet to come into this ring, week after week, and get that 1-2-3 pin on someone. How much have YOU bled for Mile High? How much as Vebbins or Skrabz?”
“Nothing near what I have. Of that I can promise you.”
“So, until you’ve bled as much as me.. Until you’ve spilled as much blood as I have.. Sit the fuck down and let the adults do the talking.”
She dropped her arms then.
“Azurine Vebbins.”
“I have to admit.. You got moxie, girl. You may not have won the tag-team belts at Rise, but you did give my Maidens a run for their money. It just so happens that the best team came out on top. Now, I could go into how your likes and dislikes are weird or to each their own.. Blah blah blah. It’d all just be babbling. And nothing you’ve not heard before.”
“But there is one thing you lack… Heart.”
“You tried showing heart with your promotionals, as you call them. You tried getting a hand up from your partner. But in the end, it all came crashing down around you. And, don’t think I have noticed your lack of presence on Twitter since Rise. That, dear moxie one, has been noticed.”
It was at this point that Robi stood up and walked down the few stairs that was left. And she began doing what she does… Pacing.
“But now we come to the current Mile High Champ.”
“That would be you, Skrabz.”
“See, don’t think I didn’t pay attention to that match you had with Candi at Rise. I made damn sure to watch that. I’ve sat and gone over each and every video of your promotions and matches. Even the match that Candi won for you against my husband.”
“And you know what I’ve noticed?”
She paused a moment to look at the camera.
“The Maidens and my husband excluded.. You’re just like everyone else in this company. You’re a joke. Just as I questioned Rob’s sanity by having Candi being the face of the company when she held the belt.. I’m questioning his sanity once again by having you, a drug addicted alcoholic, being the face of it.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the reason you’re being shown such favoritism is because you got that boys cock so deep down your throat and the only reason you’re able to talk is because that milky white cum is slidin’ down your throat.”
She stopped and broke out in laughter.
“Holy fuck! That explains why it sounds like you speak like you have a cock in your mouth! Heh, I just put that together. Damn. Fucked up mental image. Ugh, I need to bleach my brain now.”
“At any rate. I do congratulate you for winning the gold. Not that you had much in the way of competition. But don’t go thinkin’ you’re off the hook. Just because you heft that gold over your shoulder now, doesn’t mean it’ll be there come this next Pay-Per-View.”
“Ya see.. I’m layin’ the challenge down. Right here, right now. At this next pay-per-view? You, Me and a Hardcore Steel Cage match. It’s rather apparent that I can walk out of a ring pouring blood. But I can walk into the ring and spill it just as easily.”
“Some have said that I must be jealous of the fact that I’m the President of the Maidens and am the only one that walked out of Rise without a belt. And all I have to say is… Nah. Really not. I’m happy for my Maidens. But come this next pay-per-view?”
“I will walk out of that ring with the gold over MY shoulder.”
“Bet… Fam.”
Case File: NO07.17-01 Closed
|
|
|
|
Post by azurinevebbins on Jul 18, 2018 0:55:46 GMT -6
Title: Singular Focus
[Our scene opens with “The Adorkable Angel” Azurine Vebbins practices on making various daiquiris. Even though, National Daiquiri Day isn’t on July 18th, which is tomorrow. It does occur the day afterwards, July 19th, which might suggest this is how Vebbins plans to celebrate following her Six-Person Tag-Team Main Event Match at Mile High Wrestling Episode X. While tending a nearby bar, our “Damsel in Dat Dress” is surrounded by bottles of white rum, lime juice, orange juice, and simple syrup. There’s also a large bag of sugar, some vanilla beans as well as six martini glasses spread across the counter.]
Azurine Vebbins: Dependin’ on when you view dis, Happy National Peach Ice Cream Day or National Sour Candy Day. As for what I’m doin’ right now...it’s preparation for craftin’ libations to toast celebration. Goin’ to shoot from da hip and see how din’s shake out. Tomorrow night, I am mixed up wid recently-crowned Mile High Wrestlin’ Champion Skrabal “Skrabs” Stanzas and recently-signed Tyke Index. To-ged-er, based on what our adversaries are describin’, da dree of us will be formin’ a “volatile cocktail” of combustible elements. We also might sound like da most incoherent, incomprehensible team assembled for a Mile High Wrestlin’ Main Event yet. Still, if we have a singular focus, it’s dat we clash full bore on da dance floor. For evidence, look no fur-der dan “Rise In Phoenix.” My dance partners won decisively. Even in defeat, I valiantly fought Layton and Blaque for a majority duration of our Tag-Team Championship Match. And yes, we all might not see eyes-to-glasses on most din’s. However, to put it blunt-ly...havin’ viewed deyr promotional material I’m sure dey’ll appreciate me sayin’ dat...we’re smokin’ hot and goin’ to mow down dose lasses. We’re goin’ to mow dem down like an unkempt lawn full of grass.
And when I say lasses dat includes Forge. Twisted steel and lackluster appeal, it’s clear Robi Jean wears dat pants in your relationship. Figured it fair game to say dat as an objective outsider considerin’ you verbally sparred ’bout mine. Difference is dat my girlfriend could kick your sass any day of da week plus twice on whichever one you render holy. Plus, hands up or down, she’s more of a looker dan your dame. I’m also a bit steamed like broccoli over your “little girl” tweet. Dat’s straight up height-ist and I will not stand on two phone books for it. Den again, you try rein-in’ me in wid da pony girl bit. Tend to disregard dat chatter considerin’ it’s been discussed an umpteen amounts of times before. Was shockin’ at first, but now deyr’s no real spark of electricity behind it. And even if you believe you still have bottled lightnin’ stored up from defeatin’ Ricky Stanton...you don’t. Sorry. You’re just some mustachioed, macho moron who calls himself “Martyr Machine” when it really should be “Micro Machine” since you’re bound to fly off-track and proverbially slam into a wall. At least it’s what you will experience when Skrabs, Index, and yours truly mentally build one when frequently taggin’ each oder. And trude-fully, it’s sound strategy to do so ’cause we will need to get your internal timin’ very much out-of-whack. Collectively, we will find a monkeywrench of some sort den we’re bashin’ gears.
Of course when you’re no longer tick, tick, tickin’ us off...we’ll have to make work of Robi Jean Mitchell. Not only is she grapplin’ alongside her husband but she’s battlin’ wid her newest recruit. Similar to Forge, Skrabs, and Index, Mitchell walked away victorious in her tango wid “Da Universal Superstar” Anaquin Adams. Was quite a showstoppin’ performance. Emphasis on was ’cause unlike Anaquin I didn’t dream of facin’ you. Knew it was an inevitability since last Wednesday when you revealed your devious conspiracy to recruit Samanda. Again, it’s back to havin’ a singular focus. Mister and Missus Mack placed Skrabs in dis sanctioned contest since he’s da Mile High Wrestlin’ Champion and you’re in top consideration for Number One Contender. Tyke Index is in dis brouhaha ’cause da Macks know he’ll brin’ ratin’s. However, da question remains why I was selected to be deyr teammate? I’m one of two individuals who lost deyr respective battle at “Rise In Phoenix.” Da reason is due to my vocal vitriol of your sadistic scheme. You shall not snuff out my success here. As for me lackin’ heart, mine hasn’t stopped beatin’ and it’s rhy-dim will be felt when my chanters rally my team over yours. As for bein’ uncharacteristically silent recently? I’ve been reviewin’ footage from your previous exhibitions, goin’ to my girlfriend’s final LFL game of da season, and workin’ extra hard at my “Alternative Apprenticeship” wid Miss Star. Been keepin’ myself busy and makin’ sure I didn’t feel defeated, deflated, or defenseless. You better pray Index, Skrabs, and I don’t start flyin’. Why? ‘Cause we all do our better dan best when high...above our fallen, prone foes.
Dat segues rad-er nicely to “Da Titan-less” Samanda Hamilton. Last time we squared off, you were da one who had fallen and lay prone. Yes, I did mention ’bout you hidin’ behind your shield. You talk a big game, fight even bigger, but deyr will always be a lin’erin’ doubt since you joined Robi Jean’s happenin’ hive of hellspawn honeybees. You went arguably from bein’ da Number One Contender for da strap Skrabz currently holds, da Mile High Wrestlin’ Championship, to becomin’ Shieldmaiden Number Six. And dere-in lies da problem. Forget me imaginin’ you as a blestie, Hamilton, you lost your soul at da pay-per-view. In my eyes as well as a sizable share of chanters, you truly are just a number. Already know you’ll face me head on...attempt to prove you are your own person. However, by bein’ in league wid dem, you’re just next in da rotation. Prepare to meet your maker, Hamilton, ’cause I plan on droppin’ you wid da Pearly Gatekeeper again. When my team walks away after dust, devils, and every-din’ else settles...I’m tossin’ my gauntlet to da MHW Phoenix Sham-peon, ‘cause Alex “Bullet” Carbajal is an underlin’ and won dat title under dubious circumstances.
In summation, Tyke, Skrabal, and Azurine will prove triumphant. Simple hy-pod-esis dat will yield radical results. Need to send dis promotional material in to be reviewed. Da time for talk has ended, now it’s time to see if dis volatile cocktail mixes well enough.
[Our scene ends with a security camera blinking off abruptly.]
|
|
