ACW Overtime: Pre-Show Promos/RP's

[Torak]

The Reunion
V - Hell in a Cell

“To be forgotten is to die a little.” - Aun San Suu Kyi

HM Prison Wormwood Scrubs, London, England
Saturday 10th, January 9.07am GMT

His hair was wet and matted from the rain outside as he wrung it upon entering the visitors centre of the prison. The short journey from East Acton station reminded him of why it was a stupid idea to trust the English weather to stay dry for longer than a single tube journey. It was blue sky and a crisp wind when he had arrived at Fulham Broadway just over 30 minutes ago. By the time he had changed to the Central Line at Notting Hill Gate the grey canopy of clouds had started to creep overhead. When he alighted at East Acton, the heaven’s had well and truly opened.

His wheelchair squeaked as he made a sharp turn into the canteen. His visitors pass hung loosely around his neck and rested against his chest. He spotted his inmate of choice at a table near the corner. A hulk of a man in a yellow bib to further distinguish him from the visitors. He was far from inconspicuous. The guards would undoubtedly notice his absence if he suddenly attempted to escape. Not that they’d be able to stop him.

He wheeled over to him and stopped at the corner of the table.

“Hey, John.”

The man looked up and acknowledged him with a slow nod but no smile.

“Good to see you again, Chris.”

Chris gave his friend a friendly pat on the shoulder and a forced smile.

“How you holding up?”

“Not bad. Things ain’t so bad here.” he assured with a faint Suffolk tint in his voice that would be comical if the source of the accent wasn’t such a terrifying behemoth. Suffice to say, John Vernon never got bullied when he was growing up.

“Do you want a coffee? Something to eat?” Chris offered as he reached into his pocket for the change that he was allowed to bring in - £20 in coins only.

“Nah, I’m good. Already had a breakfast this morning.” He looked Chris up and down. “You’re wet.”

“Just your average London morning.” Chris wiped some moisture from his forehead - a mixture of rain and sweat. John Vernon a.k.a. Jack Veracious forced a smile.

There was a silence. Chris cleared his throat and hoped it wasn’t the start of a cold coming. That would be all he needed. Every time he sneezed the pain would shoot through his entire body. It wasn’t quite as uncomfortable as the hour that he spent with John once a month though.

“Hey, I saw Cyda...Cliff, the other day...”

John wasn’t exactly enthused. All he could manage was a solitary “oh.” and left Chris to silence again.

“Yeah, get this, he got a visitor from ACW. Some guy wants to buy the license and wants to put on a reunion show to promote the purchase.”

“What the hell for?” he furrowed.

“God only knows. They asked if Diverse Morality would be interested in getting involved.” he smirked which brought a mirrored response by Vernon.

“Fat chance. I don’t think Scrubs allow leave for bashing people’s heads in; You’re a cripple; My Brother’s dead; and Cordelia is missing, presumed dead. That leaves just that runt to fly the flag.” he didn’t pull any punches.

“I don’t think Cyda’s interested either. He’s got his gym to run...”

“That rat-infested hell-hole? I’d rather be in here for life than go to train there.”

“...You are in for life...” he puzzled.

“Exactly. I smashed that son of a bitches skull against that girder until it cracked like an egg just so I wouldn’t have to set foot in that dilapidated outhouse ever again. If somebody burnt it down, it would improve the place.”

He was in a cheerful mood today. Last time Chris visited he was so dejected that he threatened to insert one of the larger canteen spoons into the anus of one of the staff. It just so happened to be the Governor.

“It’s all he’s got at the moment. I would help him out but Stephanie hit the roof when I suggested offering him a place to stay.”

“She’s right. He’d probably try to fuck her. Just like he tried to fuck your sister.”

Chris exhaled. It was going to be a long hour.

“I do have some good news. Speaking of my sister...”

“You still holding out hope? She’s dead, man. Accept it. Nobody survives in this shitty world alone. She’ll be in a canal somewhere. Probably raped.”

“Well, thanks for the imbued optimism. I’d rather like to think that she’s still alive. I know Cordy, she’s strong. Anyway, Cyda gave me a number of a private detective to track her down. I’ve spoken to him. I’m confident he’ll be able to find her.”

Vernon lowered his gaze and sucked in a deep breath.

“I sure hope you’re right. I would love to see her again. I can’t afford to lose anybody else....I got nobody else.”

Chris felt a pang of guilt. Here he was, with everything including his family (minus his sister, of course) and friends and here was John Vernon, the man who lost everything, most notably his temper. Of course he was depressed. Who wouldn’t be in his situation? He resisted the temptation to promise that he’d visit more often, but he knew that he wouldn’t. John would know too.

“You had any other visitors?”

“You’re the only one I get regular. There is somebody else who makes an appearance now and again.”

Chris is taken aback. Curious, he leans in towards Vernon.

“Who?”

Vernon smiles and slams an open hand onto the knee of Chris who doesn’t flinch.

“Not important, Chris.”

He stood up and give a thumbs up to Chris. “Listen, thanks for coming, buddy, but I’d much rather be alone right now if you don’t mind. “

He didn’t mind at all. In fact, he breathed a very internal sigh of relief and nodded at John. His friendship obligation quota filled for another month at least. He said his goodbyes and wheeled himself out of the centre, leaving John standing alone in the busy room. John scoped the activity within the canteen and noticed the other inmates sharing their precious time with their loved ones. He scowled before trudging through to the exit back to the cells. As he reached the door he heard a call from across the canteen.

“Vernon! You have another visitor...”

He turned with a perplexed look on his face as he noticed the person standing next to the guard.

To be continued...

[Torak]

The Reunion
VI - Ring Rust

“Motivation will almost always beat mere talent.” – Norman Ralph Augustine

Paddington Station, London, England
Saturday 10th, January 2.43 pm GMT

He slung his bag over his shoulder as he exited through the crowded station exit onto the Wharf. The ground was moist from an earlier downpour but it had stopped raining for now at least. He was silently jealous of Jake who had hopped onto the tube inside to make his way to his hotel – Claridges – near Hyde Park. He, on the other hand, had no hotel booked and certainly couldn’t afford a night’s stay in any luxury accommodation. He opted instead to use a taxi to guide him to the nearest budget hotel. He spotted the taxi rank outside the station and approached the black London cab at the front of the queue. The sprightly looking driver waved him into the cab and waited for Justin to settle himself in the back.

“Where to, mate?” he chirped in his thick cockney accent.

“I’m looking for a hotel...” Justin said sheepishly.

“Hotel? There’s facking faasunds of ‘em round ‘ere!”

“Do you know any cheap ones?” he pleaded.

He was jaded and just wanted to get somewhere quick. He’d hardly slept in the last 18 hours. The 12 hour flight from Tokyo and the one hour train journey from Heathrow to Paddington served little to perk him up and he had little chance to rest as he shared both legs of the journey going over every detail of his haunted past with Foxx.

“In London? Christ! There’s a Travelodge over by Mar...uh, Regent’s Park if that’s any good for ya’?” He pitched.

“Sure, sounds fine.”

The cabbie set his meter and pulled off away from the exit and took the first right onto Bishop’s Bridge Road. He glanced up at his mirror at Justin.

“Are you a Yank or sumfink?”

“I'm Canadian...”

“Canada, eh? Bet it’s faackin’ freezin’ over there, mate. I bet even the moose wear willy warmers. And I fort London was bloody cold.” The driver waffled.

“It can be, but I haven’t really been home for a while.”

“’ere, whatchoo doin’ in England?” he was a nosy old urchin.

“I’m meeting somebody about work...”

“Funny. You don’t seem the business meeting type.” He turned left onto Westway and drove North towards Maida Avenue, knowing his passenger wouldn’t notice him going around the houses. Justin stared vacantly out of the window as he drove. His eyelids were heavy and warm and he fought the impulse to fall asleep in the back of the cab. The only thing keeping him awake was the driver’s rambling and grumbling.

“Faacking traffic. Drives me faacking men’al...” he was complaining to nobody in particular.

The driver drove back South down Edgeware Road before catching up to the A40 again into Marylebone road before taking a sharp left onto Lisson Grove to enter onto Harewood Row. The Travelodge could be seen just up from the entrance of the one way street.

“There i’ is, mate. If this traffic hurries up you’ll be there in time for a full English.” He tutted and slapped the steering wheel at the gridlock in front of him. Justin leaned forward and pulled out his wallet.

“It’s fine. I’ll just get out here and walk the rest.”

“O’right. That’ll be... four’een paands.” He said without any hint of irony. £14 for a five minute journey. Welcome to London, Justin Jehst.

As Justin leaned forward to hand the driver a twenty pound note ne noticed a building to the left of them. It was an old run-down looking building with a giant steel arched doorway. A banner above the door read ‘Valley Wrestling Dojo’. He motioned towards the building.

“What’s that, there?”

“That? Some sort of gym or sumfink.” the driver began slowly counting Justin’s change in the vain hope that he would surrender it to him through impatience.

“Do you know if it’s open?”

“Nah, I doubt it. That recession buggered everyfing up. Bloody tory fatcherites!” he finally returned the change to Justin, six grubby £1 coins which Justin quickly slipped into his pocket.

“Thanks.”

Justin opened the cab door and hopped out of the taxi, taking his bag with him. He detected a hint of sarcasm from the “cheers” that was muted behind the door. He could have tipped, but his budget was pretty tight right now. The cold, fresh London air tightened around him as he gained his bearings. He looked up at the travelodge sign ahead and stopped to collect his thoughts. He gravitated towards the old building and inspected the banner hanging above the doorway. It looked a lot tattier close up. Nevertheless, he approached the steel door and was surprised to see it ajar. He pulled it towards him and stepped inside, noticing that the air inside was just as frosty.

As he lurched into the building he could make out the echoing grunts of a man in the middle of some physical routine and immediately hoped he wasn’t walking in on somebody ‘shagging’, as they might say in these parts. As he ventured further into the gloomy interior of the building, he could make out the figure of a man moving about on what looked like a stage at first. However, as he looked closer, he made out the shape of a wrestling ring. The man inside was running off the ropes, throwing himself forward and performing rolls and somersaults as he worked up a sweat. Either he was shadow wrestling or he’d just picked an unfortunate fight with hollow man.

The man stopped suddenly as he sensed the arrival of Justin. He leaned on the flaccid ropes and attempted to catch his breath.

“You’re too late for training today.”

“That’s okay. Just taking a look. Cool dojo.” Justin dumped his bag on an old wooden table that looked infested with woodworm.

Cyda wasn’t sure if the guy was taking the piss or not as he scrunched his eyes up to get a better look at him.

“You interested in sign-up?” he drew his forearm across his forehead to wipe away the sweat that saturated there.

“I could do with some practice, I guess.”

Cyda looked around and considered for a second. What the hell. It’s been a while since he properly sparred with somebody. “How about a free trial?”

Justin rubbed his eyes and could feel the bags beneath them. He was exhausted, but thought why not give it a shot. “Yeah, sure.” He pulled his t-shirt over his head and revealed his toned, muscular body. Cyda looked on, impressed by his build.

“You work out.” He shook Justin’s hand as he entered the ring. “Cliff White.”

“Justin. Justin Jarrett.” He skipped into the corner and stretched himself on the ropes before turning towards Cyda. They squared up to one another and hooked up at the shoulders. Justin quickly put Cyda into a headlock and brought him down with a takedown, maintaining the hold on the canvas.

“You’ve done this before...” Cyda heaved.

“Once or twice...” a hint of cockiness crept out.

Cyda started to push himself back to a base with Justin still cradling his head. “Who do you work for?”

Before Justin could answer, Cyda delivered some elbows to the mid-riff of Justin to loosen his grip. He forced him back into the ropes and used the momentum to whip him across the ring. When he returned, Jehst hit him down to the canvas with a shoulder block. He sprung off the near-side ropes and hopped over Cyda, who rolled over onto his belly before jumping to his feet. When Justin returned again, Cyda attempted a hip-toss. Justin reversed it and attempted one of his own, but Cyda blocked it. Justin hit him in the stomach and placed a leg over the back of Cyda’s head as he bowed down. Cyda lifted Justin up and over and smiled as Justin landed on his feet.

“I’ve been working for a promotion out in Japan. Touring over there for a few months.” Justin wasn’t out of breath.

Jehst aimed a kick at Cyda’s stomach but his foot was caught. He attempted an Enziguri, but Cyda ducked the attacking leg while still holding the other leg of Jehst, leaving Justin now facing away from him. Justin attempted a horse-kick with his free leg, but was again caught by Cyda who now had Justin in a wheelbarrow position. Cyda lifted Justin up, looking for a facebuster, but Justin impressively reversed the lift into a Victory Roll. Cyda kicked out and rolled away from Justin before hopping to his feet. He shot an admiring nod at Justin.

“So, what are you doing here in London.” Cyda said, before careening towards him.

Justin acted fast and brought him down with a snapmare takedown and applied a reverse chin-lock.

“I’m meeting somebody about a match. An old promotion I used to work for.”

Cyda struggled to release the hold. He attempted to tilt to the left but Justin held him steady.

“Long way to come for one show.” he huffed.

Justin dug his knee into the back of Cyda and grimaced.

“It’s a very lucrative offer. I couldn’t really afford to turn it down.”

Cyda exerted and this time managed to roll over onto his right side, removing the knee from his back but he was still in a chinlock. He managed to speak through gritted teeth.

“I had no idea there was any money in independent work.”

Cyda managed to push himself to his feet and the hold mutated into a headlock.

“Me neither...” Justin acceded. “But this is no normal event.”

Cyda grabbed the thigh of Justin and lifted him up and landed a back suplex. Cyda sat up alongside him and patted Justin on the stomach. He rose to his feet and pulled Justin up too before leading him into the corner before delivering a stinging chop to the chest.

“What’s so special about it?”

Cyda whipped Justin to the opposite corner and charged at him. Justin lifted a foot and caught Cyda in the face. He turned away, holding his head and when he looked back, he saw Justin launching from the top rope with a missile dropkick. Cyda sold it perfectly. Both men remained on the mat for a few seconds to catch their breath.

“The promotion has been dead for four years. Now some mega-rich business-type investor wants a new play-thing and he wants to see a sample, so all of the alumni and former wrestlers have been invited to take part.”

Cyda sat up with a jolt and a perplexed look on his face.

“Wait a minute...are you talking about ACW?”

Jehst popped up on his forearms and looked taken aback. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Lucrative...” he ignored the question.

“What?” Justin was puzzled.

“You said it was a lucrative offer...how much have they offered to pay you?”

Cyda inched closer to Justin and studied his face. For a moment, Justin said nothing, confused by the entire scenario. He remembered what Edison had told him on the phone and tried to recall the figure. He repeated the amount that he was quoted to Cyda. He also at first, said nothing. Then, without warning and almost startling Jehst, he jumped to his feet and exited the ring and hurried over to the trash receptacle near the entrance. At first, he peered inside and carefully rifled through it’s contents. When that proved fruitless, he tipped the bin over and let the rubbish inside spill out on the floor. He rummaged through the debris but couldn’t find what he was looking for.

“Bollocks!” Cyda cried.

“What’s wrong.” Justin called from inside the ring.

Cyda stood up and strided towards him. There was an embarrassed anger in his face, as if he had been made to appear foolish.

“I had the same offer. I thought it was a load of crap...if I had known...”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is I lost the pissing number of the guy! Edison!”

Justin smirked as Cyda frantically tried to remember the number, pulling at his hair as he thought.

“In my bag, in the main part, should be somewhere near the top.”

Cyda cautiously followed the direction that Justin pointed and unzipped the bag. Sure enough, there it was. On top of an electric blanket was a card with the number on it. Cyda brought it to his lips and kissed it before turning towards a still smiling Justin.

“You are a life-saver! I owe you one!” he praised.

“It’s not a problem.” Justin nodded.

”No, seriously. Look, if there’s anything I can do to help you out, let me know.” Cyda turned away to retrieve his phone, which he had left on the table. As he lifted it up and began to press the buttons on screen, Justin piped.

“Well, there is something you could do...”

To be continued...

[Torak]

The Reunion
VII - Love in a Hopeless Place

“Needs must when the devil drives...” – origin unknown

The Kingsway, Swansea, Wales
Saturday 10th, January 11.32 pm GMT

It was a drizzly evening to nobody’s surprise here in Britain’s wettest city. This was the eighth consecutive day of downpour and the collective dour mood around the city reflected it. It did little to stop the party-goers and revellers from hitting Wind Street and the Kingsway. Clubbers and drug-users crawled in and out of Oxygen nightclub on Northampton Lane. The bouncers kept a vigilant eye out for troublemakers, learning from experience from the fire incident a few months ago.

One tipsy bacchant stumbled from the club out into the rainy night. He had no idea where his friends were but he had had his fill of sambuccas and rave music for the night and drunkenly considered his next move. He firstly considered his needs; He was sleepy; He was hungry; He was horny. The third compulsion was his priority. Unfortunately, he had long surpassed the point of being able to coherently seduce the young women inside the club – regardless of how easy they were – so he thought of his second option. He clumsily staggered through the alleyway onto Craddock Street and turned left and walked up the short hill onto Mansel Street. He carelessly crossed the road without looking but the alert taxi driver heading towards him had seen this sort of thing every weekend and slowed down his approach to let the drunken idiot cross safely.

He reached the dingy black and grey building with a purple canopy hanging over the doorway. The lettering in the window read ‘Studio 95’. He took a deep breath before striding through the entrance of the ‘massage parlour’. He entered into a well-lit reception area with a stunning blonde woman at the desk. She looked to be in her late-30’s but would still turn heads. She wore a tight-fitting black dress and a sexy pair of designer glasses. She looked up at the customer with a cautious but welcoming glare.

“Hey there, hunny. Are you okay?” she squeeked with a forced cuteness.

The man squinted at her through one eye and just managed to keep his balance. “Orr my god! ‘Ew are lush, babes!” his thick South Wales accent was like a buzzsaw through metal.

“Why thank you, sweetie.” she smiled, waving him away in a false gesture.

“Like...can I have ‘ew, like? Ew’ fuckin’ stunnin’” the guy was a real Prince Charming. “We can do it in that room there, like.” He pointed to a door to a private room behind her. The booze had mistakenly made him belive he was a regular charmer.

She shook her head and adopted a regretful pout.

“I’m sorry, huny-bun, I could never take a man in there. But look, if you go through to the waiting room, I’m sure one of my very lovely young ladies will be more to your fancy.”

She pointed with a thin finger towards the door that stood to her right. As he started to shuffle towards there – with a gawping mouth wide open – she called him back with a sterner voice this time.

“Can I just ask that you are going to behave yourself, sweetie? You’re not going to give any of my girls trouble, are you?”

He hicupped and almost lost his balance as he stared at her.

“Naw love, I’m a’right.” He slurred.

She smiled as he waltzed away and through the door into the waiting room. There was no need to ask for payment. She trusted the girls to negotiate the right price for the client and knew they knew better than to rip her off. She was also confident that the customer wouldn’t be any trouble. She felt that he was much more likely to suffer from the dreaded effects of whiskey dick than harass his girls. But even if he did kick off, she at least had the experience to handle the situation. Just as she had dealt with the burly pervert a fortnight ago who thought it was acceptable to rough up one of her girls. Needless to say, he wouldn’t be having any happy endings any time soon.

She was very protective of her girls. She had been the Madam of this establishment for nearly two years now and upon first impression, she had disliked the girls and their type. She believed them to be filth, by-products of corrupted families and a life of drugs. Her opinion of them quickly and radically changed when she began to get to know the girls and grew some respect for them, which was subsequently returned. These girls enjoyed their line of work. They were not forced into the job by a drug habit or out of desperation. They got into this job as they enjoyed sex and the confidence that they felt within their body that they could sell themselves.

She hunkered over the desk and began to write in the register. All discreet notes, of course. From her right, she could hear a sound, like a tyre being let down.

“Pssst.”

She was initially confused as to the source of the sound but eventually caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. The ample-bosomed and beautiful redhead nubile poked her head through a side door opposite the reception desk.

“Chloe?”

The girl edged out through the door, cautious as to not be seen by an arriving customer or a nosy by-passer. She jerked her head to lure the blonde woman towards her. The madam pouted with confusion.

“Chloe? What on earth is the matter?” she was stern but patient. She noticed the anxiousness on the face of the pretty young girl. She could have only been 23 at most.

“It’s the guy who just came in...I can’t see him.” She beseeched.

The woman placed both of her hands on her hips and glowered at her. The girls seldom had the brazenness - nor reason - to shirk their job. “Why ever not?”

Chloe shifted uncomfortably and glanced back into the room she was peeking out from. “I know him...” she dropped her head.

The madam stood silent for a moment before attempting to stifle a laugh. She failed and the chuckle blurted out. It put Chloe at ease at least. “How embarrassing.”

“I know. He can’t see me!” she squealed.

“I’m sure he’d be just as mortified of you seeing him.”

Luckily for Chloe - and the rest of the girls - they had the privilege of checking out a customer on the CCTV cameras before introducing themselves to him in the waiting room for him to choose. In this such situation, it can avoid the very dark secret of the girl’s careers choices from becoming public knowledge. For the customer, he has to live on in total oblivion that the girl he acquaintances knows his secret, even if she can’t tell anybody herself.

“Okay, take a break, hunny. Could you be a sweetie and go upstairs to make us both a nice cup of tea?” she beamed.

Chloe relaxed and smiled as she slinked through the doorway into the area behind the reception desk. “Yes of course, Ma’am. Two sugars?”

“You trying to sweeten me up?” she playfully stroked Chloe’s chin with her thumb, broadening the smile on the young girl.

“Of course, not, Miss White. You’re as sweet as they come.”

Chloe turned and stomped up the stairs, her thin, sexy legs the last thing that could be seen as she disappeared at the top. The sound of her footsteps were replaced with the quiet shuffle of a visitor’s feet. Miss White turned to view the incoming stranger and lit up as she noticed the well-dressed, good looking gentleman that appeared to be just a little older than her - maybe in his mid-forties. There was something about an older man that she just found incredibly alluring. He seemed calm and confident and contrary to the majority share of her customers - sober. She didn’t have to fake the flirt this time.

“My, hello there. And just what is it you are looking for, handsome?” she tilted her head and pouted suggestively. He was nothing like the average habitué in her establishment. He seemed to be used to that kind of welcome.

“Love.” was his precise and self-assured response as he continued to stroll towards her with his hands delved deep into his jacket pocket. His gelled hair was sleeked from the rain but she only found that more attractive.

She leaned on her elbows on the desk and rested her head on her cross-laced fingers, looking up at him, almost submissively. “Aren’t we all, honey?”

He slowly pulled one hand out of his pocket and with it emerged a piece of paper. At first, she thought it was money, however, as he unfolded it, she realized the picture on it was not that of The Queen of England. The picture on the unfurled A4 sheet was of her from roughly six years ago.

“Cordelia Love, to be exact...or do you prefer Cordelia LaBlanc?” he grinned with satisfaction.

Her jaw opened wider than any of her girls could ever manage. She stood up straight and stiffly and removed her glasses, setting them down on the desk. She took a step back and considered making a run for it, but her legs were so weak at that moment, she doubted she would have gotten very far. She blurted out a few interrogatives, but nothing coherent. He obviously decided to put her out of the misery of mystery and leaned in closer to the desk.

“My name is Jake Foxx. I’ve been hired to look for you...by your Brother.” he could see that she was still in a state of shock. Chloe had also re-emerged from upstairs holding two thick mugs with a hot brew in each. She looked as stunned as Cordelia.

“Miss White? Is everything okay?”

For the first time in the two years that she had known her, Chloe saw her boss flustered and not at ease with her words. Cordelia stuttered.

“Y-yes, Chloe...everything is fine. Could you take over here for me? Please?”

Cordelia could sense the apprehension in Chloe’s grimace. She had already had a near-brush with an acquaintance tonight and now she would have to deal with more members of the public that she potentially held court with. However, Chloe was loyal to “Miss White” and she knew she would pick up on her obvious distress, so she planted the two drinks on the desk and forced a smile at her.

“Of course.”

Cordelia rubbed the shoulders of the redhead and smiled at her before turning to Foxx with a repugnant scowl. She lifted the counter flap and pulled the one-way swing door to allow Foxx access behind the desk.

“Come with me...”

Cordelia turned away from Foxx and sauntered towards the private room behind her. She pulled the door open and held it, beckoning him in. He marched past her and into the room with a courteous thank you. Cordelia turned to a disconcerted Chloe and sighed.

“Please, no matter what...I can’t be disturbed.”

She lifted her hand up and clutched at the back of her blonde hair. She appeared to unfasten a pair of clips burrowed deep within her locks before peeling away the blonde wig completely. She unhooked another hair clip at the back of her head to allow her raven black hair to drop and flow freely over her shoulders before joining Foxx in the room...

To be continued...

[Torak]

The Reunion
VIII - Reunion

“Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of resurrection.” – Arthur Schopenhauer

O’Neill’s Irish Pub, Wardour Street, London, England
Sunday 11th, January 7.15 pm GMT

The band were setting up on the stage in the corner as the crowd swelled with anticipation. Even for a Sunday evening, the number of punters willing to awaken with a hangover on Monday morning was incredible. The once reputable local band had come together again for a reunion and the buzz in the Irish themed bar was electric. Everybody enjoys a reunion, after all.

On a table, near the entrance, sat three characters; One slurped at a diet coke through a straw; another sipped from a tall glass of still water; and the third – the landlord’s favourite – supped from a full pint glass of amber lager. Justin lifted the water to his lips and slurped at the icy cold drink. It reminded him of his temporary accommodation. He mistakenly believed, when he had asked Cyda for somewhere to stay, that he would have taken him back to some trendy London apartment in the centre of the capital or a rustic London flat in a busy suburb in South or East London. He certainly did not expect to be dossing in the cold utility room of the dojo. Still, it was much cheaper than any London hotel, including the Travelodge, plus it had some interesting features – well, one. A usuable wrestling ring for training in – so he couldn’t complain. He only had to pay his short-term proprietor a meagre-sum for the privilege of plugging in his electric blanket to help him weather the freezing English nightfall. He sat in a reserved insecurity as Chris and Cyda reminisced on their friendship. He slid his hand down to his pocket to retrieve his mobile phone, forgetting for the third time since arriving at the pub that he had left it on the desk at the dojo.

“So, how would you go about it, then, smartarse?” Chris challenged Cyda. “You’ve got experience with this sort of thing. How would you book it?”

They were embroiled in a vying discussion over the best way to promote the ACW reunion.

“Clusterfuck.” He took a large swig of his pint and licked the froth from his top lip. “Get all the top guys in the ring and let hell break loose. Right at the start of the show. Then divide and conquer build-up to a finale with guys picking sides until the main event with the two top guys. Then introduce everybody individually and build another battle royal. Get all of the talent on display and end up with one guy top of the pile.”

Chris sucked his coke through a straw and squinted a Cyda. He had no experience with booking but knew of Cyda’s tendency to lean towards the factions and all out war booking. Justin, meanwhile, watched on with intrigue.

“What is your experience?” he gawped at Cyda.

Cyda took another huge mouthful of his drink and gulped it down with a gasp.

“Well, I worked as a booker for an old-friend of ours, Dave Messo, for his promotion: Valley Wrestling Federation...”

“VWF? Didn’t Rattlesnake work there?” it clicked with Justin.

“That’s right. I put the World title on him.” He nodded with a brash smirk. “Dave gave me the reigns and let me book whatever I wanted. It was going well until he fell ill and the bottom fell out.” He bowed. Chris stretched his arm out and placed a hand on Cyda’s arm.

“After that, I was recruited by two guys who knew about my run at VWF. Chris and Chico.” He sneered bitterly. “They wanted me to help out with getting their new promotion off the ground. All Star Championship Wrestling. Well, I got that place off the ground alright. All the while they had their feet up in their Villas in Florida. I ended up running everything there and with them out of the country so often, there was rarely any money available when it was needed. Some of my guys were unpaid for weeks until the dynamic duo returned from jet-setting. I luckily managed to convince the guys to stick with us in the meantime. In the end, I told them both to shove it up their arses. Strangely enough, the place shut down the following week. The whole thing left me jaded and out of pocket. I couldn’t be arsed with it all after that. Just as well Dave helped me pay off the mortgage on the dojo...”

Chris could see Cyda had slumped into his seat. He looked up at Justin with a despairing glance.

“What’s going on with the whole North American wrestling business nowadays?” Justin piped. It seemed to perk Cyda up.

“Where do you start?” Cyda scoffed.

Chris smirked, knowing Justin had inadvertently opened up a very different can of worms. Cyda noticed the sarcastic dread in the eyes of his pal.

“Well, it just follows the music culture, doesn’t it?" Cyda proffered. He was met with confounded glares by his drinking buddies.

“What do you mean?” Justin probed.

“Well, take the 80’s. It was all big hair, over-the-top glam. Just like the hair bands of the generation. Then, well, it was widely recognized that the Attitude, Hardcore and ECW revolution eras were born from the grunge and metal bands of the time. Then, when hip-hop was reaching its zenith within the white, middle class demographic along came John Cena. Now we’re in the Beiber generation, it’s all tattooed, bland but stylish looking guys with no moves but teen appeal.”

Justin and Chris squinted up at the ceiling, attempting to locate Cyda’s point. Neither were prepared to argue with something that he’d obviously given a lot of thought to. Luckily, Cyda was’t seeking feedback on his hypothesis as he pushed himself to his feet and finished his drink, pouring the remnants of his pint down his neck.

“Right, I’m going for a piss, then I’m buying the next round. Same again, girls?” He grinned as he peeled away from the table.

Chris and Justin stared away from one another as they were left in each other’s company. Justin again reached for his empty pocket to remind himself that his phone had been abandoned. Chris twiddled his fingers on his lap and smiled. He had no idea Cyda was bringing a friend. Chris had invited him by text, telling him that he would be meeting somebody at the pub and suggested that he might like to come along as well. The awkwardness grew between them. They both had questions that they wanted to ask, but couldn’t find the way to phrase them. Chris took a deep breath and decided to go for it.

“So, when are you going back to Japan?” He hadn’t meant for it to sound as if he was looking forward to seeing the back of him, but it certainly came out that way.

“I’m due back there in a month or so. To be honest, I’m not totally sure. Mr. Fuji-san – the promoter – said he’d call me when he had built up the storyline. He is going to sell the story as I’d turned my back on the Japanese fans to make it big in America. Then I’d go crawling back there when it doesn’t work out. He said it would go over really well as the fans are so loyal and committed, they’d despise me...”

“That sounds like it should be a career boost...” Chris enthused.

“I don’t know.” Justin dampened. “I’ve never played a heel before. Especially in that environment. I’m kind of nervous.”

Chris opened up his body and smiled. “You’ll be fine. The first couple of times the boos can be a bit jarring, but you get used to it. Trust me. I’ve played a heel all of my career. It’s playing somebody that people actually love I always found the most difficult.”

“That’s easy.” Justin returned the smile. “I’ve always just been myself. The fans appreciate honesty more than anything you can script.”

Chris scrunched his face in consideration. It was good advice, but all a bit too late now. It was doubtful that he would be able to utilize the wisdom now given his situation. Justin looked over Chris’ shoulder at the door and caught the sight of a familiar face walking towards them. He was hardly expecting to encounter one in a location such as this. Chris followed Justin’s line of sight and turned his wheelchair to face the approaching figure.

“Justin? I didn’t expect to see you here.” Jake Foxx astounded. “I’ve been trying to call you. We need to talk. Later.” he urged. He turned to Chris and stooped down to sit in Cyda’s seat. “Sorry I’m late Chris.”

Chris returned a perplexed furrow and glanced at Justin before turning back at Jake. “You two know each other?”

Jake took a sharp intake and shifted his glance at Justin for confirmation. Justin nodded as he took a sip of his water. Jake turned back to Chris as he pulled his seat in closer to the table.

“I’ve been working on a case for Justin.”

Chris scrunched his face in an explicated expression. He brushed off the response with a shake of his head and shrug of his shoulders to indicate that it didn’t really matter. He was only interested in his own news.

“I’ve found your sister...” Jake went down to business. He allowed the revelation to sink for a moment and spotted the dread wash over the face of Chris. “It’s good news...”

Chris’ eyes lit up. He licked his lips as he leaned forward in his wheelchair towards Jake. A frantic impatience gripped his voice. “Where is she? How did you find her? Is she okay?”

Foxx laughed and leaned against the backrest of his seat with a conceited smile spread across his face. Another voice piped up from behind them.

“Never Better...”

Chris almost pulled a muscle in his neck as he turned his head sharply to the right. He locked his vision on the slender figure of a woman. The Raven black hair and the piercing green eyes were instantly recognizable “Cordelia!”

She bit her lip to hold the emotion of seeing her beloved Brother in such a poor physical state and felt a pang of guilt. She instantly regretted not being around for him to help him through the degeneration of his wellbeing and to support him through rehabilitation. She crouched down in front of him and squeezed him tightly. He held her firmly and hugged her with all of his strength as Jake watched on with a satisfied smile. This is why he loved this job.

Justin, meanwhile, looked on aghast with horror. He attempted to stand up but tried so quickly that he could not pull himself out from under the table properly and sent the chair crashing to the floor with a bang. His glass of water also went sent flying, spilling over the table and the floor. Jake and Chris looked up at him with bewilderment. Cordelia locked her eyes on his and smiled wickedly. Justin began to edge away from the table.

“It’s...it’s you!” He broke eye contact to scan the room. He noticed other patrons gawping on with puzzled and irritated gazes. “Is he here too?”

“Justin! What’s wrong?” Jake stood up and went to place a hand on Justin’s shoulder but he flinched away from him.

“What the hell is this? I...I’ve got to get out of here.” Justin rambled.

Before anybody could say anything, Justin fleeted through the door and exited out onto the cold London streets. Chris and Jake met each other’s gaze and aimed puzzled expressions towards each other before turning to Cordelia, hoping for answers.

“My. He’s had a few, hasn’t he?” she quipped with a dry smirk. Chris and Jake both glanced at the now empty glass that contained nothing but still water all evening. Chris shook his head to dismiss the strange scenario and turned back to Cordelia.

”Anyway, how are you, Cordy? Where have you been?”

“I’ve been surviving. Doing what I do.” she purred, slyly.

“But, where the hell did you go? I looked everywhere for you.”

“I’ve spent the last two years living in Swansea. I changed my name and took over a local business there.”

Jake noticed the unfulfilled look in Chris’ face and thought it may help to elucidate the situation. “You told me about Cordelia’s relationship with Cliff...Mr. White. I decided to look into his hometown. Most run-aways and disappearances end up in locations that they know or are familiar with. It made sense to investigate there as she would have spent some time there with him in the past.”

“Run away? Did you put my picture on a milk carton as well?” She cut dryly.

“We were worried, Cordy. You just disappeared. We feared the worst.” Chris admonished.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I just had to get away - clear my head. But I’m not going anywhere now. I promise.” She hugged him again. There was one more question that she needed to know. “Speaking of Cliff...how is he?”

Chris sighed and grinned. He was well aware of their relationship. They were stronger than just friends. Had it not been for Torak and Traci being on the scene, he was convinced that they would have ended up together. That was a certainty.

“I Don’t Fucking Believe It!” came the exclamation from behind them. Cyda stood with shock and delight warring for his expression.

Cordelia stood up and could not hide her smile. A tear formed in her eye and she sniffed as she approached him. She sunk into his arms and he embraced her tightly as her happiness hijacked her emotions, forcing more tears to fall. They did not speak. He simply kissed her forehead and continued to hold her.

Jake tapped Chris on the shoulder and extended his hand. “Congratulations, Chris.”

Chris accepted his hand and shook it firmly and appreciatively. “Thank you so much. This means so much....”

Jake smiled and pulled his hand away. “It was a pleasure working for you. I hope you enjoy your Reunion.”

Chris thanked him again before turning in his wheelchair and pushing himself towards the still locked embrace of Cyda and Cordelia. He placed his hand on the lower back of his sister and gave an affectionate rub.

Jake, meanwhile, slipped on his coat and made his exit. He stepped out into the cold London air and looked up and down the street, hoping to locate Justin. He was long gone. But he needed to speak to him as soon as possible. He caught the sight of a black cab approaching from the right and shot out his hand.

“Taxi!”

To be continued...

[Torak]

The Reunion
IX - The Tarantino Telephone

“Unreasonable haste is the direct road to error.” - Moliere

Harewood Row, London, England
Sunday 11th, January 8.27 pm GMT

He had practically sprinted the 100 metres between the Marylebone station entrance and the dojo. He had not considered along the journey how exactly he planned to get inside the building, but at this particular moment in time, clarity wasn’t strongly prevalent in his rationale. He reached the steel arched doorway and stopped to catch his breath.
He took a look around to find the streets particularly empty by London standards. He gripped the rusted handle of the door and tested its resolve. There was some give when he pulled it. He gave it a firm tug and it threatened to give way, but then held sturdy again. He rubbed his hands together - they were stinging from the biting cold of the London air - then took a sturdy grasp of the handle with both hands and put his left foot up against the adjacent wall for leverage. He braced himself as he hopped on his right foot three times then dug deep to yank the door with all of his might. With an almighty roar and a creaking groan, the door was open. He peered into the darkness of the interior then checked his surroundings again before stepping inside.

The sound of his initial footstep was unusual, creating a rustling sound. He looked down at his feet and saw that he was standing on something. It was thin and white. When he bent over to inspect it, he recognized it as an envelope. There was a hand-written address scrawled on the front and a stamp was conspicuously absent. There would be no mail on Sunday, so obviously somebody had posted this by hand. In the gloom, he could make out that the envelope had what appeared to be Cyda’s real name - Clive White - written near the top. Justin had no time to worry about Cyda’s correspondence and so continued his frantic rush into the building. He slapped the envelope down on the desk next to his neglected phone. He scurried off into the darkness before returning to the desk with his gym-bag and dumped it onto the desk as well.

He disappeared again, this time into the utility room and managed to locate his belongings in the darkness which he scooped up and carried back out to the bag. He hadn’t opened the bag and so deposited his things on the desk, on top of the envelope. As he unzipped the bag, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the small flashing light emitting from his phone. He lifted it from the desk and pressed the power button to light up the screen. He had 9 missed calls from Foxx. He was just about to switch the phone back off when it began to ring. Caller ID revealed that Foxx was attempting to contact him again. Reluctantly, he slid his finger across the screen to take the call.

“Jake?” he whispered.

“Justin! Where are you? Where the hell did you go?” Foxx fraught.

“I...er...I had to go. I’m in a hurry. I can’t talk...” he opened up his bag to allow him to throw in the clothes and meagre possessions he had brought with him for this trip.

“Justin, we need to talk. It’s about your case? The guy you want me to look for...”

Justin stopped dead and a cold breath escaped him and danced in the icy air. “What about him?”

There was a silence from Jake, but the sound of traffic could be heard over the phone. The voice of a typically rough Londoner shouting nearby rasped through the call.

“I found him...” Jake exclaimed.

Justin turned pale and hung up. He stared vacantly for a moment as he attempted to collect his thoughts. When he pieced them all together, they spelled out the one clear message. ‘Get the hell out of there!’ He shoveled his stuff into his arms and tossed them untidily into the bag, leaving the desk empty. He hadn’t even noticed the envelope becoming a stowaway.
He zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder before making for the door. He stopped abruptly at the door, tuning back inside and scanning the gloomy interior before continuing to dart outwards and away from the building with a sense of unease. For in Justin’s haste to leave, there was something very important that he had forgotten...

To be concluded...

[Torak]

The Reunion
X - The Epilogue: We Didn’t Start the Fire

“Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are revenged; crimes are avenged.” - Samuel Johnson

Harewood Row, London, England
Monday 12th, January 11.43 am

As he stood there, exhausted, hungover and clammy in last night’s clothes, he could not shake the sense that everything was lost. The fire brigade were still on the scene but had, thankfully, vanquished the flames before they spread to other nearby buildings. A police officer was taking the statement of the Travelodge night reception clerk who had called in the emergency sometime in the early hours of the morning. He watched in a despairing disbelief, like it was all a bad dream. His headache thumped and his mouth was arid.

Indeed, it was the worst time to be thrust into a situation like this. He had stayed up at Chris’ with the LaBlancs, celebrating the prodigal return of Cordelia. But it wasn’t the drink or the celebration that kept him awake all night. It was the thought of Cordelia sleeping in the next room that ran through his head until sunrise. He could hardly concentrate on his breakfast as she sat at the table with nothing on but the skimpy nightgown she had borrowed from Stephanie. There was only one thing he had an appetite for right then.

Now, though, as the last remnants of his life were sat in ruins and what little possessions he had were reduced to ashes, only the clothes on his back connected him to the Cyda White prior to the disaster. He caught a glimpse of the interior of the building through the charred doorway, reduced to rubble and allowing more light in now than it ever had due to the collapsed roof and wondered why he had been dealt such a harsh card. He wondered how it had turned from such a joyous and positive outlook last night to now being in this dire predicament. He was, for all intents and purposes, homeless.

It may have been so different. Had one gust of wind not slammed the door shut in the middle of the night, passers-by may have seen the smoke billowing out sooner and alerted the emergency services earlier and maybe, just maybe, they may have salvaged something from it all. As it turned out, the only thing they managed to salvage from the mess was the charred remains of the electric blanket that had been left on and caused the fire.

As Cyda stared on with a single tear in his eye and a clenched fist, there were not many things that he was certain of from this point. Where he would live. How he would eat. What he would now do for a living. However, there was one very clear idea of what was going to happen in the very near future...

Justin Jehst was going to pay for this...

End

[Kim Jong CP]

A New Baptism
Credit: CP

ACW Island
Three Years Ago Today

The wind gently nips at the rocks along the coast of ACW Island, Chris Phenomenal standing atop the pier looking out over the ocean as the surf crashes up against the wooden posts. Behind him, “The Soul of Philly” TJ looks on without a word.

TJ: You know … we could’ve just met at my gym?

Chris: It’s nicer out here, quiet, ya feel?

TJ: It’s creepy as fuck is what it is. Ya know … two dudes, stranded …”

Chris: Man, if I’d wanted t’ stick my dick in ya ass I’d have done it a long fuckin’ time ago.

Chris laughs as he turns and looks over his shoulder before standing up and extending a hand to TJ before they exchange a bro-hug.

TJ: It’s been a while.

Chris: I know, over a year, lot’s changed.

TJ: Tell me about.

The rolling waves crash in again as Chris leans back on the pier and looks up at the sky and the gulls soaring around, eyeing something in the water.

Chris: Ya know … it’s a shame a place like this is just going to crumble down with no one around.

TJ: You’re not getting all sentimental, are you?

Chris: Man, I can’t even spell that!”

TJ stares around at the vast emptiness for a moment before looking back at Chris.

TJ: You’re not thinking of trying to restart this stuff? Buy the island and what not off Gingerdude.

Chris: The island … maybe? It’d be a nice vacation trip, maybe turn the entire island into a resort or something. Steve always said I needed to embrace my extra-terrestial spirit?

TJ smiles as he slaps Chris upside the head.

TJ: You’re sure he didn’t say entrepreneurial? I mean, I know you look like a fuckin’ Alien but …

Chris: Shut the fuck up! Ya the ugliest mother fucka this side of Thunderkiss’ artificially intelligent testicle!

Chris smiles as he stands up and walks a couple of steps down the pier.

Chris: I’m done wit’ wrestlin’. I’ve got nothin’ to do. This life … everything that was here.

Chris gestures around the island, his arms ending up spread wide stretch to the fullest extent.

TJ: And now you’re lookin’ like that hoe bag Willows’ pussy!

Chris: Bitch, I did not need that picture runnin’ through my head!

TJ smirks as he tries to stifle a laugh as Chris turns around and glares at him.

Chris: Like I said a year ago – a door closes, another one opens. I wouldn’t want to come back to that kind of life.

TJ: Then what did you really call me here for? You’re not one to just sit around and idly shoot the shit.

Chris: I need to ask a favor of you?

TJ: Shoot.

Chris: I want you to be Wendy’s Godfather.

TJ looks at him surprised for a moment as the question registers.

TJ: What about Steve?

Chris: I know the shit I’ve done, the people I’ve pissed off, and there might come a time when somethin’ happens to me and I need to know that Wendy will be taken care of and kept safe. Steve wouldn’t be able to do that with everything he’s got going on.

TJ: Can I think about it?

Chris: Sure – I mean, we both know thinkin’ isn’t one of your strengths so this should be quick.

TJ: Mother fucker! You ask me for help and then five seconds later you’re dissin’ me?

TJ smiles as Chris just shakes his head at him.

Chris: Just let me know … alright?

TJ: I got ya.

Chris walks down the rest of the pier, the sun setting to the west of ACW Island as TJ stands in solitude.

TJ: Hey Chris!

Chris stops and turns and looks over his shoulder at TJ.

TJ: You know if you run into somethin’ you give me a call, alright?

Chris stares at him for a second before turning around as he walks into the sun and the scene fades.

[Dan White]

I had a promo all written out in my head and then I started to put it down on paper. It was a pretty good RP for a guy relatively out of the loop and I thought "you know what, maybe I'm alright". When I saw Ridley was contributing, I was all "hey man, it's that guy! Maybe I can show him that I actually turned into a not half-bad writer in the end!".

Then I woke up and realised that I was in the snow, my keys in my hands because I was too monged to open my house door so I decided to fall asleep in what us people that are colonialised to this island refer to as "Brits" a blizzard (1 inch of snow) and remembered that the whole RP was entirely in my head the entire time, never once so much as suggested towards a sheet of paper - online or otherwise - and here I am, eating various continental cheeses and cold cut Italian meats with an enumeration of beers on my table. I never wrote the RP. However if I was going to write an RP about the state of the character Dan White, I don't think it would be far from this description of how I have spent being 26 thus far. There'd just be a few more colours and scripture tropes and stuff. So I guess there's my opening RP.

[Mark]

I'll try and come up with some more promo goodness soon. Work's been kicking my ass lately, so I've been dealing with that lol.

[Jonny Spade]

Jan 29, 2015 21:19:34 GMT -5 Dan White said:

I had a promo all written out in my head and then I started to put it down on paper. It was a pretty good RP for a guy relatively out of the loop and I thought "you know what, maybe I'm alright". When I saw Ridley was contributing, I was all "hey man, it's that guy! Maybe I can show him that I actually turned into a not half-bad writer in the end!".

Then I woke up and realised that I was in the snow, my keys in my hands because I was too monged to open my house door so I decided to fall asleep in what us people that are colonialised to this island refer to as "Brits" a blizzard (1 inch of snow) and remembered that the whole RP was entirely in my head the entire time, never once so much as suggested towards a sheet of paper - online or otherwise - and here I am, eating various continental cheeses and cold cut Italian meats with an enumeration of beers on my table. I never wrote the RP. However if I was going to write an RP about the state of the character Dan White, I don't think it would be far from this description of how I have spent being 26 thus far. There'd just be a few more colours and scripture tropes and stuff. So I guess there's my opening RP.

I don't know about anybody else, but that sounds like a pretty good promo premise to me.