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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:24:09 GMT -5
Segment: “Infatuation” Credit: Senator / ~Aj
[Makeup kit in hand, Charlotte gives herself one quick glance over before throwing herself in front of the cameras. A woman’s look is extremely important, but in this business its mandatory to look perfect. Satisfied at what she sees, Miss King attempts her to close her compact, but not before seeing the reflection of a man standing behind her in its' mirror.]
Charlotte *startled*: Thunder-
[Before she can finish saying that decrepit title, Aiden lifts his index finger and applies it to her pouty lips.]
Aiden : Shhhhh. Please, it’s Aiden. [/b]
[He removes his finger and spreads moist remnants of Charlottes lip gloss around it with his thumb.]
Aiden : Good evening Ms. King. You look absolutely radiant tonight. [/b]
Charlotte *blushing*: As do you. I love your new look.
Aiden : I see that your charm is a complete match for your beauty, Ms. King. [/b]
Charlotte *giggling*: Oh please, you stop that!
Aiden : You know Charlotte - do you mind if I call you Charlotte? [/b]
[As she looks deep into his eyes, she wishes she could drown herself within them. Without thinking, she opens her mouth and responds - ]
Charlotte: You can call me whatever you want.
Aiden : Alright whatever you want - [/b]
[Flustered, King blurts out a huge giggle that causes her face to turn a brilliant shade of scarlet.]
Aiden : - I am glad that our paths crossed tonight. In the past I have been quite atrocious to you. My dear, please accept my sincerest apologies. If you cannot grant me penance for my sins, my heart will carry a most heavy burden. [/b]
[Still swooning like a teenaged girl in heat, her answer comes as easy as the ocean breeze.]
Charlotte: Ohhhh, you’re so forgiven.
Aiden : My soul has now taken another exodus out of the shame I had brought upon it. I am eternally grateful for your forgiveness. Now if you’ll excuse me Charlotte, I have been rushing around all afternoon and my body is most sweaty. I plan to retreat to my new dwellings and take a ... [/b]
[He leans in close and casts a shadow of lust upon her. The scent of his cologne and the heat from his body beckon Charlotte to turn her back on her professional dispositions and give into her sinful thoughts.]
Aiden : Hot. [/b]
[Her flower ...]
Aiden : Wet.[/b]
[ ... begins ...]
Aiden : Shower. [/b]
[ ... to bloom ...]
Charlotte: Oh God.
[She cannot take anymore. Between her hips she begins to quiver with euphoric sensations; the likes of which soon spread throughout her body. Dropping her microphone, Charlotte darts herself from all prying eyes to prevent any further destitution of her morality.] Aiden *shouting* : Oh dear Charlotte, you dropped your microphone! [/b]
[Aiden watches Charlotte turn the corner running; the sight of which makes his face simper with boyish delight.]
Aiden : Heh. [/b]
Steve Phillips: Ahem.
[The sound of The Senator’s voice jolts his body. They do say no good deed goes unpunished.]
Aiden : Oh! Hey there Steve! Hah, did you see that? [/b]
Steve Phillips: Unfortunately yes. Come Mr. Joseph, we have much to discuss.
[Like a father scolding his son, Phillips eyes bat Aiden a look of disappointment. Ready to prove himself, Aiden eagerly switches predilections and heads off towards the Senatorial Stable locker room.]
[FADE]
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:24:39 GMT -5
Betrayal
Part Eleven: The End [/color] Chapter 1: The Meeting PlaceCredit: Jake Cheng[/center] TodayTwo weeks went by since Jake Cheng has arrived at his old friend Stan the former Cameraman’s house. Twenty minutes has gone by since Jake took off down the dirt road on Stan’s red Yamaha motorcycle. He speeds down an empty road in the middle of what seems like an endless forest. Behind him a Ford Focus struggles to keep up. As he speeds down the endless road, he think about the phone conversation he had twenty minutes ago: Enter FlashbackJake: I don’t know where the fuck I am. Wing: Well, you better find out. You aren’t going to be able to trade yourself for Kirsten if you don’t have a meeting place. Jake cringes whenever he thinks about the trade he is making. But it what he has to do to get to the bottom of this.
Stan: I know a place. I’ll give them the address. Jake looks over to Stan, who gives a slight but serious nod. Jake: Go ahead. The Quadrinity hand over the phone to Stan who clears his throat.
Stan: There’s an abandoned warehouse on route 34 near the 30th mile marker. Wing: Who is this? Stan: Does it matter? Wing: No. But route 34 is far from where we are. It will take at least an hour to get there. Stan: Fine, then the meeting will occur at three. That should give you plenty of time. Stan hangs up and the flashback ends.
It’s now 2:55. Jake parks the motorcycle next to the warehouse and the Ford Focus pulls up next to him. Stan rolls down the tinted window.
Stan: I’ll take her back to house. Hope to see you there. Jake: Me too. Thanks for everything. Jake turns around a takes a deep breath, He opens the door to the building and walks in, the door clicking shut behind him
Fade.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:25:28 GMT -5
SEGMENT: Killing Caitlynn. Ep. 9. (Credit: Mainer) Panic was rife in the air as in the master bedroom of Danny Mainer’s suburban house there is a scene of potential cataclysm. Danny paces alongside the bed where his lover, Caitlynn Dufraisne lies completely motionless, not even breathing as Danny looks about ready to burst into streams of tears. Danny has got so many emotions flowing through his brain and it’s not even funny. Caitlynn’s face is as white as the sheets which she lies on and Danny’s damn near torn-apart with upset. This all spurned for those just reading when last week he tripped Caitlynn to the floor and slapped on a Sleeper Hold after Caitlynn screamed in a drunken stupor that Danny Masterson was trying to kill her. Caitlynn having appeared to set up her own death this way lies on the bed not breathing, not moving and her eyes shut. Danny is torn between trying to hide the body or ringing 911. Either way he’s likely to get cau-…
~[CREAAAAAAKK. PHWOOMF. CREAAAAAK. PHWOOMF. CREAAAAAAK. PHWOOMF.]~
Danny runs towards the door as he hears someone running up the stairs. Quickly slapping on his cheesy ego-face and out he walks into an average-height man in a plain pastel blue shirt and a pair of grey slacks without a single hair on his head except for his eyebrows which are thin. This bald man has seemingly entered Danny’s house completely unexpected. No doubt due to the distress call from Caitlynn. Danny walks over to the guy and puts his hand out to stop him.Danny Mainer l The King of Vegas: Hey buddy. What’re you doing up here? This is private property.This man sounds REMARKABLY like the creepy guy from Family Guy. The one from this video. www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pNTrYd-4FQRyan Washington l The Annoying Do-Gooder Neighbour: Oh hello neighbour! I heard the screaming from next door and thought I’d come check everything out. Is Caitlynn OK? Danny Mainer l The King of Vegas: Yeah she’s fine, she’s just got a really bad flu. Her whole screaming saga before was some sort of fuckin’ crazy hallucination. She’s really out of it. Wait, how the fuck did you get in here?Ryan Washington l The Annoying Do-Gooder Neighbour: Your pretty girlfriend left the front door wide open. Danny nods his head but suddenly remembers that he distinctively heard the door slam shut and he’s also thrown by the fact that his neighbour is saying his girlfriend is pretty. It’s to be noted that Ryan Washington is married and has a son. Happily married and all, which kind of creeps Danny out slightly. Danny smiles to cover this however and just takes the compliment socially. Danny Mainer l The King of Vegas: Y’know I’m sure I heard the door shut. No, I’m absolutely positive that Caitlynn shut the door.Ryan Washington l The Annoying Do-Gooder Neighbour: Well you’ve got me in a honey-doodle there. I’ll be honest, I still have the key from when my great aunty Jo Washington lived here years ago. Danny Mainer l The King of Vegas: Alright well maybe you should give us the key because uhh it’s kind of rude to just let yourself into someone’s house without even asking. Even worse, we can’t let people have keys to our house, I mean no offence Washington but it’s for security really. If someone were to break into your house, get the key to our house and then harm my Caitlynn I dunno what I’d do…Ryan Washington l The Annoying Do-Gooder Neighbour: Alright fair enough. Well I’ll go see Caitlynn and give her these flowers before I go then. From behind his back, Ryan Washington produces a bouquet of vibrant red tulips and Danny starts to panic even more as he heads for the door but Danny grabs him and uses his shoulder to push himself in Ryan’s way. Danny Mainer l The King of Vegas: Sorry man but she’s allergic to them.Ryan Washington l The Annoying Do-Gooder Neighbour: No she’s not, they’re her favourite! I knew they’d wake her up from her bug. Danny goes an angry red realizing that Ryan is right but he doesn’t want to let her anywhere near her not even considering the fact that he might have killed her. This guy is just fucking bizarre and really starting to piss off The Maine Man with his ways of getting into the house. Danny Mainer l The King of Vegas: No. FOR FUCKS SAKE MAN SHE’S ALLERGIC TO THEM! Get the fuck out of my house!Danny grabs the flowers and throws them to the floor barking to Ryan to get out the house who quickly storms off as if he’s about to cry down the stairs. The door slams shut and Danny smiles satisfied that he’s rid of him. He now spikes on adrenaline realizing that he has to redirect his attention to the situation at hand. The sweet smells of a tulip has been known to lull Caitlynn out of sleep before and so who’s to say it’s not going to make a great cure for Death now? He opens the door and walks into the room in a sneaking, crouched manner like he’s a Sam Fisher-esque Stealth Agent waving the tulips at arms length in front of him trying to use the sweet scent to revive her. She’s still not moved and he slowly gets closer pushing it into her face. He pushes the flowers closer and closer up until they’re making contact with her nostrils and Danny is on the verge of tears again as he sees this isn’t working. Suddenly though, her nostrils wrinkle and she lets out a cough and a splutter. She sits up as Danny draws back his arm with the tears rolling down his eye, almost as if by miracle she sits up with a smile on her face but she continues to hack up her throat. She then leans to her right and throws up meaty chunks across the floor letting out an orange wave of fish, chips and about 5 bottles of Caribbean Twist all across the carpet. Caitlynn splutters and coughs as her insides claw onto life. She sits up coughing and hacking as Danny kneels to her side and holds her hand in his as she groans. Caitlynn falls back onto the pillows muttering words quietly and Danny quickly goes over to listen. Caitlynn whispers into his ears. Caitlynn Dufraisne l The Queen of Vegas: We’re 15,000 dollars in debt…Danny Mainer l The King of Vegas: What?Caitlynn Dufraisne l The Queen of Vegas: I… took a debt out from Toni Seriapache. I was drunk and I ran out of money to use at the casino… I took out a 15k loan and I have a month to repay it… I… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to Danny, I was drunk… really drunk and I… I… ooh fuck. Caitlynn lurches violently to the right and throws up onto the carpet again as Danny pats her reassuringly on the back despite her throwing up everywhere, the orange chunks splattering on the floor again as Danny just tries to calm her down. The puking ceases and she rolls back onto her back as the headache starts to kick in. Caitlynn Dufraisne l The Queen of Vegas: Oh God Danny… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mea-. Danny Mainer l The King of Vegas: Shhshshshhhhhh… Kate… it’s OK. Just chillax baby, everything will be fine. I’ll get the money together and and everything will be fine just please rest baby, everything will be OK.Caitlynn sobs slowly as the thoughts of all her mistakes flash through her mind. Caitlynn Dufraisne l The Queen of Vegas: I’m so so sorry…. Caitlynn weeps as she embraces Danny who’s sole focus right now is on how to get that money. He looks beyond her out the window as Caitlynn cries into his shoulder as we draw to a fade.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:26:00 GMT -5
Match 3: Sarin Rossi vs. Jonny Hughes (Credit: Danny Mainer)
MATCH OPENING: The match started slow as the two tried to feel each other out, Hughes got some decent heel heat and the building nearly exploded for The Flower of Chaos as they made their entrances. She took the early advantage with a drop toe-hold that slammed Hughes onto his face with a great deal of impact that shook the ring. In turn, Hughes snapped in a Camel Clutch fairly early and started to wrench the back but Sarin was easily able to escape and got a close 2-count with a roll-up. T’was even closer when Sarin managed to hit a quick Monkey Flip followed by a Hurricanrana into a Double Leg Hook pin on the rebound. She attempted a Slingshot Hurracanrana but Hughes countered this by catching her and dropping her gently to the mat before rolling Sarin onto her back and snapping in a One-Legged Boston Crab but Sarin used her quick characteristics and was at the bottom rope within about 30 seconds.
MATCH MID-SECTION: Things started to get more interesting here, Hughes layed into Sarin with more and more sleeper holds and started to get her woozy but when he tried to drop her to a seated position for a Sleeper Hold but Sarin rolled out and onto her back placing her legs under Jonny’s armpits and then pushed forward putting Jonny on the mat as she rolled up and clasped both of his legs (in the same way as you’d roll forward from the Electric Chair Drop position) which got a close 2 count. Jonny kicked out narrowly and he managed to put Sarin down and snap in a decisive STF after nailing an Ode to Dynamite which looked sharp and aggressive. After that failed to net a 3-count he then hit a snap German Suplex but with great agility Sarin back-flipped over his head and hooked a quick roll-up nailing a narrow 2-count. When Sarin returned to her feet she then hit a Leg Drop Bulldog/Flying Guillotine to net another 2-count but this fed doesn’t roll with 2-counts.
MATCH ENDING: This is when things got interesting, just as it looked like Hughes had the win after hitting The Perfect Series he then stood from the corner and stalked as Sarin slowly made it to her feet. The two words “Anaconda Vice” were running through his mind as he had one arm extended ready to take her down for that finishing manoeuvre. He sprints forward ready to take The Flower down but Sarin ducks and the arm sails over her head, Jonny spins around but for some reason, Sarin hits the deck and Jonny gets nailed on the head with a Steel Chair Shot right from King of Vegas Danny Mainer! Jonny collapses to the floor, but no bell rings as the referee appears to have been distracted. Danny spins around with chair in hands but he suddenly gets drilled with a RinSpin into the chair! Danny hits the floor on the impact as her outer-leg crashes into the steel. Danny rolls under the bottom rope clutching his teeth. The referee slides under the bottom rope as Sarin hits a bridging double hook pin.
1.
2.
3.
WINNER: VIA Rin-Spin. Sarin Rossi (16:25)
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:26:30 GMT -5
Segment: Fathers (Credit: Sarin)
With the blood pounding in her ears, Sarin fights through the lactic acid buildup in her legs and sprints after Mainer. Operating on pure adrenaline, she bowls over an irate Felix Santana Jr. in her desperation to catch that little twerp. Santana nurses his injured bum and wounded ego on the ground, calling after Sarin.
Felix Santana Jr.: You could at least apologize!
But Sarin is too far gone to shut up the younger Santana with a snappy retort. She catches sight of Mainer whipping around a corner several yards ahead. With a sigh of expasperation, Sarin allows fatigue to claim her and she leans against a wall. Before she has adequate time to gather her bearings, someone tugs her arm, pulling her into a nearby locker room. The door shuts behind her, plunging her vision into darkness.
Sarin makes out the sound of a match being struck. An illuminated candle reveals Cesare's haughty visage bearing down on her not two feet away. Rolling her eyes, Sarin crosses her arms over her chest, too frustrated to deal with the antics of the Damiano youth.
Sarin: Before you start, please keep in mind that I am decidedly not in a very good mood.
Cesare sets his candle down on a nearby chestnut stand, clasping his hands behind his back and appraising a worn Sarin with a somewhat gentle eye.
Cesare: A few moments of your time are all I ask for. First, congratulations on your stunning victory over Jonny Hughes.
Sarin: Stop with the flattery and get to the point.
Cesare: Very well, then. Lucrezia is in communion with the stars.
Sarin blinks twice, quirking an eyebrow.
Sarin: What does the entail, exactly?
Cesare: She has visions, premonitions. My father decrees that the voice of the angel Gabriel whispers in her ear. Truth be told, the source of her strange ability to catch glimpses of the future and past remains a mystery.
Sarin: No wonder everything works out for you. You know what will happen before it does.
Cesare scoffs, brushing Sarin aside with an imperious wave.
Cesare: Hardly. Lucrezia's, erm, condition, makes deciphering these visions exceedingly difficult.
Sarin: Somehow, I have a hard time finding any sympathy for you.
Cesare: Shall we get to the matter at hand? I believe it was you who said that you were "decidedly not in a very good mood."
She nods, grinning despite herself.
Sarin: I did. So what is it?
Cesare: As I was saying, Lucrezia is in communion with the stars. The final component of Forticius Sevantion requires precise star alignment. According to Lucrezia, your life is safe until sometime around Fallen Heroes.
Sarin groans, massaging her temples. She can hardly hope to best Mainer in combat with a sociopathic sexual deviant chomping down on her throat. Cesare notes her frustration, and his features soften somewhat.
Cesare: I know this must be difficult for you. And I really can't thank you enough for your participation.
Sarin: It's my good deed for the month...or year. I haven't decided.
Cesare: Needless to say, at Fallen Heroes we must devise a plan to feed Lucrezia, myself, and my father your blood. Lest the world as we know it falls to the immortality of the Damiano clan.
Sarin: And that, to you, would be an unfortunate scenario?
Cesare: Whatever do you mean?
Sarin: I'm having a hard time believing that a man would just suddenly forsake his father like that after--
Cesare cuts her off with a stinging, biting line.
Cesare: How are you and I any different?
She gapes at him, for once at a complete loss.
Sarin: You...how do you...?
He takes her hand in his, guiding her firmly out of his locker room.
Cesare: Lucrezia will return soon. It is not safe for you here.
Sarin: But I--!
Cesare: Good evening.
He shuts the door in her face. Her bottom lip trembles. Thoughts of India, of her mother lying dead in a gutter, her father's shocked visage upon seeing her, the accident, the injury, the hospital pillow--
Felix Santana Jr.: Sarin! May I have un foto, por favor? For old times' sake?
He waves a camera in her face. Moments later, he crumples to the floor, a lump forming on his forehead, courtesy of a massive Sarin headbutt.
Sarin: Try taking a picture of my upskirt, if you're conscious enough to lift the camera. Wormy slime of a man...
She steps over his writhing body, and judging by the stomp of her heavy combat boots against the backstage concrete, her encounter with Cesare did nothing to improve her temper...
Fade.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:26:50 GMT -5
Segment: Welcome. (Credit: Senatorial Stable)
Ah, beginnings...the end of an old era, and the start of a shocking new time in ACW history. It's said that you have to break an egg to make an omlette. Whoever came up with that just might have had a future glimpse of the occurances that took place at the end of the previous Meltdown. As the camera fades in, it settles in on the office of Senator Steve Phillips, as the familiar crew, Fitsharris, Kalb, Freeman, and Hughes are assembled.
The Senator: Well, then, everyone. I know, this being the first time we have been all together since Meltdown, that you might have a few queries, and are probably as sceptical as can be. That is understandable.
Hughes: You went behind our backs, and didn't even let us know that you invited our worst enemy in? Shoot, you even said to his face last Thursday that he represented everything you despised. I can't go along with that.
Freeman: I can't believe this. I left the Entourage to get away from Thunderkiss, and everything to do with him! I wanted to go back to the group and the people I respect!
Kalb: Yeah, this is ridiculous.
Fitsharris: You didn't even tell us!
Senator: I understand, I understand. But this was on the razor's edge, seat of the pants. An opportunity arose, and I decided to grasp the golden ring, to pull it into the Stable. We now possess the ACW World Heavyweight Championship again. And if you think that I went into this without a backup plan, after the machinations of Wyvern, Rattlesnake, and all those who left on less than ideal terms...well, you underestimated me as bad as Mr. Taylor does. No, rest assured that I exercized caution, and that this will only benefit us, and bring the Stable back to the central point in this federation that it deserves.
Freeman: I still don't trust him.
Hughes: Neither do I. He only went from being a roider to a pretty boy. I don't like either.
Senator: It has been my experience that one does not need to like someone or to have much in common to be able to seek their alliance.
Suddenly, the phone on Phillips' desk rings, and the Senator answers it for a moment, nodding his head.
Senator: Open the door, Mr. Fitsharris.
The door opens...and Aiden Joseph steps through.
Senator: On behalf of the Senatorial Stable, I would like to welcome you to the strongest, longest lasting group in ACW history. Welcome to the right side of the fence, my new associate.
Aiden: Much gratitude for bestowing this honor upon me. I am most sincerely humbled, Mr. Phillips. [/b]
Senator: And all new members of my Stable get a little gift, as per tradition. Here, on this card, is the contact information for my preferred tailor...
Fitsharris: Heh, not Jon...
Senator: Anyway, call the number up, and schedule an appointment, and you will be fitted for your own custom suit, free of charge. Part of the initiation, I might say.
Aiden: Oh I must say Senator, your sense of humor is most splendid![/b]
Senator: Excuse me?
Aiden: Do you see what I’m wearing tonight Steve? Hugo Boss. Single breasted. Four buttoned. Taupe. With matching stretch wool slacks. Do you think this tailor is going to meet my standards?[/b]
Senator: What a marvelous start...just wonderful.
Aiden: Marvelous indeed. Now how about I meet the rest of my new contingent![/b]
Kalb, strangely enough, has no problem shaking AJ's hand, while the rest of the Stable is more reluctant.
Fitsharris: Do I have to?
Senator: Yes.
Aiden: Nice to meet your Mr. Fitsharris. I like your cowboy boots. They are so de rigueur of today’s western fashion. [/b]
Fitsharris: Ok...
Hughes: Fine, before Senator begs me, I guess I'll shake, if I must.
[Hughes walks up to Aiden with a pseudo look of friendliness.]
Aiden: I know we have not had the best of relationships Mr. Hughes, but please, I hope you bear no malice towards me for my sins. In time I hope to earn your trust, starting with this simple gesture of good will. [/b]
[Hughes detaches his hand from Aiden, looking more calm about the situation than he was at first. Now all that remains is Jason Freeman. With a look of fervor, Aiden darts his eyes over towards ACW’s self proclaimed “savior.”]
Freeman: No way. It's not going to happen. I don't trust him, and he shouldn't trust me, either. I've got stuff to do, anyways, like meeting with a certain sparring partner that I know you've waited for...If things go as they're planned...you should be meeting with him on Thursday.
Senator: Very well then.
Aiden: It is quite alright Senator. I fully understand it will take me some due time to earn an acquittal from certain individuals. [/b]
Freeman: I don't care how much time passes, you aren't earning any acquittal from this individual!
With that, Freeman turns, and storms out the door, looking none too happy
Senator: Ok, then, I know that was not easy for either side, but we will be an effective team. We are not the flavor of the moment, but the pillar that ACW stands upon. And that, my friends, my fellow Stable members, is nothing...
Fitsharris: But the truth!
Senator: What he said.
Fade Out.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:27:35 GMT -5
Segment: A special interruption (Credit: Hitman)
The crowd is all settled in and whatnot, having seen a pretty good show thus far. However, they stand up from their seats when the lights go out. Could this the debut of that guy who said he was coming and told us to forget about Anonymous and Black & White? Guess what? It's not him! And this time they actually get to find out who this particular person is! The opening guitars of “Ruin” by Lamb of God then hit the arena. The theme is recognized and the crowd jumps to their feet with cheering. Appearing from the back is none other than Hitman of the Gods, one of the thirty entrants in the upcoming Fallen Heroes battle royal. He lets out a mighty roar and then heads down the ramp, high-fiving the fans he passes by. He then approaches ringside, steps onto the apron and over the top rope. Hitman then grabs a mic from a ringside attendant and as the music fades, he pauses to listen to the cheering of the crowd. Hitman then guides the mic to his mouth.
Hitman: “Well, despite me being on Fallout, I see that the fine fans of ACW still recognize me!”
A cheap pop is sent Hitman’s way, causing him to chuckle.
Hitman: “Now tonight, I’m not out here to bore you with any ‘juvenille trash talk’ that you’ve unfortunately becomed accustomed to, thanks to the Second Coming. Rather, I’m out here to talk about two things. Now if you’ve seen Fallout, you all obviously know about my feud with Colossus Rhodes. It’s a real life Goliath vs. Goliath, if you will. And thanks to Chairman Gingerdude, I have struck a deal with him to officially declare that the feud between Hitman of the Gods and Colossus Rhodes will be settled at Fallen Heroes!”
The crowd gives another pop.
Hitman: “And on that same night, I will step into the ring with 29 other individuals all vying to go to Omega Effect and headline the show. Now circumstances beyond my control prevented me from going into the match two years ago, making this my first ever Fallen Heroes battle royal. But just because I’m on a different show doesn’t mean that I won’t kick ass as always! I’ve heard it all from the critics thus far: ‘Dude, you’re obviously going to be eliminated by everyone since you’re so friggin huge.’ I’m very aware of that consequence. But I’m cool with that at the same time. See, I’m not just going to be another giant casualty in that battle royal. I will go on and showcase my dominance in that match. Who knows? Maybe if I lace up my squashing boots really tight, I might just be in the main event at Omega Effect.”
Hitman gives a small smirk at the thought of being in the main event of Omega Effect.
Hitman: “But for now, I’m going to just worry about my feud with Colossus Rhodes and let you all get back to Warfare. Thanks for your time and see you all at Fallen Heroes, where Colossus will… FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL THE WRATH…”
Crowd: “…OF THE GODS!”
Hitman: “Glad you guys remembered. BOO-YAH!”
Hitman then drops the mic and raises his arms to the crowd as “Ruin” hits again. Hitman steps over the ropes and begins his trek up the ramp, pointing to the fans he passes by. It remains to be seen what will happen at Fallen Heroes.
Fade.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:28:41 GMT -5
Segment: It's all in the family (Credit: BK London)
As the scene opens, a shot of BK London entering his locker room is shown and this gets quite the reaction from the crowd. It's no secret that the fans in attendance love BK London for what he represents, and you'd think they would get tired of cheering for him every show - but you couldn't be more wrong.
BK London makes his way over to his sports bag, and begins fumbling around inside, apparently looking for something. He finally pulls something out, and it's the keys to his car out in the parking lot. As soon as he gets ready to zip right back out of his locker room, he hears his cell phone ringing. Quickly he stops and turns over to the table where his Blackjack II sits, and notices the very familiar ring tone.
He walks over to the phone and picks it up before pressing the talk button.
BK London: Hello?
You can just barely make out what the person on the other line is saying.
BK London: ...well how's your leg doing?
More murmuring.
BK London :...that's fantastic, and how's my sister doing?
Murmurmurmurm.
BK London: That's good, that's good. Well I have to go move my car before I get a tick-
BK London is cut off by a louder murming over the phone, an excited tone more specifically.
BK London: What?! No, you can't come here. I won't allow you to. You remember the last time you came here? Wasn't too pleasant?
More murming.
BK London: I know, I know but loo-
Murm.
BK London: Ok, but -
MURM MURM MURM!
BK London: Alright alright, fine, I'll pick you up from the airport this Thursday. Is that ok?
A more pleasant murm.
BK London: Alright, bye.
He turns off his cell phone and rests it back on the table before taking in a rather deep breath. Thinking about the situation he is in for only a moment, he returns to the task at hand and races out of his locker room to move his car.
The question lies though, who could be coming to Meltdown this Thursday?
Fade.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:29:30 GMT -5
Segment: Cliched Occurance (Credit: Jon Taylor, Senator)
As the show returns from the break, Senator Steve Phillips is seen heading out of his Senatorial Office, heading down the corridors of the ACW Arena...when he bounces into none other than, yes, the man who calls himself "The Internet."
The Senator | The Senatorial Stable Leader: Mr. Anderson...
Kevin Anderson | The Internet: Senator Phillips! You said you're looking for sparring partners for Fallen Heroes! Does that mean that you're seeking out another title reign? And if so, don't you think that's rather unrealistic? I mean, really, everyone on thebestdamnwrestlingnewssiteperiod...everyone on that site says you can't win it!
Senator | The Senatorial Stable Leader: And I suppose all those people would place better than even odds on your throat holding up under a Deadline from this decrepit old, over the hill man, eh?
Kevin Anderson | The Internet: Umm, no comment.
Senator | The Senatorial Stable Leader: It is rather amusing when the roles are reversed, is it not?
The Senator takes a menacing step towards the "Heel Interview Guy," and raises a fist.
Kevin Anderson | The Internet: I really...yeah, I really have to be going now.
Before The Internet can run off, though, another individual shows up, cutting off his path.
Jon Taylor | The Ultimate Competitor: Hey, old man - you got nothing better to do now than beat up backstage staff?
Kevin Anderson | The Internet: Yeah!
Taylor looks up at Anderson with an annoyed expression.
Jon Taylor | The Ultimate Competitor: Shut the fuck up, Anderson. Now, Senator I heard you talking about Fallen Heroes to this fat shit standing next to me, and I couldn't help but laugh at you. I mean come on; you won't make it past the first 10 combatants let alone win the entire thing.
Taylor looks on at Senator with a smug look on his face. Anderson takes a step back from the pair in cowardice.
Senator | The Senatorial Stable Leader: Perhaps not, but I like to think that my chances are decent. Ronald Reagan once told Walter Mondale in a Presidental debate that he would not take advantage of his opponent's "youth and inexperience." I am not nearly as charitable as the Gipper. To tell the truth, I feel quite confident that I have what it takes to win this match. I have not quite been training as much as in years past, but then again, I know that overtraining was my primary mistake in those attempts.
Kevin Anderson | The Internet: Now, why couldn't he have answered me when *I* asked that?
Jon Taylor | The Ultimate Competitor: Didn't I tell you to SHUT THE FUCK UP? Yes, I believe I did - speak again and your fucking head is going throw this wall. Senator, you need to wake the hell up and smell the music because this isn't fucking 1980 anymore! You couldn't even throw me out of the ring if your life depended on it! Besides, when was the last time you actually won a match? And let's not forget it wasn't that long ago that I beat you ONE on ONE for the International Championship - and with ease may I add! How the hell do you even think you can beat me - let alone get through another 28 other people? You can't that's what!
Senator | The Senatorial Stable Leader: Say what you wish...underestimate me, please. I welcome it! In fact, you want a little challenge? Try and outlast me. Heck, see if your newfound group can outlast my Stable in the battle royale!
Jon Taylor | The Ultimate Competitor: Haha! You sure are doing a good job at making me laugh today, aren't you? I could beat your entire group on my own without the aid of my fellow comrades!
Senator | The Senatorial Stable Leader: Just be careful. And try to stay away from the bulk of the action, I know from experience that you last longer that way.
The two start to stare each other down, before Kevin Anderson sneaks in with the microphone.
Kevin Anderson | The Internet: So then, are you going to retire if you get tossed first...which the opinion polls are saying is going to happen...are you going to quit if the Second Coming outlasts you?
Senator | The Senatorial Stable Leader: Buzz off, you insufferable pest!
Jon Taylor | The Ultimate Competitor: Instead of wasting your energy on that fat shit next to you, you should save it all for Fallen Heroes. God knows that's the only way you're going to make it out of the ring in one piece. See, you're going to need every last joule of energy within your body to even withstand one second inside that ring with The Ultimate Competitor!
The Senator shrugs his shoulders, and turns away, walking off where he started to go before being interuppted.
Jon Taylor | The Ultimate Competitor: Where the fuck do you think you're going, old man? I know its past your bed time, but nobody - and I mean nobody walks away from the most talented competitor in the industry, nobody walks away from The Ultimate Competitor!
Phillips turns around just before turning the corner.
Senator | The Senatorial Stable Leader: Unlike you, I have places to go, people to see, important events to engineer...and that, Mr. Taylor, is nothing...
And Phillips merely turns the corner, as he finishes his famous catchphrase...
Fade Out [/font]
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:29:55 GMT -5
Match 4: Jay Zero vs. Andrew Starr vs. Jon Taylor vs. The Senator (Credit: Danny Mainer)
MATCH OPENING: Entourage teamed up in this here match and singled off Taylor into a corner early hitting drilling stamps to the chest before turning to Senator knocking him down with a Double Clothesline. When Senator made it to his feet seconds later Starr hit an STO and Zero hit a Sweep Kick at the same time planting Senator to the mat with a nasty impact slamming him to the mat onto his spine. Taylor was back up and tried to tackle the 2 Entourage boys but Starr hoisted him up and slammed him onto his back with a Samoan Drop. Jay Zero smiled smugly. Zero and Starr then grabbed Taylor and threw him over the top-rope showing some team work which will no doubt crop-up up in the actual Battle Royal itself. Taylor lands on the apron and before Zero & Starr think to kick him out of the match Starr gets dropped with a HUGE Washington Lariat courtesy of The Senator and as Zero sees this he starts to get Grumpy Old Man chops courtesy of Old Man Senator.
MATCH MID: Senator starts to slap the chest of Zero red-raw and you can see the pain in Zero’s eyes as he starts to fall back into the corner. The match is now at a stale-mate as all 4 men lie wounded on the floor. Senator lies motionless after receiving the Crucifixion from Jay Zero and Taylor subdued Starr with a Taylor DDT planting him face-first into the mat but the energy of him had been sapped due to the Entourage Boys wailing on him and Senator was down due to The Crucifixion. Taylor was first up to his feet and Senator was soon to follow as Zero and Starr rested in opposite corners getting their energy back. Senator and Taylor walk over to each other as this melting pot of 3 opposing stables begins to heat up. Senator slaps Taylor a patch of red skin with a blistering chop, but Taylor returns with a closed-fist shot to the head.
MATCH-END: Senator bounces back with a Chop even harder but Taylor punches Senator just that step further. The 2 continue to exchange strikes but suddenly before the 2 can have an epic show-down, Entourage intervene, Starr hits a Clothesline and Zero hits a Chop Block to Taylor leaving Senator alone with Entourage who quickly advance on him with strikes. They back him to the ropes with strikes to the head that daze Senator in a way so he’s unable to counter. Zero and Starr then link hands and attempt to knock Senator over the top rope with a Double Clothesline but Senator ducks and the 2 end up hunched over the top rope. The crowd go nuts as Senator hoists Starr over and Taylor joins in by hoisting Zero over. The 2 Entourage boys hit the floor and the crowd give mixed reactions as Senator and Taylor turn on each other. They have an epic battle for about 5 minutes filled with lots of clotheslines and technical things but Taylor then tries to toss Senator over the top rope. Senator lands on the apron on his feet but Taylor expecting this slams into him with fists into the head. Senator stumbles but Taylor realizes he’s going to have to be more direct. Taylor climbs out onto the apron wrapping an arm around Senator’s neck and them tucking his left leg behind Senator’s left leg as if to go for an STO but Senator holds on for dear life and eventually Senator hits an elbow to the temple and hits a Reverse STO to the mat outside, both men landing on the floor as the bell rings, neither man picking up the win.
WINNERS: Senator & Taylor draw. (17:01)
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:30:54 GMT -5
OTA Segment: Of Fingers and Lips (Credit: Sarin)
Dust. Bitter, blinding dust swirls in a kaleidoscope of cutting grains. Sarin secures the wrap covering her hair with two tugs. She squints through the sandy gale, feeling her way across to sheltered tents. She has difficulty hearing the cries of fellow representatives over the roar of the sandstorm. As she lunges forward, hand grasping nothing but sharp sand, panic pours into her heart, filling the hole left by doubt like a spinning hourglass. Before she abandons all hope, someone latches on to her frantic hand, pulling her into the tent, and to safety.
The inside of the small tent is noisier than the whoosh of the angry wind. To spite the shaky buckling of her knees, Sarin maintains a vertical base. She regains her bearings and absorbs her new surroundings. She sees ten or twelve small children, huddled in corners, clothes ripped and hair disheveled. A few UNHRC representatives managed to take refuge in the camouflage tartan. Ever the consummate social workers, they scurry about with first aid packages, attending to the cries and tantrums of the dark-skinned Iraqis.
A light hand grazes Sarin's shoulder. She turns to her fellow Goodwill Ambassador and both women trade rare smiles. Even in the harshest of sandstorms, Angelina remains as flawless and lippy as ever, the clingy sand already brushed off her white blouse. Sarin hastens to do the same, prompting a light giggle from her newly acquired friend.
Angelina: It takes some getting used to. The storm, I mean. But you did pretty well out there.
Sarin feels her cheeks tinge a light crimson. Realization dawns, and she casts Angelina a stare of utmost gratitude.
Sarin: You pulled me to safety! Thank you so much!
Angelina: It was nothing. Now, waiting in here until the storm dies down, that's the hard part.
Sarin: Oh, but we get to play with the children!
Sarin and Angelina duck to avoid an incoming projectile. The play ball nicks Sarin's ear and flies out the tent entrance, no doubt to be billowed about in the storm's strong winds. The thrower scowls, slamming his fists down in a petty temper tantrum. Angelina glances at Sarin with something that resembles a smirk on her picturesque face.
Angelina: Knock yourself out...or rather don't.
Sarin: I admit it; I'm no Super Nanny--far from it. So what do we do, Miss Mother-of-Four-Soon-to-be-Five?
Angelina smiles, directing Sarin's attention to a brother and sister, mere months apart and clinging to each other possessively. Her curiosity piqued, Sarin kneels down beside the pair, who regard her with wide, brown eyes. Upon closer inspection, Sarin notices the deformity of the brother's right hand: he's missing his fingers. Sarin's heart skips a beat in a lurching horror.
Sarin: Oh no...
Angelina: It was a landmine. He's lucky he even has an arm. Most victims are in our amputee center, getting fitted for prosthetics.
Sarin: Excuse me, what is your name?
Boy: Bassem.
Sarin: And you, pretty girl?
But the sister draws closer to her brother and does not respond. She lifts a bottle of water and tilts the contents into her brother's mouth, with all the care of a mother. Angelina squats besides Sarin, resting a hand on her shoulder to steady herself.
Angelina: Their mother refused to cooperate with Hussein loyalists. They ripped out Safia's tongue. She can't speak.
Sarin's breath is momentarily caught in her throat. Angelina pats her back, as if to remind her to breathe. She's not the only one with breathing problems; Safia pours a surplus amount of water and Bassem chokes up. She shushes her brother, tenderly wiping away the spittle with the cuff of her dirtied sleeve. A wet drop splashes on the tent floor, and Sarin is surprised to discover she's crying. Angelina squeezes her shoulder and rises to discuss the storm's conditions with a fellow representative.
Safia stares into Sarin's watery eyes almost cooly, trying to communicate what words cannot. Despite her raggedy clothes and blistered skin--or perhaps, because of them, she radiates a supreme defiance like a well-chosen cologne. Yes, I can't speak and my brother can't hold a pencil. I am his hand, and he is my tongue. I perform what he cannot do; he speaks what I cannot say. He is one half of me. And we need your help.
The boy stirs, his mouth slack and lips chapped, and tries to fight through language barriers.
Bassem: Pl-please...lady. Help our f-familee.
Gently, Sarin wraps the boy's broken, fingerless hand in her own. She whispers kidness in his ear.
Sarin: I will do this. I will restore your family.
As she applies a bandage and gauze to a scrape on Bassem's arm, thoughts of home, of brothers and sisters, of Yuki and Yoko drift through her whirring conscious. The sandstorm bellows a final roar before calmness settles the crying particles of grain and dirt, covering the sadness and the heartache of the blood soaked land like a yellow blanket, upon all the living and the dead.
Fade.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:31:28 GMT -5
Segment: Another Flashback (Credit: Freeman)
Around a Year and a Half Ago...
I walk outside, still a bit annoyed after my loss and subsequent argument with Dave Morgan…but trying a bit to calm down. I plan to go home, and just forget it. That, of course, is just a plan…for as soon as I step outside, I hear a loud voice calling my name…. “JASON FREEMAN!”…he yells out…and instantly I know who it is…and I’m not happy.
Now, last time, I mentioned that there are people that can wrestle but can’t work the mic…and those that are able to work the mic, and yet can’t wrestle. This guy can’t do either…and of course, the only other thing he can do is attempt to overcompensate with such a stupid gimmick that it makes me wonder why he even bothers trying. His name is... “The King of Crimson.”. Possibly a reference to Stephen King…possibly just an extremely stupid name. Of course, when one isn’t exactly the greatest at playing the character, he has to live his character 24/7…as if that will help him be authentic. It really only achieves annoying.
“WHAT A WONDERFUL MATCH, JASON FREEMAN!”
If you wondered if it is possible to SPEAK in all caps…it is.
“…Thanks The King of Crimson…”…I utter. Once he kept doing the stupid gimmick and referring to me as Jason Freeman, I decided to do the same thing back…and started calling him The King of Crimson. I think he took it as a compliment. I’m not even quite sure what his gimmick was, anyways…it just seemed to be of an annoying guy, trying to portray some sort of originality.
“YES, A WONDERFUL MATCH! POSSIBLY ONE OF THE BEST THE KING OF CRIMSON HAS EVER SEEN!”
Heavily influenced by the Rock’s use of referring to himself in the third person as well. Again…an attempt to be cool renders him annoying.
“Yes…thank you…though I’m not quite sure that I understand why you’re bringing it up to me…I mean, to be honest, I wasn’t too happy about my loss.” I say.
“YES, MAYBE YOU WERE NOT, HOWEVER…THE MATCH ITSELF IS TO BE PROUD OF! PERHAPS YOU SHOULD TRY OUT FOR ACW!” he says…as if the thought had never crossed my mind, and this was some new wonderful idea, that I would take to heart. I barely answer him…not even really thinking, as I walk to my car and try to think of an excuse to get him to leave.
“Yeah, maybe I should.” I say… “Though I probably should be---”
“NO. YOU, JASON FREEMAN, DO NOT UNDERSTAND! THE KING OF CRIMSON DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD TRY OUT FOR ACW…THE KING OF CRIMSON MEANS YOU SHOULD TRY OUT FOR ACW NEXT WEEK!”
“Oh sure…next week’s a good week for me.” I say, still basically ignoring him. “Those second weeks of the month are always the best…”
“NO JASON FREEMAN! THE KING OF CRIMSON MEANS THAT HE HAS FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES, AND HE IS GOING FOR A TRYOUT HIMSELF. HE HAS BEEN ALLOWED TO SIGN UP SOME OTHER PEOPLE AS WELL, AND PERHAPS YOU AND DAVE MORGAN SHOULD GO AND YOURSELVES TRY OUT FOR THIS FEDERATION OF GLORY!”
My heart almost stops for a second…did he just say…that…he…could…get me a tryout in ACW?
“Wait…wait…Joe…”
“THE KING OF CRIMSON! I DO NOT RESPOND TO JOE AND HAVE NOT RESPONDED TO THAT IN MANY A YEAR!” he utters…though I don’t even listen..
“Many a week you mean…listen….The King of Crimson…tell me…you can…you can get…you can get me a tryout? And you can do it next week. With ACW.
“INDEED I CAN! DO NOT DOUBT WHAT THE KING OF CRIMSON CAN DO FOR YOU, JASON FREEMAN!”
I look at him, and nod as I talk…noticing I am shaking…I try to convey this as best as I can.
“ACW.” He puts his hands on his hips, in what I take as a dramatic pose, and nods his head.
“ACW. Alpha…Championship…Wrestling….THAT ACW.”…and the pose and nod repeats itself.
“And you can do it…next week? Like…you can…actually…DO it. This is a REAL connection…not like…the prince of ruby or something…”
“A FRIEND IN A HIGH PLACE! I KNOW MANY BACKSTAGE WORKERS AT THE LAND OF ACW!”
I clap a hand on his shoulder… “Sign me up. Do it…thank you…thank you…just….do it.”
“AND DAVE MORGAN??!!”
…And I freeze…my loss in the ring…it plays in my head…my head flashes to another site…a bigger ring. A ring with many fans…Im in front of the world. Until Morgan pins me again…and I…no…stop it….
“Yeah, him too. Sign us up.”
And in my excitement I don’t even think to say anything else…I just hop right into my car and drive away…barely able to keep my mind on the road. As I drive, I hear him from behind…
“I SHALL COMPLETE THIS TASK, JASON FREEMAN! YOU DESERVE IT!”
Damn right I did…
Fade.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:32:17 GMT -5
Segment: The Calm (Credit - Silencio) In ACW...
You've seen legends...
You've seen icons...
You've seen Hitmen...
You've seen Hunters...
You've seen politicians...
You've seen Betrayers...
You've seen pretty much everything...
But what you haven't seen...
Is the...
[glow=red,2,300]EYE OF THE STORM[/glow]
I am the Heretic...
I am the Uprising of Truth…
I am The Judge, Jury, and The Executioner..
I am the Storm
This is just the Calm
Before it all happens...
_ _ _ _ _ _ ||| _ _ _ _ _
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:33:00 GMT -5
OTA Segment: Lesson One (Credit: AK)
Sometime during Warfare
It is a moonless, starless night; the kind ideally suited to activities one would rather went unnoticed. Which is handy, Reginald Purcell muses to himself as he inhales a breath of cigarette smoke; he and his brother prefer to conduct their “specialist services” without unnecessary interruption.
Their “client” is slumped against the cold brick wall of the alleyway, his breathing laboured; the nightmare seems to have been going on for hours, though in reality it’s more like 10 minutes. In front of him, a thick-set and surly figure paces back and forth with sunken eyes watching in the manner of a Rottweiler deciding where next to savage its target. His London accent is so thick that it bypasses cliché and travels all the way around the circle to authenticity afresh.
??: Is that it? Fuckin’ pony, you are. I’ve had limp-wristed carpet munchers put up more of a scrap. Find yer bleedin’ balls!
A swift kick to the young man’s crotch threatens to make that instruction a literal one. Reg closes his eyes and blows a smoke ring as around him the sounds of violence saturate the air. He doesn’t need to see to know what’s happening; the kid dodges a second kick and struggles to his feet, swings a punch but misses in the bad light and gets a face full of ring-encrusted fist. Being a) “professionals”, and b) paid for this particular piece of brutality, Ron had wisely insisted on checking out their site of choice carefully in daylight and the previous evening, noting bins, doorways, and other items of interest; just about the only thing he hadn’t done was piss all over the locality to mark his territory. All of which naturally provided him with an almost insurmountable advantage… and that was before their employers had fulfilled their end of the bargain.
The man fights, with increasing wildness and decreasing returns, for a further 90 seconds or so, at which point Ron’s patience threatens to run out. He knees his victim several times in the gut, rakes his eyes with intent, and throws him face-down on the ground into a dubious puddle, his voice venomous.
Ron: Tosser, I was looking forward to this! Got my hopes up an’ everything, and look at yer, no fuckin’ stamina! You cunt, I ought to screw you like a 10-quid whore’s pussy-
Reg: Alright, bruv.
Reg has moved to one side of the steaming, sweating mass of a man, and places a hand on his shoulder. It would only be fair to say that the fight hasn’t been as one-sided as it might seem; Ron has a bleeding forehead, and several places on his arms and torso are gently blooming with bruises. Even so, there is clearly only one “winner” after the dust and dirt has begun to settle.
Ron: ….Yeah, ok. You wanna talk to ‘im?
Reg: That’s what I’m here for. You’ve had your turn.
Ron shrugs, and lifts up the man from the ground, holding his arms behind his back and trapping one leg to prevent things literally “kicking off”. Reg cups his chin in one hand, and looks the target in the eye. He is mildly surprised to find that the young man stares straight back of him, even though one eye looks as though it will be black before the night is out. In the half-light of a distant street lamp, only the man’s pupils stand out; they are blue, bluer than the deepest ocean or highest sky. And hard, hard like metal…
Reg smirks, and grinds his stub under one heel.
Reg: Too easy. Far, far too easy… but then that was the point.
He glances at those eyes; the metal in them is hot enough to burn through concrete.
Reg: They do say that learning is best accomplished when it is paired with a physical sensation. For your sake, let’s hope that’s not some load of cobblers wheeled out by the so-called “academic elite” to justify their sponging off of those of us who actually do some fucking work once in a while. Because this, son, is Real Life 101, and I ain’t the type to repeat meself.
Ron emits a coarse snort of amusement at this, and squeezes the man’s arms more tightly for his personal gratification, making the restrained man wince. Reg notices this, but lets it pass for now.
Reg: We’ve been watching you for several weeks now. Let me first just say that you may just be the singular most uninteresting person I have ever been lumbered with researching.
Ron: Yeah. Didn’t even make so much as a dirty phone call. I was right bored.
Reg rolls his eyes.
Reg: Be that as it may, we know all the things you do regularly – where you’ve been living, shopping, parking, training. Ah yes, training… my, hasn’t there been a lot of that… very conscientious. Very dedicated. And, for your information, very, very pointless.
He punches the young man fiercely in the stomach, causing him to exhale sharply. It sends a shiver right along Reg’s spine, and the older of the two brothers almost gives in to the desire which resides within, delivering a couple more blows before regaining his senses and straightening up.
Reg: *coughs*… What we have here, you see, is known as the Ludic Fallacy.
Ron furrows his brow.
Ron: Who’s this Ludwig geezer?
Reg: Ludic, bro. “Ludic”, like Ludo. It’s Latin, or something. It means game.
Ron: Oh. ‘Kay.
Ron shrugs again, still none the wiser. Reg looks at him, then at their captive with a “you see what I have to deal with?” expression, but quickly returns to his previous tone.
Reg: Anyway, what it boils down to is this: the misconception that any given situation conforms to that of a structured, predictable endeavour, with rules and a limited set of possibilities. People who make their living in competitive sports, such as yourself, are especially gullible in that regard. You allow yourself to focus on technique, move and counter-move, known strategies and competitor profiles – which means that the second you’re taken out of that protective bubble, you’re totally unequipped to deal with the shit which actually happens 99% of the time.
Ron: As in shit like us, mate.
Ron looks quite pleased with this quip, completely missing the way it actually sounds. The man with the blue eyes smirks despite his predicament, and Reg shoots his brother a glare.
Reg: Ron….shut up, would you?
He turns his attention back to the young man, who doesn’t attempt to hide his amusement, and gets a powerful slap across the face for it.
Reg: All right, I’m getting tired and cranky, which frankly does no one any good, least of you laughing boy.
He slaps him again, even harder this time, hard enough to leave a mark.
Reg: You want to know why this is happening to you? The simple answer is, it’s for your own good. Consider this a forewarning, a taste of what your life is going to be like if you intend to continue down the road you’ve got your pretty boy eyes on. You can forget about privacy; you are always going to be on someone’s “fuck-em-up” list, and don’t think it stops if you somehow clamber to the top of the heap. Everyone you passed on the way up will be just itching to pull you back down again. There will be no secret you can conceal, no personality quirk which won’t be mercilessly exploited. You will end up doing things which harm others. Alliances? Friendships? They’ll all end up in the toilet eventually. No one will be completely trustworthy. If you don’t believe me, ask yourself why you got out of the gym two hours late tonight with your energy levels at rock bottom…
He pauses, waiting for understanding to appear in the young man’s eyes.
Reg: Yeah, that’s right. Your so-called mentors set you up. Did you honestly conceive such a thing might happen? Of course not… they’re the good guys, right? Nope. Ain’t no such thing… there’s just different levels of tolerance toward an ignorant world. Does that make you angry? Break your naïve little heart? How does it feel to be manipulated like that?
There is a fairly long pause, and then, only then, does the young man’s head drop, his body sagging. It’s a moment both Reg and Ron know well, for they’ve broken many young bucks in their time. Sometimes, it’s only the beginning of the nightmare, but tonight the brother’s agenda is being driven by someone else’s.
Reg: Ok. Let ‘im go.
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Post by Alicia "Atomic" Kitsune on Apr 7, 2008 16:33:26 GMT -5
The young man drops to his knees on the bitter asphalt. Reaching into his pocket, Reg pulls out a small instant camera, gets on one knee, and takes a snap of the young man at his lowest ebb, momentarily lighting the scene. The picture ejects, and Reg waves it about for a few seconds to let it develop. He stares at the man, coolly.
Reg: Get up.
He stays there for a couple of seconds, before complying. Reg waits, and after another moment or so, holds out the photograph in front of him. The man stares at it, only taking it after an inward struggle, and flinching as he touches it as if it hurts.
When Reg finally speaks again, there is for the first time something approaching care in his voice.
Reg: Now listen, son. Keep this somewhere near you at all times. The boss says to go home and take tomorrow off. Think very carefully about that image, because the next time something like that happens, and believe me it will, it will be seen by a global audience. Maybe your friends, family back home. Ask yourself if you could take it. Ask yourself if they could take it. Ask yourself if the potential gains outweigh your very personal losses. If the answer is no, then there’s no shame whatsoever in that. But if the answer’s yes… you know where the gym is. 9am, Wednesday. That’s when the training starts for real.
Reg takes a step backward, opening the way out of the alley.
Reg: Got that?
Silence falls; even the wind is still. The man raises his head, and looks at Ron, then at Reg, with eyes of sapphire and steel. He has a well spoken, precisely clipped voice which is tinged with an Arctic wind…
Man: Absolutely. Goodnight, gentlemen.
He walks out of the alleyway, placing the photo carefully in the pocket of his now ripped jeans, and does not look back…
The two brothers stand and listen for several moments as the young man’s footsteps recede, with only a slight inbalance in the sounds hinting at a minor limp. Ron scratches his head, and sucks his lower lip.
Ron: So, what you finkin’?
Reg allows a tiny fraction of a smirk to flitter across his weathered features.
Reg: He’s got something, that one. Still a long way to go, mind, but it ain’t hopeless.
Ron: None of the ‘uvvers came back.
Reg: No. But he ain’t like the others. It’s just under his skin. He’s different. He’s…
Reg’s voice dies in his throat, as if he suddenly thinks better of continuing that line of thought externally. Ron shrugs, and kicks aimlessly at a small piece of brick.
Ron: Yeah, maybe. As long as he don’t end up like that wanker Joseph.
The kick becomes a powerful punt, driven by an obvious anger and forceful enough to shatter the shard into dust against the wall. Reg cocks his head on one side, vaguely amused.
Reg: Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that, bruv.
Ron merely grunts in response. Reg moves over to the wall opposite his sibling, and a mirthless laugh emanates from the shadow it casts over him.
Reg: Listen. Notwithstanding the fact that I’ve never been able to understand what it is you see in that muscled troglodyte, there’s no sense in getting wound up about what is sure to be a temporary state of affairs.
Ron: Eh?
A dim glow and a whisper of smoke creep out of the shaded area as Reg lights up a fresh cigarette.
Reg: It’s all superficial, bro. Everything that bloke has done has been an effort to escape from things he can’t deal with, but it ain’t going to work. He’s ditched the clothes, the drugs, the fans, his mates, and of course the biggest thing of all, his name. He thinks he can externalize all the shit he’s carrying, put it to one side, and say “This wasn’t me, I’m somebody different now, so you can all give me the absolution I want and everything will be sweet.” BOLLOCKS.
There is a sound of knuckles against masonry, far from being unique tonight. Ron flinches a little, and opens his mouth, but has enough sense not to interrupt. He’s heard his brother like this once or twice before, and it always unnerves him.
Reg: I’ve been where he is now, Ron, you know that. I tried to run, too. I thought I’d changed, that I’d made it right. But you can’t just disown a fundamental part of yourself. You can kill it, but only at the cost of destroying yourself in the process, which is what many desperate people end up doing… after all, it’s less agonising than the alternative. That guy ain’t suffering, not the way he needs to, which is why I’m not buying it.
He pauses, and takes a drag of tar and nicotine.
Reg: Thunderkiss isn’t dead; it don’t work like that. Everything I told the young laddo tonight goes double for Aiden Joseph – the pressures are only going to get worse, he is every bit as capable of appalling actions as he ever was, and if anything he’s now more dangerous, since the short-sighted and innocent won’t see that potential in him so easily. Unless he confronts the fact that he is the problem, that being human is the fucking problem, and there’s no treatment except constant self-scrutiny – he’ll almost certainly relapse to his former attitude. Do I think the guy’s up to it? …..I’ve no flippin’ idea. But I’ll tell you something… maybe the rest of his previous little clique got lucky. Proper lucky.
Reg falls silent. Ron, who is now looking up at the sky as well, stretches.
Ron: …My head hurts when you go off on one like that. I need a pint.
Reg relaxes, and chuckles roughly.
Reg: God, yeah. Sorry about that…first round’s mine.
Looking distinctly relieved, and encouraged by the thought of some quality drinking time, Ron saunters off. Reg follows, pausing only for a moment to look at the trash strewn around before following.
Reg: Wrestling, eh? Talk about your moral mazes… why they do it’s beyond me.
Fade.
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