Post by Press1269 on Feb 15, 2016 1:46:25 GMT
Youth had eventually got control of his giggle bug, realizing after Press left that he was guffawing alone. He spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning up, making sure their new digs stayed new for as long as possible. The mundane tasks did him good, keeping his mind off of what lay ahead, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile when it came time to sweep the floor. Old Ian Wright found out at WICKED#3 that there was more than one way to use a broom, and unfortunately for Ian, he also found out firsthand what happens when you get in the way of Press and his good time.
It wasn’t exactly the victory that Youth had been planning for, but a victory is a victory, and it was more than enough to advance him to the quarter final rounds of the PAW Championship tournament. As joyous news as that was to him, it didn’t change the fact that advancement meant that things would only get harder. The competition would be stiffer, and more than likely wouldn’t be put away by boisterous hijinks and college humor.
Alex Cross. He was the real deal. As good as any of the others in the tournament. Youth wasn’t feeling fear right now, only the normal amount of butterflies in your stomach when you knew you were about to head into a real fight. Skill wise, he and Alex were pretty close, just on opposite sides of the spectrum. Alex was a seasoned striker and submission expert, with an extensive MMA background to prove it. Youth, on the other hand, was a high flying speed cannon that could also trip you up with technical maneuvers.
He had no doubt that the match would be intense and exciting. Matter of fact he counted on it. Press had alluded to it before in an earlier promo that The BombTrax weren’t just out there to win matches and leave the crowd speechless with heightened brutality. No, they were also there to make sure that the other guy looked just as good. In this business, unlike MMA or Boxing, your main focus was the product. Ensuring that the fans had a good time and couldn’t help but want to return the next time your promotion came to town. That was the wrestling business at its purest form, all the way back to the territory days.
In order to bring about that desire in a fan to return, the matches had to not only be competitive, but dramatic, with plenty of back and forth. How boring would it be to see someone come in show after show and just squash opponents without any sizzle before the big finish? That was the thing that a lot of these kids didn’t understand. It was a lesson to impart from guys that had been in the business as long as he had. It was the difference between a skilled wrestler and a ring general. That was one of the largest differences that stood out between Cross and Youth. No matter how good the cocksure bastard thought he was, Alex Cross was no ring general.
Youth shook his head as the last dish was put away in the cupboard. His tidying up was done, and now all he had to do was wait for Press to return and they could decide on supper. He plopped down on the couch, bored, and lifted the lid of his laptop, navigating to the PAW website first thing. There were a few new uploads to the newsfeed. Johnny Raike and Stevie Harris seemed to be at each other’s throat for the proper amount of clout that came along with the Main Event. He figured it would be a helluva contest, Ultraviolent v.s. Ultralooney.
He scrolled down a bit, and came across the new comer, and fellow victor in the tournament, Ryan McCollum. He scrolled across the play button with his mouse, and pressed the right clicker. He snickered at the comments about Harris, and figured that would be kind of entertaining to watch, but the amusement soon fled him when Ryan turned his focus onto Cross Recoba.
“I saw that big fat suitcase of money you tried to bribe the Bombtrax with. I don't know what the hell a bombtrax is, but you seemed to have paid a helluva lot of money to them just get your ass kicked for it after the deal was done. I am not a man that will turn on a Business Associate. I am a man of my word, if I say I am going to do something then you can bet the Farm I will do it.”
“Oh Damn,” Youth said, shaking his head and realizing that when Press heard that, things were probably going to go south. Even though he was the one who had delivered the ‘Beetlejuice’ reference, he knew that Press was the one who took that sort of thing seriously. And why not? As far as he could tell, other than the tournament itself, what interaction did Ryan McCollum have with The BombTrax.
Was being an observer enough credentials to go around passing judgment about their business with Cross Recoba. Perhaps he failed to notice that what Recoba paid for was a cheap victory, not an opportunity to flap his gums about the two men. Some people never learned to quit while they were ahead. Cross had the chance to take his ‘win’, exit the ring, and have no harm come to him. Yet he just couldn’t do that without first taking a dig at his opponents. So he got what was coming to him.
Unfortunately, Ryan McCullom, still being green around the gills in the industry, had failed to learn that lesson from Recoba. Jawing on about Stevie Harris, worried more about his ‘reason for breathing’ than his confrontation with Cross. Maybe it was The BombTrax’ place to teach him, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, neither of the men were too concerned about the question when they were in the middle of stomping out their intended victim. It all revolved around the principal of the thing. Until you’re ready to deal with The BombTrax directly, keep your fucking mouth shut.
He could hear keys fumbling in the lock, and he quickly shut the laptop, and set it off to the side. He was able to fish the TV remote out of the sofa cushions and press the on button just before Press came bustling through the door, and into the room. He stopped for a minute to catch a glimpse of what was on TV, grunted, uninterested, then stepped into the kitchen turning on the light.
Youth looked out their balcony window realizing that somewhere between cleaning and his musings it had turned dark outside. He hopped up to his feet, and followed his partner into the kitchen to see if the big man was in a better mood.
Press looked over the refrigerator door, which was now open, and spied his partner with a suspicious eye. “Have they uploaded my promo yet?”
Youth gave a look of surprise, not realizing that Press had went all the way to the park just to cut a promo. He figured he was just out getting some air, maybe stopping by The Emporium for a drink. That business earlier this morning must have really set him off to make the near two hour drive to the park just to delve into a tirade.
Youth smirked and shrugged. “How would I know?”
Press pulled some leftover chicken from the fridge, along with two beers, one of which he tossed over to Youth. He gave his partner a coy smile, before answering. “Dude, you can come clean. You spend more time on that damn website than the guy who’s coding it.”
Youth gave an indignant expression, before popping the top on his beer. “Well it’s good to stay informed. Plus I wanted to see what everyone was saying about that bullshit on WICKED#3.”
Press nodded, taking a bite of chicken, and then swallowing it down with the cold beer. “Well, anything interesting?”
“Nope,” Youth responded, taking a swig himself. “Just another ‘Beetlejuice’.”
Press chuckled, and shook his head in dismay. “Which one of them now?”
“Ryan McCullum.” The younger of the two answered.
“Huh,” Press said, perplexed. “Why is it always the cocksure rookies that run off at the mouth like their god’s gift to the industry, and think that no one else is going to notice?”
Youth grinned, “Ah, the kid’s just got spunk. Rolling around in the sheets with Topanga Britt has given him a ‘God’ complex.”
Press returned the grin. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to knock him down a peg to remind him he’s still just a lowly peon back here on Earth.”
Youth smirked, “Maybe he deserves a pass.” Press raised his eyebrows in surprise, but Youth pumped his hand out in front of him to halt any rebuttal before he could explain. “Like you said, the kid’s green. If we go out there and bust him and his china doll up, that could just end up discouraging him, and that’s not good for business. At the end of the day, we’re no good to anybody if we don’t have anyone left to fight. We put those two down hard enough, they might take the notion to break contract and make a run for it.”
Press considered his partner’s words for a minute, and shook his head in disgust. “You’re probably right, the pussies. But if we cut them a break, what about the next one? And the one after that?”
Youth shrugged his shoulders in acquiesce and took another swig of his beer. The two men continued to discuss the situation without coming up with an answer, until finally Press announced that he was going to get some shut eye. They would have an early rise tomorrow to try and beat the Fat Tuesday traffic, and they both wanted to be rested for the inevitable confrontation with Munin at The Crossroads. They both had a feeling that regardless of whether they decided to rough up Ryan McCollum, come WICKED#4, someone would have hell to pay.
*****CD FORTHCOMING*****
Even though they both knew that that wasn’t the issue, and tried to explain it to her, the fact that Press had caused any discomfort to Munin hit him hard. When the meeting was over he told Youth to go out and enjoy himself in the festivities of the park, while he escaped to the bar for some much needed one on one time with Samedi and a bottle of bourbon. He watched the big man go, with sunken shoulders deflated by guilt, and thought that it would be better if he would just come out and admit his feelings. But he knew better. Almost everything Press did was based around one emotion or another, but damned if he’d ever come out and admit that vulnerability.
So now, Youth was walking by himself, the hood on his hoodie thrown over his head, his hands stuffed deep into the front pockets to keep out the bitter chill that had decided to rear up after beautiful weather all week. He barely noticed the throngs of people shuffling around the park, even though they were everywhere. He simply side stepped, slid out of the way, and avoided them at all costs in case one of them were to recognize him and want a photo-op. He just didn’t feel like dealing with the public right now.
That, of course, wasn’t a good thing, considering he knew that he would have to get in front of a camera sometime. Just like he also knew that Alex Cross and Munin had plans for later this evening, and that fact had contributed to his partner’s spiraling mood. It was never openly spoken out loud, but The BombTrax and Alex Cross were supposed to be a unit, under the direction of The Lady. Considering the altercations, however, over the past few short months here in PAW, it didn’t seem likely that this was going to be a unit that would find any cohesion soon. Press and Alex Cross didn’t much play well with others, leaving Youth in the middle as the one who wanted everyone to get along for the good of the promotion. He didn’t envy the role of peacemaker, especially considering that in eight days he and Alex would be trying to kill each other.
He couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly what it was about this match that was bothering him. After all, he had faced all different manner of vampire, demon, and poltergeist that one could imagine. Hell, he even died once, and was resurrected through some dark magic perpetrated by Samedi. He was confident in his abilities, and knew that he was capable of a lot. He had to surmise that those aspects of his life had become predictable. Evil was evil, plain and simple, and didn’t provide much more than that.
The wrestling business was a different story entirely. You were facing people of different character, class, weight, and style which left you with a melting pot of unavoidable perplexity. Some people would do anything short of murder, and in some cases, even that. All in order to gain that victory, to take one more wrung up the ladder of success. He knew that he was one of them, but so was Alex Cross. At any given point in this upcoming match, things could shift, someone could make a mistake, and that would be it for one of them. Here’s to hoping it was Alex Cross, he thought.
When he finally looked up he was standing in front of the Xayarena, almost as if he had been drawn here by his thoughts. He set his jaw in determination, and stalked towards the double doors in order to earn his pay.
Once inside, he made a B-line for the production offices where he found Frank, the cameraman, leaning against the wall just outside the equipment room, sipping on a cup filled with coffee and whiskey. The older man looked up to see Youth, and grimaced at the idea of having to film the young wrestler taking a shit again.
Youth recognized the grimace for what it was, and smirked before holding up his hand. “No worries, Frank. This is going to be clear cut and to the point, if you please.”
Frank begrudgingly nodded, stepping into the equipment room just long enough to grab a few cables, and then pointed to one of the PAW interview rooms. Youth led the way, holding open the door for the older man to enter. He took a spot in front of the camera, sitting on the table, and removing his hood to reveal his face. When Frank was ready, he held up a thumbs up, and the red light on the camera began to blink.
“Alex Cross. You know I’ve been wracking my brain about what I was going to say to you, and although I’m mostly known for my, errrr, comedic side, I felt that this situation deserved something a tad more serious. Hell, we made it, right. I made a clean sweep through Ian Wright,” Youth allowed a grin at the mention of that, “And you kicked Jake Orton so hard he’s not said shit since. I guess you could say that this was destined to happen the minute we ended up on this side of the brackets. Me, You, the fuckboi, and the looney tune. Not surprising if you think about it.”
Youth shakes his head, irritation visible on his face.
“Yet here I am with a camera in my face, and I still don’t know exactly what I want to say to you. I’m at a loss. I mean, I could talk about that time in the place-that-shall-not-be-named, and how you got knocked out of that tournament by a guy dressed up like a cartoon character from ‘Batman the Animated’. If not that, then what about the time you got your ass handed to you by that guy’s man servant? Hell, what about the first WICKED DVD, when you got cracked upside the head by Xayachack’s crazy girlfriend after our little chat? That really was ‘unreal’!”
Youth flashes a Cheshire grin, before trudging on.
“I could talk about GZW. I could talk about the title’s you’ve held and lost. I could talk about the fact that you used to be boinking one of the owners, but I’m already on enough thin ice with her as it is.”
Youth shrugged for the camera, and mouthed ‘sorry’.
“I could talk about all of that, but the fact is, I just did. So let’s talk about what you’ve done so far right here in PAW? Oh, wait, that’s right. You haven’t done a god damn thing other than flap them gums on Twitter about how you’re going to be the new champ, and you only do that after you’ve sent some sappy bullshit reminder to Munin that she ever made the mistake of dating you in the first place. One victory and your association with the boss is the only thing you’ve accomplished so far, in the here and now, and that begs the question, is that going to be enough?”
Youth rolls his neck to get out the kinks, and regards the camera with a disgusted expression.
“Yeah, it was enough for Jake Orton, but let’s face it, he’s a young, holier than thou, cock sucker who didn’t take things seriously, and is stretching himself too thin by running around in other promotions. Bullet Club my ass. The only bullets those mother fuckers have seen are the kind that young Japanese girls have to wipe off their chin after a Bukkake video.”
Youth shudders at the thought of Jake Orton taking that kind of bullet from his stable mates, but somehow finds the gumption to continue on.
“Ok, ok. Maybe it was more than enough, but I digress. Is it enough to speak up in that ominous voice of yours, and tell every opponent about how none of the things that happened before matter, and that you aren’t here to play second fiddle to anyone? That you’re here to be the best, and that in your feeble mind, you’re already the next champion. Is it enough to tell us all that we’re all one trick ponies, that none of us can adapt or change directions on the fly? That yours is the only true ambition here in PAW, and that no one is going to take that away from you.”
Youth snickered, and shook his head sadly.
“Well, Alex, I want you to pay close attention. This is me, right now, taking that away from you. You told Jake Orton last week that he didn’t even know who he was getting into the ring with. Well, I know, Alex. I didn’t need to google you to figure you out, all I had to do is think of every smart mouthed bully who’s ever stood across from me, mouthing off about how much better they are than everyone else, and how I didn’t stand a chance against those kind of odds. I didn’t need to study your bio to guess that you were a problematic kid, in and out of trouble with the authorities, which left a chip on your shoulder a mile long. Hell, Alex, I didn’t even have to look too far into your past to see that you were a first rate fuck up playing at being the big bad.”
Youth shrugged his shoulders, letting out a long sigh.
“Me, on the other hand, Alex, I had to fight for every fucking inch of ground I ever gained. I didn’t have some ‘bad boy’ reputation looming around me like some garb of intimidation. I didn’t go through the process of learning everything I learned about combat so that I could learn the discipline to live a normal life, nah, I did it to keep assholes like you from taking my milk money. So please, I know you have it in you, come on out here with some of that bullshit. Tell us all about how you’re the one, and that no one can understand you until you’re kicking them in the teeth.”
Youth flashes his trademark boyish grin
“And I want you to remember all of it, when you’re lying on your back, staring up at those lights. 1..2..3.”
Youth hopped down off the table, and walked off camera, flashing Frank a thumbs up once out of the scene. He felt pretty good about the promo, although he knew that it wasn’t his best. He figured Cross would try to refute it all somehow, but it didn’t really matter, cause the damage was done. That was always the case when you let someone else open the first shot.
He pushed through the double doors, and came back out into the park, a new spring in his step. He decided he wasn’t going to worry anymore about business tonight, or his ailing partner back at The Crossroads, but was going to get out in the party and have some fun. The park might as well have been a living thing at this point, as noon had turned into midafternoon while he was in the Xayarena, the mass of people writhing together as one. He pushed through a group of kids dressed up in goth clothing hanging outside of the Rock N’ Roller Coaster, and made his way towards one of the many food vendors lining the streets.
Just as he was about to get in line for a corndog, he saw Abigail drifting through the crowd at the end of the lane. She was walking slowly, her eyes darting back and forth, a look of utter astonishment swept across her face as if she had never seen anything like it before. Youth grinned just at the sight of her, and broke his place in line to nimbly pick his way through the people to reach her.
When he suddenly appeared in front of her, she hooted with a start, the surprise turning to a twinkling laughter as she held her hand up to her throat. “Never in my life have I seen so many people.” She told him, her eyes roaming once again over the sea of humanity.
Youth ducked his hands into his front pocket, and nodded. “Yeah, they appear to be gearing up for tonight’s festivities. Got to love Mardi Gras!”
She returned her gaze back to him, and he noticed for the first time that she was still wearing her costume for the Haunted Plantation attraction. He snickered a bit, and she cocked her head to the side, suspiciously guessing that he was snickering at her.
“What’re you about, Mister?” She asked, a sultry fire in her voice.
He allowed his facial features to calm into a warm smile, and winked. “I’m just taking you in, is all. Maybe you’d let me escort you for a while?”
He extended his arm in her direction, and after a scolding sidelong glance, she accepted it. The two of them began to walk, arm in arm, and talked as the park continued to writhe and move of its own accord. Youth didn’t seem to notice any of it, his entire attention fixated on the beautiful woman clinging to his arm. Their previous argument from last week seemed to be completely forgotten, and their conversation varied over a wide range of subjects. When he looked into the young woman’s doe like eyes, he felt a warmth in his body he’d never experience before, and he liked it.
To Be Continued……
