Post by Press1269 on Apr 24, 2016 1:12:54 GMT
*****One Month Ago: Directly After The Super Show*****
Press sat on the edge of a bench in The BombTrax locker room, staring down at the Pure Amusement Wrestling Heavyweight championship he held out before him in his aching hands. He hadn’t even bothered to remove the black fingerless leather gloves, or any of his other ring gear for that matter, just content to sit staring at the belt in front of him. Every muscle in his body ached, and he had spent an hour with the onsite medical physician getting checked over before being released to get cleaned up so that he and Youth could go home. That had been over two hours ago, and here he was, still sitting on the bench in full ring gear, just staring down at the belt.
He and Stevie Harris had put on quite the show. It was the kind of match that people would be talking about for a while, tweeting and retweeting their favorite parts of the match all over the internet. He could hear the vultures that were waiting outside his door, a few local Louisiana Papers, Brandy Irving and Brandon McKay, and even a reporter from the Wrestling Torch. He had already decided that they would have to wait. He was going to soak in this moment for as long as possible, because in this line of work you weren’t guaranteed for it to last long.
He already knew that CJ O’Donnell was the #1 contender, and the first in line to challenge him for the title. Even with that knowledge, he also knew that even though Stevie Harris had lost tonight, that the Madman wouldn’t give up the war. He would pursue the championship doggedly, and more than likely assert himself somewhere in the title picture ahead of anyone else. Then there was the rest of the roster. A who’s who of talent who would all be watching the events of the next few WICKED’s closely to garner whether or not there was any way for them to interject themselves as well.
But for right now, in this moment, HE was the PAW Heavyweight Champion, and he had defeated a literal army to win it.
He reached over for a bottle of water he’d been nursing for the past hour, and took a sip, his throat aching with each swallow. There were rope burns around his neck from Stevie’s belt, along with bright stripes covering his back from where the madman had beaten him with it. He had taken four stitches in his left cheek from a brass knuckle shot, and was told that he was lucky that his ribs were only bruised, and not broken. His right knee was swollen from the impact he had delivered with his final Sudden Stop into the steel chair that had won him the match.
All in all, he was a mess, but none of that mattered, because he was the champion.
The door to the locker room opened, and Youth slipped in, leaving only his head out in the hallway to address the crowd.
“Listen, the new PAW Champion will answer any questions you guys have whenever he’s ready to come out, but for right now he needs some time to collect himself, and gather his thoughts. Thank you.”
Youth hastily slipped into the room, shutting the door, and flipping the lock behind him. He turned to face Press with a wide grin, the big man looking up from the championship for the first time.
“It’s a mad house out there. You really should prepare a statement or something.” Youth commented cheerfully.
The big man’s grave expression melted the high flyer’s enthusiasm, and he stepped forward uncertainly.
With concern lacing his voice, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Press sat the PAW Championship off to the side to rest on the bench beside him, and then returned his hard stare to his tag partner and friend. “I think that’s a question better left for you to answer.” He stated matter-of-factly before crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning against the locker.
“Really?” Youth asked flippantly, rolling his eyes while taking a seat over by the door. “You want to do this now?”
The hard stare continued to beam in his direction, and a furrowed line creased his forehead as he shook his head, mimicking the action of Press by crossing his own arms over his chest. “Well, what do you want to know?”
“I want to know what the hell’s been going on with you, and I don’t want to hear any bullshit about this concussion either. There’s been something eating at you before you got that knee upside your noggin, and I want it out on the table, right here and now.”
Youth started to snap back with a retort, but paused before taking a deep sigh and shaking his head again. He leaned back into the chair, his face melting into one of contrition before making with an answer. “It’s complicated,” he said, before tilting his head up to look Press right in the eyes. “And you aren’t going to like it.”
Press’ expression softened a bit, and he uncrossed his arms, and held them out at his sides. “Kid, we’ve been running the roads for fifteen years now, wrestling matches and killing monsters. Some of it I liked, most of it I didn’t, but for the first time in a long time we’re running on a high, so I’d like to know what the hell it is that’s got you all tore up inside.”
Youth nodded, lowering his eyes to make it easier to speak. “Well, you remember back in October of last year when we were still in Vegas, and I brought you the flyer for Evo? You were still pretty adamant about not getting back into the wrestling business, and I pointed out that we’re not spring chickens anymore, and we needed to do something to plan for the long term fact that we wouldn’t always be able to do what it is we do. When you conceded, and we got back into the business, I was really psyched. We met Lady Munin right off the bat, and that’s proven to be a business relationship that’s paid itself ten times over by now. Then when Evo went down, we decided to make this huge move to Louisiana, to the amusement park. I was still convinced that this was our time to shine. And man, we made some real magic happen. With everything that happened in the first couple of shows, and even helping to hold everything together internally when Unreal sabotaged WICKED, and then again, when Sam disappeared.”
Youth paused, staring out at nothing, as if searching for the words. When he found them, he settled back in the chair, and sighed. “Then the tournament happened. I’ve always known that I was more or less considered the sidekick in our group. That you were the main cog in the wheel, and I just sort helped keep that cog in motion. But the tournament made everything different. For the first time you and I were on an equal playing field, and people were starting to take me seriously. Every time you advanced, I advanced, all the way until the third round, when I lost to Alex. You moved forwards, and I didn’t. From there, look at you, you became the PAW Champion, where as I’ve been on a losing streak ever since.”
“Kid, are you saying your jealous?” Press asked incredulously.
Youth looked over at him, and shook his head emphatically. “No, dude. Nothing like that. I’m happy for you. Believe me, if anyone deserves this, you do. You’ve been waiting on this your entire life. It’s just…I’m having a hard time seeing where I fit into the scheme of things anymore.”
Press stood up abruptly, startling the younger man who looked up at him in question. He stalked over to Youth, kneeled down in front of him, and forced him to look him right in the eyes. “Listen, cause I’m only going to say this once, and it’s important. You are one of the finest men that I’ve ever known, and no one could ask for a better best friend. As far as the business is concerned, I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Hell, neither one of us would have gotten off the ground without each other. You and I took two languishing singles careers, and turned them into something that we can both be proud of, something that we’re still able to make money on fifteen years later. How many people can say that?”
Press raised his eyebrow, and Youth gave a half smile and nodded. “At the end of the day, if I’m PAW Champion, then you’re PAW champion, and vice versa. My success is only because of your success. We’re a unit. We’re a tag team. We’re family. Now man up, stop being a pussy, and get your head in the game, cause now that we’ve got the damn title, everyone and their mama is going to be coming to try and take it away from us.”
Youth laughed at his friend banter, and shook his head. He suddenly felt foolish for his behavior for the last few weeks. Instead of getting behind his friend, and trying to help push him forwards, he had been hung up on his own defeats. It was time to get a better attitude, and be the person he knew himself to be.
With that thought in mind, he looked up to the big man with his familiar boyish grin, and nodded towards the showers. “Speaking of pussies, why don’t you go wash the stink of Stevie Harris off you so we can get out of here?”
Press smirked, standing back up to his full height, then making his way towards the bathroom. He shook his head as he finally unlatched the Velcro on his fingerless gloves, and ripped them from his sore hands. “The way I feel right now, I can tell you for certain, that Stevie Harris is no pussy.”
“Maybe not, but he’s not the champion either.” Youth retorted, still sporting the grin.
Press chuckled a bit as he reached the bathroom doorway, and looked over his shoulder with an appreciative smile. “Thanks, Kid.”
He then disappeared into the bathroom to ready himself for the long journey home.
*****Two Weeks Ago: Directly After WICKED#7*****
Press shoved open the doors leading into the stage parking area of the Greek Theatre, walking towards The BombTrax’s 1966 Pontiac Tempest with a look of disdain on his face. In one hand, he carried his gym bag, which contained his ring gear. In the other hand, rested the PAW Heavyweight Championship, held so tightly in his grasp that his knuckles were turning white. It was pretty obvious by his overall demeanor, that he was not happy.
Flaming Youth came bounding out after him, but just as he was about to call after him, he spotted a group of fans starting to converge on the duo. He shook his head, and increased his gate so as to catch up to his partner, nudging him with his elbow. Press looked down with fire in his eyes, while Youth nodded towards the oncoming fans.
The big man followed the direction of his friend’s nod until his gaze fell on the stragglers, all with posters, t-shirts, and pens for him to sign with. He came to a stop with a heavy sigh, and looked back at Youth with a face that said, ‘Do I have to?’
Youth just grinned back at him, while slipping around to the other side of the big man to take his gym bag, and made his way to the car.
Press shook his head, and put his hands on his hips. “You could at least help me sign some of these.”
Youth looked over his shoulder with a confident smirk. “They aren’t here for my autograph…….Champ.”
He said the last with a slight hint of sarcasm, and Press narrowed his eyes just as the first group caught up with him. He did his duty, the thing that made fans continue to root and cheer for you despite whether you’re a face or a heel. He signed their posters, their t-shirts, let them hold the championship and take pictures. He even allowed a few of the women to take selfies with him, even though deep down he secretly detested it.
One of the fans was in the middle of snapping a picture when the first piece of fruit came flying his way. The apple core beamed him right in the forehead, and he gave a startled expression, not sure what had just happened. Then something wet hit him, and when he looked down, he saw that his shirt was covered in the ooze from a rotten tomato. Confusion twisted into anger in a second, a fury that had already been worked up by the multiple interruptions earlier in the night by Cross Recoba, Stevie Harris, CJ O’Donnell, and Johnny Raike.
Press spun around to make out his new attacker, only to see a lone woman standing off to the side with a grocery bag full of the foul contents. She was somewhere in her mid-forties, short, disheveled, graying brown hair hanging down to frame her face. She looked older than she probably was, her dark tan skin, unnatural wrinkles, an plumpness that looked more bloated than healthy. Besides all of that, two things really stood out on the gangly looking woman, and that was her lack of teeth, and the I’mWithStevie T-shirt that she filled out so completely.
She reached into her bag once more, bringing out another one of the soggy tomatoes, and reared back to give it a throw. “You ain’t no champion, false God!”
She let loose with the tomato, and it soared through the air in a direct path with Press’ face. He swatted the tomato away with his massive hand, leaving a slimy residue on his palm. He stared hard at the woman as she reached into her bag again, ready to rearm herself, with no sign of quitting.
Press looked over at the fans, who watched all of this in wonder, and smiled politely. “Excuse me, for a moment.”
When he turned back to face the woman his face was a mask of malice, and he began to stalk towards her slowly, letting the menace of his sheer presence build in her mind. Her hand went limp inside the bag as she stared up at what seven foot, 365 pounds, actually looked like. Her empty mouth fell slightly agape as her shoulders began to tremble at his approach.
Just as he was about to reach her, Youth appeared out of nowhere, throwing his hands into the big man’s chest, and digging his heels into the pavement. Press could have bowled his much lighter partner over, but he knew that he was still smarting from that knee to the back that O’Donnell had given him, so he allowed his momentum to halt. He stared over Youth’s head at the woman, who still hadn’t regained her composure enough to even try to start being a nuisance again.
“Dude, it’s not worth it.” Youth pleaded. “Think about what this is going to look like on the evening news. Just get in the car, and lets head back to New Orleans.”
Press still stared hard at the woman as he slowly made to turn back towards the car, when Youth got the tomato to the back of his head. The high flyer’s eyes shot open wide as vile tomato juices dripped down the back of his neck, inside his shirt, and further down his spine. The look on his face told Press that there was about to be big trouble, and he latched onto his partners shoulders before Youth could take off and maul the woman.
“You fucking bitch, I was trying to save your life! Let me go!”
Youth continued to struggle and scream obscenities as Press hauled him over to the car, and tossed him inside. He looked over his shoulder at the woman, daring her to hit the car, but even she realized that would probably result in both men trying to kill her.
She stuck out her chin, and through her clenched teeth said, “Stevie Harris is the one true Messiah, and he’s going to ascend his throne and topple all pretenders.”
Press no longer felt anger, but pity, mingled with a little amusement. He chuckled softly, and just shook his head, before saying, “Bitch. You’re crazy.”
He stepped around the Pontiac, slipped into the driver’s seat, and sped off before there could be any further incident.
*****Present Day*****
Press sat inside one of the familiar PAW Studio in the newly named Pure Arena. With that name change, the drama that was Xayachack and Unreal appeared to be finally at a close. Frank sat in front of a camera, counting the big man down as he sat the Paw Championship down on the desk in front of him so that the face plate was sitting up for a good camera view.
When Frank got to one, he pulled in close on the championship belt, using the focus to slowly draw back to the champion who stood behind it, arms crossed.
“Well, it looks like destiny’s called twice for you, Stevie. I’d be a liar if I didn’t tell you that the match at the Super Show was one of the toughest battles I’ve been in to date. That makes you special, for sure, considering that’s the highest regard I can give after a fifteen year career. A lot of people have it in their heads that I’m still doing this because I wanted to win one more big one before giving it up. Hey, I get it. When you consider the nature of our business, how it’s evolved, how it’s changed. Thirty-five is pushing it. This, after all, is a young man’s game.”
Press shifts against the wall, applying a smirk to his face.
“That being said, Stevie Harris has got us all beat in the age department, and I can be the first to tell you, it hasn’t slowed him down one bit. CJ O’Donnell, you can talk all you want about fear, last hurrah’s, and change all you want, but just talking about it doesn’t make it so. After all, Calvin Harris came out there and took care of business. What was your excuse then? He took that victory out from under you, and then told you exactly what he thought of you when he signed #1 right in your face. Now I bet he thinks he’s going to be the one to do it. To come out here and make all these threats, and blah, blah, blah, blah.”
Leaning forward, he looks at the camera under his brow.
“Well, I got news for him, and you both. Being #1 around here is still second rate to being champion, and low and behold, what’s this?”
Press places a loving finger on the belt, before smiling into the camera. He sits down in the chair, and places his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers so that they hover over the championship. Looking over his own hands, his eyes bore into the camera.
“Which brings me back to Stevie. I met some of your fans last week out in the parking lot, and let me tell you, they were some doozies. I’m just wondering if the requirement to be part of your cult is coming from the most backwood places in all of Louisiana, or do you guys put them through a hazing ritual to make them look that desperate? Hell, I bet you sell them on that old adage about the weak inheriting the earth, and they just gather around the sacrifice dish like sheep.”
Press chuckles at the verse, and then returns his eyes to the camera.
“A lot of people misinterpret that little gem. They think that means that the good Lord is going to come down on judgment day and scoop them all up, and put them at the front of the line. What people don’t get, is that wasn’t a fucking prophecy of redemption and salvation. It was a proclamation of what’s already come to pass. The weak have already inherited the earth, haven’t they Stevie. A bunch of easily manipulated, uneducated, self-involved, base individuals, who are all just looking for something to believe in, and there you are, like a knight in denim armor leading them all to the place of safety where they are to don their aluminum foil hats and wait for the promised land. But in the meantime, why not get a little use out of these fools. Why not warp their minds into believing anyone that faces you is a demon, and that they should defend you, with their very lives, if need be! And when that doesn’t work, why not convince them to picket and protest outside the park, proclaiming grievances where there are none, and chances where there shouldn’t be.”
Press jaw goes tight as he looks away from the camera in disgust.
“Stevie, you can scream injustice all you want, but the only injustice around here is the one wrought from your own hand. Taking these poor white trash and promising them the kool-aide if only you could be the PAW Heavyweight Champion. It makes me fucking sick, and you know what, I almost succumbed to it myself.”
Press looks back at the camera, holding up his hand and indicating the tiny space between his forefinger and thumb.
“I came this fucking close, Stevie, to just putting one of those devil’s rejects right in the ground. Luckily, I had someone there with a cooler head than mine. Someone to hold me back, a voice of reason, a guardian fucking angel. It made me realize just how fallible we all really are, and also, that I’m damn lucky not to be that stupid. Almost, but not quite. Kind of like you and this championship.”
Press indicates the belt in front of him with a wave of his hand.
“This time though, it’s different. No matter how you spin it in that demented little mind of yours, you already know the outcome. Just like Lucifer, you’re going to use every trick up your sleeve, spin every lie that forked tongue can spit, do your damnedest to pull the wool over as many as will listen, cause you know. You know that you can’t win. Even worse, it’s not that you can’t, but you won’t. Why?”
Press smirks, letting his hands rest on the desk by the championship so that the camera can get a good clear of his face. In a confident whisper, he leans in and says.
“Because ‘I’ say so.”
The camera zooms in on the champion’s intense gaze, before fading to black.
