Post by Press1269 on Jan 30, 2016 6:53:20 GMT
::She tip toed over the beer bottles, and boxes of pizza, quietly trying to keep her composure. Alicia Marcil looked down upon the new SIN Tag Team Champions in disgust, and glanced over to the bar owner of the Pikalino Lodge. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt, with a Toronto baseball cap hiding the fact that he was balding. He gave her a toothy grin, and let out a bit of a whistle as he drew his hands out of his pockets, and extended it in her direction. She gingerly took the hand for a brief shake, and then returned it quickly to her side without trying to be obviously disturbed by his attention. He continued to smile stupidly, stepping over to Youth who was passed out on a bar stool, his head resting in an uncomfortable manner on the bar. Press sat in the floor, head lolled down, a half emptied warm beer still firmly grasped in his mitten sized hand. She stepped over to him, and reached for the bottle, but the hand retracted it quickly to keep it out of her grasp. He looked up through blood shot eyes, and smirked a little, although in his drunkenness it came out more of a sideways grimace. The smell on his breath nearly laid the woman low, and she quickly retreated from the vile odor.::
Alicia Marcil: THIS is not acceptable behavior out of Storm Corporation employee's.
::The statement seemed to light a fire in the big man, and he was up on his feet in an instant...or tried at least. He fell back against the post that was propping him up, and stared up at the woman fuming.::
Press: Fuck Johnny Storm!
::She shook her head in disgust once more, throwing her hands up in the air as a sign of defeat. She stepped over to where the bartender was trying to coax Youth to wake up, and bid him to go deal with the other one. She slipped into one of the bar stools, and brushed the man's hair from his face gently. She took a moment to notice in that simple action how Young he truly did appear. She knew that he was 25 in age, but he didn't show it at all. She smirked at the thought, and knew that age would catch up to him eventually, especially if he stayed in his present profession. He seemed so sweet & innocent in that moment, laying there with a slight smile resting upon his soft features. He was handsome, without a doubt, and seemed so very vulnerable for a man in his mid 20's. She gave him a light pat on the shoulder and he stirred slightly, but not enough to register full alertness. She gave him firmer shove, and his eyes bolted open to the ready, whirling up and onto his feet. That was until he stumbled and fell backwards to the floor. As soon as it happened, both Press & Youth began to giggle until they were fully enamored in laughter. Alicia shook her head, and looked to the barkeep for assistance.
It took them 30 minuets to coax the new SIN tag champions out of the bar, and into her limo. It was obvious that Press was having serious reservations about leaving their car at the pub, but she remedied that by assuring him that she would have someone drive it to their hotel. The ride home was uneventful, both men passing out to the humming of the limo gliding down the stretch of road that led to their hotel room. She sat there for a long time, considering the situations she now had before her. She hadn't even begun to get a handle on the clients before her, and already she had another one to worry about. Kevin Kronos was from the GWA, back when Johnny Storm was still running the promotion. He had recently surfaced in Paradise Heights Entertainment, and had struck a deal with Storm for some extra cash. After PHE closed, however, the deal never found fruition till now,. Kronos' debut had been impressive, taking down his first opponent with ease. The only thing that unsettled her at all by that introduction were the presence of the Tag Team Champions after the match. It was bad enough that she was taking on all of this in the name of Johnny Storm, whom all of her clients obviously hated, but now was she going to have to contend with the prospect of an in-family war? She pushed the thoughts from her mind as the limo pulled into the Brighton Hotel. She & the driver helped the champs out of the limo, and dragged them to the room she knew they were staying in. It wasn't too long after that the 1966 Pontiac Tempest pulled up outside of the room, and the pub owner handed her the keys. She took them, and assured him he would get a ride back to his bar in the limo. She placed the keys on the table, looking down at the two who were now off into a deep slumber in their respective beds. She shook her head at the situation, and then turned her attention to a parchment sitting on the counter. It was a coupon for pizza, and she looked around at the empty pizza boxes laying all over the room. It was a wonder that these guys could even stay in shape, she thought, as she flipped the coupon over to the blank side. She pulled a pen from her purse, and quickly scribbled a note. She then turned, and made her way for the limo. If things continued this way....she didn't know how long she would last.::
**********
::Press was the first to wake, and he did so very slowly. His eyes filtered open, and he quickly closed them, the light from outside creeping in and doing damage to his brain. He rolled over onto his stomach, and reached up to rub his temples. He felt like someone had taken one of his own spikes, and drove it right into his eyes. He slowly began to move, pulling himself up and stumbling around the hotel room, tripping over his boots, and barely catching himself on the dresser in front of him. He heard a crash as the TV fell off the edge, and he groaned loudly at the sound echoing inside of his skull. He slowly made his way, by use of the wall, to the bathroom door, slipping in and stepping into the shower. The cold water hit his skin, and that woke him up a bit more while he quickly reached for the hot water knob. The water pelted his skin like it was trying to punish him for drinking so much, and he simply took the beating by dunking his head under the water. He thought it funny how this worked, how a warm shower could make you feel better in the worst of situations. He ran his hand across his face, and stretched the skin down into a funny expression before letting go and reaching for the soap. They had an interview today, he knew, and he wanted to do his best to wash away as many of the celebration signs as he could.
Youth came out of his sleep much like a sedated person comes out of their coma. His eyes fluttered for a moment, and then like lightening they popped open. He was unsure of his surroundings, and positive that for some reason he couldn't move. It took several minuets to get motor function back to his limbs,and when he finally did sit up in the bed, it took even longer to piece together where he was. He slipped out of bed, and gingerly stepped over to one of the chairs next to a hotel table. He passed right by the busted television set in the floor, and started to sit down, before turning to regard the wreckage one more time. He furrowed his brow in confusion, shook his head, and then sat down in the chair. He sat there for a moment, not doing anything...breathing in and out, concentrating on that rhythm. He placed his arm on the table, and felt his hand hit something as it came down. He looked over, and saw a turned over coupon for Dominoe's Pizza sitting there with scribbling on it. He picked it up, and began to put the words together in his mind.::
Press & Youth,
After your antics last night, I really don't know why I'm going to such trouble to try and make things work between us, but I feel that it is my duty considering you are clients of mine. So Please accept this invitation for when you arrive in Calgary. I am staying at the Marriott Suites, right inside of the city, and I would be delighted if you would join me for dinner. We have many things to discuss, and I'm sure after we work out the details that there is a chance that we might even leave with a common understanding. I hope to see you in a few days, and if not...I can assure you that I'll be in touch. Either way, good luck with your hangovers.
Your Manager,
Alicia Marcil
::He placed the note back down on the table, and leaned back in the seat as the bathroom door slid open. He looked up to see Press step out with a towel wrapped around him. The men exchanged glances for a moment, and then Press smirked running his fingers through his hair. He reached over and scooped up some clean clothes, and threw them on his bed.::
Press: Go get a shower, kid. You'll feel better.
::Youth could do nothing but nod, pulling himself out of the chair and making his way towards the bathroom. He paused for a moment, and turned back towards his partner.::
Youth: Note. Table.
::That's all he could offer, before turning and slipping into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Press heard the sound of vomit escaping Youth's mouth. He smirked again as he quickly pulled on his clothes, and then stepped over to the table. He reached down and scooped up the note, taking a quick glance at the words scribbled onto it. He brought the paper up into his fist as his features tightened on his face. The woman wasn't going to quit he realized, and why would she? She was in league with Johnny Storm, and no matter what anyone wanted to say about the former Gladiator Champion...good or bad, he was definitely persistent. He was used to getting whatever he wanted, and for some reason it was fairly apparent that he wanted The BombTrax. He threw the paper off into the trash, and made his way for the door. He slipped out, and briskly walked down to the front office where he could get a fresh cup of coffee. He thought about the events that had transpired, and those that were coming up. They had done what they had set out to do, and in their second match already carried gold. So why now did he feel like it was going to go south? He knew why, just didn't want to give him that much credit. If anyone could make life hell for you, it was Johnny Storm...and right now, he was succeeding.::
**********
::The Pontiac pulled up into the arena parking lot, and both men popped out of the car. They made their way towards the last SIN production truck left in the parking lot after the grand show that had transpired last night. Even then, they were packing up the last of the SIN camera equipment and readying to set out to Calgary, where the next Sunday Impulse was set to take place. The BombTrax stepped up to one of the directors of the show, and they exchanged handshakes with the man, although they barely knew him.::
Press: So, what's on tap for us next Sunday?
Director: Actually it will be only one of you. You'll be facing Tony Millennia in a non-title match.
::The indicating finger pointed at Press, and both he & Youth exchanged an interested glance, before turning back to the director.::
Press: So I got a shot at Tony Millennia. What were the odds? Guy wins the World Championship, drops the Television Championship, and then goes toe to toe with me. So what happens when I beat him?
Director: IF you beat him, then I would suggest that you would garner a great deal of respect in the locker room.
::Press smirked, as did Youth, and both men folded their arms over their chests.::
Press: Respect from the locker room eh? Well, I guess in the end that may benefit us. BUT, if I were to take a bet, I bet the respect of the fans would benefit us much more. With the fans in our pocket, Corey has no choice but to afford us more marquis matches like this.
Youth: Not to mention a future title shot.
::Press nodded with a wide smile, and then looked back to the director who merely shrugged at it all.::
Press: Can you get us a cameraman....I think I have a few words for ole' Tony now.
Director: I'll see what I can do.
::The two men waited there by the truck, discussing their plans for the future when a portly cameraman came around the corner. They quickly stifled their conversation, and Youth smirked....indicating the car.::
Youth: I'll be waiting in the car.
Press: Alright. Don't worry, this won't take long.
::The two men exchanged a nod, and Youth made his way towards the Pontiac, as the cameraman readied his equipment. When the red light came on, Press felt right at home.::
Press: Tony F'n Millennia! You know from the very beginning, The BombTrax's goal was to deliver you a message on behalf of "Rock Hard" Jimmy Jackson. That message was delivered loud and clear, and just like many have before, you tried your best to put on a hard expression, and tell the world that this didn't unnerve you. I applaud your effort Tony, I really do. But let's go ahead and cut through the shit, and dig right into the heart of the matter. When You saw Youth & I at the top of the rampway at the end of Illusions, you thought that your number had finally come. I saw that expression come over your face, that fear settle into your features. You had just been crowned the SIN Wrestling World Champion for the second time in your career, and you knew that it didn't make a damn, because we were here to end it. Don't think I didn't catch the sigh of relief as we broke away from our collision coarse with you, and made our statement to Aphrodisia Jordan. I saw the grimace come across your face as we spiked her into the steel rampway, and I can only imagine your contempt as we destroyed Cyber Trooper for the SIN Tag Team Championships. Damn Tony, I bet that really pissed you off.
You see, if we had come in and given you one good attack, and then just fizzled out like so many stars tend to do, then we wouldn't be real. We'ld be another group of talentless hacks who show up on the scene only for a moment, and then succumb to the pressures of a big time promotion like SIN. That would have allowed you to rest at night. That would have allowed you to take comfort in that victory of yours at Illusions. Would have given you a chance to really appreciate that World Title in which you now carry. Yet, we both know that this isn't the case. In the very night that we took our first championship, you lost one of yours. You were unnerved Tony. Deny it all you want, but you had been sent a message. The whole fucking Locker Room was sent a message. You think a simple chair shot by Aphrodisia is going to calm the quake of what we did? What we did took maticulous planning, and a viscous streak the likes of which no one has ever seen in this promotion.
But that's the difference between us, and you SIN elite. You are going to look past us Tony Millennia. You are going to give yourself a false sense of safety, safe in the knowledge that you are the champion, and I am not. Safe in the fact that you have been here, busting your balls since the day you arrived, and I am here in my third match. MY THIRD FUCKING MATCH TONY! And I am facing the World Fucking Champion!
::Press rips his jacket off, and throws it to the ground. Bulking up, and showing his impressive muscles as he points into the camera.::
Press: You may think that the BombTrax are some sort of joke, and that I don't have what it takes to walk into this match and end it on my terms...but that is where you and I are different. I KNOW I HAVE WHAT IT TAKES! I don't take you lightly Mr. Millennia, I see you as the biggest fucking match of my career! YOU ARE MY SHOT!! My shot to sky rocket through this industry, and actually take something that I've never seen. You've been a world champion...probably in more places than just here, and yet you take this match in stride because it's not for the title. That's where we all know that you've lost your way. You've lost your heart for this business. You sit there in your own mind a GOD, and in reality you may very well be one. You have taken this title not only once, but twice. You are no joke. You've proven yourself, to the men & women in the locker room, to the fans, to the guys who put this show together, and to the man himself, Corey Page. You've accomplished so much in your career that even I am to a point where I would admire you, except for one thing Tony. ONE THING THAT SEPARATES YOU FROM TRUE GREATNESS!! You have forgotten to see the road ahead. You see only your championship, and your money, and your stardom. You no longer acknowledge anyone as a true threat to you, and thus you have lost the true heart of competition. Even if they beat you, you come up with excuses. You come up with reasons as to why they took it. Maybe they cheated. Maybe you got your foot on the rope. So many factors, yet none of them are true. You Tony, are a man who is on his way down. Down a path that no one else is going to be able to walk for you. Do you remember what it was like to walk on your own two feet Tony? Without the support of the wrestling board, or these fans marking your way? Well, let me tell you Tony, it is a lonely place that I know quite well. It is a place that I intend to rectify!
You are my shot Tony. You are my chance to step out of the shadows of SIN wrestling, and garner a little respect from those who I intend to work with. You give me a chance to earn more money, more fame, and a chance to even vie for that title you carry around your waist. You are my chance for greatness, for excellence. You are my chance to stand out among the rest, for the fans to have someone new to cheer for. You are my chance to finally climb out of a midcarder's status, and into the Main Event. You Tony, are my everything. So don't think for one second that I'll lose my focus in the title....the money..or the glamour. I'm here for you Tony Millennia...and God help me for what I'm going to do to you. God help us all!
::His intense stare was unyielding, so much so that the cameraman himself felt vulnerable in the sights of the seven footer. Press reached down and grabbed up his jacket, and without another word made his way towards the Pontiac where Youth sat, listening to some tunes. He hopped into the passengers side, and the car revved up before speeding off towards the turnpike that would take them to calgary. The camera picked up the wafts of smoke, and then turned to black. Static.::