Wayne McGurk VVV RP:Small Paradise/Sleight Of Hand

[veronicaaaahhhh]

Wayne McGurk Veni Vidi Vici RP: Small Paradise/Sleight Of Hand

Wayne McGurk woke up to wax covered around his eyes; there he was, just a second before, in the middle of something good, a mere second later he’s got the faintest idea of where he was. With the air-conditioner blowing against his face, Wayne lay on his back; arms outstretched, spread upon the sheets. Still feeling tired, Wayne woke upon his own. Wayne slowly opened his eyes halfway through; could feel the crust that was the wax break through- never really figured out how it got there, never really cared. Wayne wiped away the wax with his fingers and reached over for the pack of Camel’s on the night table. Setting himself against the headboard, Wayne rolled the cigarette between his fingers and his looked towards the window; the golden shade of sun piercing through the curtain. Flicking the wax off his right hand, Wayne lit the cigarette with his left. Feeling the smoke fill through him, Wayne leaned back; his mind clear, he let himself wonder why he woke up this morning with wax across his eyes; could’ve only gotten there if he wet his eyes.

He drewled often, but that wasn’t the case last night.

He was hurting about something; in his sleep…

Why would he hurt there?

How… Why?

Wayne pulled the cigarillo away from his lips; he lost something back there… Back there in his dream. He could feel it; the notion inside was strong enough- insistent.

The notion came to him fast, and reckoned he was better off leaving it there. Wayne let the cigarette hang off his lips as he crawled to the corner edge of the bed. Sitting there, he looked at his pants spread upon the ottoman; boxers still inside. Wayne rose and walked over to the amour across him; with its doors tucked into the side, Wayne saw his reflection across the screen. Wayne stood; watching his reflection across the screen do the same. Wayne walked over to the amour; the bottle of Corona he had was still there- half full, stale, and warm. Wayne took the cigarette away from his lips and tipped the ashes onto the bottle. Wayne drew the cigarette to his lips once more; cut down since they moved; made the decision to give quitting a chance. So, he cut down; spreading a small pack over the course of a day and a half. He sucked on the filter as hard as he could; closing his eyes, he felt the smoke through him- it was good, damn good. Wayne tilted his head back and blew the smoke off; opened his eyes midway through, stretched his lips out to the shape of an O and pushed his tongue forward and blew out a ring of smoke. Scarlett saw it once- she loved it. He’ll be having a beer, watching a day-old Leno, and Scarlett would come up to him. Sitting on his lap, her arms stretched around his neck, and she’d ask for it. He’d light a cigarette and do it for her; it was like a ing magic trick. As long as it made her smile, he’d do it. Wayne took another hit, blew it out, and dipped the cigarette into the bottle of Corona ; watching, as the stick slowly fell in- ashes breaking apart, dissolving into the murky golden liquid.

Wayne turned and picked his jeans from the ottoman. He shook the jeans against the surface of the ottoman and slipped them on. Wayne came into the hallway; standing there on the other end, for a brief second, Wayne saw Vanessa and Scarlett on the other end, Scarlett on Vanessa’s lap. With every step he took, it was as if the world before him just came to him; moving directly towards him as he just stood there; Scarlett scaled down Vanessa lap and headed over to the other side of the room. With her palm tucked under her chin, Vanessa’s turned her gaze away from her plate and onto Scarlett; smiling, from their daughter’s act of self. Vanessa turned away from Scarlett, slowly, her eyes veered onto him; and the world before him came ever so closer. Her smile remained, and the world stopped moving. He stood there looking at her, as she sat on the other side, a dozen things standing before her, looking at him.

Hey.

Wayne dug his hands into his pockets, and nodded.

You want breakfast?

I’ll just have whatever’s left.

No, sit down; I’ll make you something.

Ok.

Vanessa rose from her seat; barefoot, the rest of her legs seemed to disappear above a pair of black jogging pants. Wayne came close to her; holding her by the waist, he kissed her.

Sit down and tell me what you want?

Wayne sat and pulled Vanessa into the chair with him.

Does this answer your question?
Readjusting Vanessa over his lap,

Tell me, I want to know what you want?
Crossing her legs and leaning against his arm.

Guess.

Drawing herself close to him; their noses tipping.
You want… A sandwich.

I’d like that.

But what kind would you want?

Anything made by your hands.

Slowly, Vanessa slid of Wayne .

I’ll see what we have.

Vanessa kissed him and walked away. Wayne leaned back and folded his hands behind his head; life is good.

Wayne turned to Scarlett, and looked at her; lying across the sofa, her eyes glued on whatever was on the tv, and her head leaning against the arm rest- her thick head of hair draped down to the hardwood floor.

How you doin’, honey bunny?

She turned her eyes away from the tv and faced them towards Wayne ; her head not moving one bit.

Very well, daddy!
That was Vanessa’s influence rubbing off on her.

Wayne rose from the chair and took a seat on the sofa next to her; Scarlett veered down the other end of the sofa; dragged her self along the synthetic leather. Wayne leaned back, as Scarlett crawled towards him and placed her head upon his lap. Scarlett took the remote and held it in her hand. When she was two and a half, she figured out how to use his old Play Station- the first generation grey ones that had the lid you could flip down. She learned how to play the games, but it was just the way she’d do it- she’d slap the disc in and slap the lid shut; little girl had no finesse. And now here she was, two years later, controlling the remote. Wayne ran his fingers through his daughter’s hair, as he set his sights on the tv; Captain Planet- in Spanish. Spanish or no Spanish, didn’t know they still played it. Scarlett held the remote out forward and changed the channel; skipping slowly from channel to channel. She came across something quickly, then turned back to it.

Daddy… It’s you!

Scarlett stood up; surprised. Wayne smiled; she never really saw any of his matches, but one- the last one against Shadow. Didn’t see when he won the International Championship; he just came home with it one day with it across his waist; she already looked at him as Superman, the day he brought that belt home, he was something more- and he liked that.

The camera was focused on Wayne , crouching by the turnbuckle. The camera pulled further out to the arena, he recognized it immediately- New Alhambra . If there was one arena outside the Garden, it was Alhambra . He didn’t even need to know who he was facing to figure out what the match was; it was the night he lost the International Championship to ThaCBT, charging towards Wayne . Looking back at that night, right then and there, Wayne remembered not wanting to be there- just waiting for the damn thing to end. He grew tired, and for that it stretched him to his physical limits; if there was only more time, at least half a day, reckoned things’dve been different. Looking at himself strike ThaCBT down with the side Russian Leg Sweep, he remembered arriving to Alhambra with the intention to lose; wasn’t like he wanted it, just knew it was going to happen. Being in there, he tried to fight it off; in the end his body just couldn’t keep up with what he wanted.

Wayne missed the clothesline, and ThaCBT struck him in the gut with a barbed wired baseball bat; Wayne fell to one knee; the camera drew close to Wayne ’s midsection, showing the barbed-wire sticking to Wayne ’s skin. When ThaCBT pulled it off, the camera drew close once again- showing the barbed wire tear away Wayne’s skin- , didn’t even remember that. Scarlett threw her arms around Wayne , and Wayne held her, as across them, ThaCBT draped the chain around his skull and headbutted Wayne in the center of the head; Wayne came falling down, ThaCBT a mere couple seconds later. Scarlett slowly locked her hand around Wayne ’s. Wayne looked down at her and locked his arms around her.

For most of the match, Wayne , despite being on the offense, spent the most of the match playing catch up. ThaCBT rose as Wayne unfolded a steel chain in the center of the ring, and used the chain to strike Wayne in the groin; Wayne dropped to both knees. ThaCBT picked Wayne and droped him over the chair with the Pon-De-Replay; breaking the chair in half with all of Wayne ’s mass. As the replay of the Pon-De-Replay aired, Wayne saw Scarlett’s reflection off the tv screen. Wayne turned and looked down at her; tears streaming down her face. Wayne looked back at the tv as the replay flashed once more; Scarlett tightening her grip on his hand- it was hard not to notice what was causing this. The replay pulled away as Wayne lay motionless in the center of the ring; broken, bloodied, and curled- a thousand plus fans screaming in their delight, and there he was with Scarlett, the girl weeping. Highlights of the match played over whatever CBT used as his theme song; images, one after another, of him on the receiving end. Wayne shut the tv off, took Scarlett, rose, and cradled her in his arms.

Scarlett nested her head upon his shoulder. Wayne closed his eyes and held her there, as he made slow and quiet steps. Wayne jerked his shoulder away and held Scarlett before him; tears streaming down her face.

Hey babe, I’m okay.

He was hurting you, daddy.

That was a long time ago, and look at me, I’m okay; I don’t hurt anymore.

I don’t want you to hurt ever!

[veronicaaaahhhh]

It was raining in Tijuana. Wayne lit a cigarette and sat on top of the windowsill; the open windows filled the room that old smell of rain and a cool gentle breeze. Across him stood the remnants of what was the old Casa De Oro; what had been a turn-of-the-century landmark was now a boarded up, graffiti ridden hole. Wayne took the cigarette and tipped the ashes over the window and into the wet sidewalk. Wayne looked at the Casa De Oro; rusted embroidery lined the railing of the balcony- reckoned it was once silver. Wayne placed the cigarette between his lips, and let it hang there.

If there is something I must have know my whole life, but only realized this morning is this: we, as athletes, as fans, as spectators, and as people involved, we thrive and make a living off an industry of violence. When one of us suffer, we just don’t take ourselves down, we take our fans, we take our friends, and we damn take all those who we hold true and dear down with us; when he hurt and suffer, they hurt and suffer with us- sometimes even more than we do. And if anyone’s all too self centered and bloodthirsty to agree with me, then my God, I will just have to turn my back on the entire world for at least a minute!

Obo, I don’t know where it is you come from, but I’m going to take this time to let you know about myself; I am a wrestler, my father was a wrestler- like his father before him. Professional Wrestling is an industry and a sport that I hold very dear to me; tradition aside, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do. And by saying that, you have to know the kind of doors Professional Wrestling opened for me. For the past eleven years now, well since the time I was seventeen, it has fed me, it has sheltered me, and it has clothed me; and more important than that, more important *above all else, it gave me my wife, and it gave me my daughter- these are gifts that I will be in debt to until the day I die. So for me to shut the door to every waking match, would be giving up my life in general. Obo can’t you see that in this aspect we, you and I are a lot a like- and for that, despite my better judgment, I actually respect you.

But you see Obo, this is where you and I stand divided. To me, Professional Wrestling isn’t just a livelihood, a sport, or entertainment- it’s an art. Blood soaked and broken, it’s a testament to the amount of punishment we inflict on ourselves. If we tread back, the original concept of Professional Wrestling was simple: ware your opponent down, through grapple or strike, to obtain the pin fall or submission. As it most often does, Professional Wrestling is not supposed to resemble a street fight, but it does. And I like it; Obo, you like it, and every single seat-filling soul does as well. We like violence, and as sick as it sounds, we just can’t help it- it’s in our nature. Like everything else, Professional Wrestling undergoes constant evolution- and I choose to accept it. But when you take a broken light bulb, and you hack it and slash it against you’re opponents face, knowing that in your hand lies the infernal power to blind a man you may not actually hold any qualms against; and well, the though of that makes me ing sick. I see that, and I ask myself why- and then I remember, it must be done! Obo, what we do is violent- I’ve made a God damned name in hurting others for my personal benefit; I do what I do without qualms.

I know when to back off; I know what’s enough.

Can’t you see that all this violence has turned you’re life into hell? And you know what the truth is, you’ve already learned this and you just don’t care. You’ve embraced it, because by the time Samantha becomes smart enough, she’s going to figure out how an awful human being you really are. Obo, I’ve seen the way you handle that little girl, so far you’re doing a decent job, but can’t you see that you are blinding her? One day, she’s going to resent you for that, every much as I do to you.

The truth is that you are just a selfish son of a bitch, who isn’t willing to change- even for his own daughter. Obo, I am going to take you back to a very deciding point in my life. Five years ago, I came to a realization. As Professional Wrestlers, our lives move in a much faster pace than everyone else and I realized that I spent a long time looking after myself, that it was about time I started caring about someone else. That someone was Vanessa, because as soon as I found her, I saw it as my God given duty to care for her. Starting out, there we’re a lot of things I had to let go off; it was bittersweet. I didn’t want to let go of my freedom- I was a ing freebird, man. But when I had Vanessa curled around my arm in the dark hours of the morning, I realized, I didn’t want to be a freebird anymore- I wanted her, and only her, around me. So I changed, and it’s made me a happier person. Obo, what I’m trying to tell you is this, there comes a time when, as men, we take responsibility for the ones around, and not just ourselves; only then, have we truly grown into men.

So Obo, I ask you this: when the hell are you going to grow up? Because if you continue to do what you do, by the act of your own sleight of hand, you will be broken and you will lose everything you have.

All this week, I’ve tried to figure out why you didn’t want to face me in a regular wrestling match, then I realized it was because of the fact that you can’t wrestle. Can you hurt people; can you fight? You can, I’ve seen it, you’re a ruthless fighter, a cunning warrior, but the problem is that the ultraviolence is the only thing you really know. Every time you hold a steel chair and wrap yourself around the barbed wire, you hide. Because you know, as well I know, that it’s much easier to hit your opponent in the back with a steel chair; let alone, stomp on someone’s chest from the top rope. You’re tough, and you’re reckless, but I’m not going to underestimate you.

Obo, you’re a ing monster. You’ve hurt me, and you’ve trespassed against the sanctity of my family, and these are things I have never been able to pay you for. The way I see it, the World Heavyweight title is nothing more than a consolation prize- you have it, and I want it. But more importantly, I am going to get you. I have waited well over nine months for this match to happen. This six-foot, chain smoking biker of a man, has spent the past ten months watching you. Watching you step into the ring, hurting people, and winning titles- through all those times I was standing right there, with you; keeping an eye on ever single move you made. Waiting, for the time that our worlds would collide once more. Then, from the sacrifice of my brothers, my time of waiting ended. The stage was set: July 07, 2007. I don’t have to wait anymore, because all I have to do is live ‘til the moment.

You damn near broken me and I am going to see to it, that you walk away with nothing but a broken spirit and a wound. You hate me, because I’m just better than you- and I’ve proven that before.So you!

Wayne takes in the cigarette once more; smoke filling out his nostrils. Wayne flicks the cigarette off his hand and onto the outside. Wayne nudges forward and veers down the window; watching the cigarette, soaking in the rain, falling through fire escapes, as it quietly crumbles on the ground.

Obo, I dare you to kill me.

Wayne drew himself off the windowsill, reached over forward and shut the left side. He kept the right open, as he glanced outside; it was half past two in the afternoon, and it already looked like the day was turning into night. Wayne held onto the window frame for a brief moment and released; letting it hang there. Wayne left the bedroom and came to the end of the hallway; looking out to the living room, there was no one there- the front door hanging open. Wayne turned to the window over looking the foyer, and saw them standing outside, over the rain. Wayne opened the window.

Hey!
He screamed aloud.

Hey…

What are you doing down there?

Come on down!

*
Wayne came into the foyer; barefoot over wet grass. Vanessa stood by the corner of the building; leaning against the olive stucco walls.

Hey…
Turning to him.

What’s going on?

Take a gander…
Nodding her head out forward.

Wayne looked at Scarlett playing in the rain.

You think she forgot about what she saw?

For now.

Wayne pinned himself against the wall and sighed.

Don’t beat yourself about it.

Come on, it was inevitable.

You know,

Yeah?

As stupid as it comes off, I want to be Superman to her.

You are, and it’s not stupid. All men want to be that way with their daughters; my dad was the same with me. You’ll be her Superman, always.

What’ll that leave you as?

God; all powerful and ever living.

[cureforthesickness]

something about this, I dunno.. it just feels sort of unfinished. it doesn't have that definitive ending, the final strong point to really drive home what you've said and send it home happy. It's almost like it needs a third scene.

The two scenes that are there are pretty good. The scene with Wayne getting beat on with the plunda could have possibly been a little bit more dramatic, because that chain match had some really violent stuff in it. The barbed wire bat was used a couple times, if I recall correctly. Horrible that I wrote the damn match and can't remember what happened. The Pon De Replay on the chair is definately the "Oh crap" move that should have sent her into spells of panic though, especially the multiple times it's replayed.

The second scene is where I think the problem lied. with that monologue, and it's a damn good monologue, something just feels confusing. It's like you started with the description, then started the monologue and just said it, I'm gonna rant. One of those cases where some description or actions could help, perhaps those flashbacks that you were talking about. Ranting about how Obo is randomly violent, then have some flash back of all his slice and dice (and I <3 you for using that term in regards to death matches, considering CM Punk was the last person to use it that way). Maybe some of the more graphic stuff from the barbed wire match or the unforgettable match with Percy. or even better, Wayne starts freaking out and picturing himself in the slice and dice stuff.

My 2 cents

[sonstuds]

cureforthesickness said:

or even better, Wayne starts freaking out and picturing himself in the slice and dice stuff.

The character doesn't fear Obo...

Excellent work. I disagree with Obo about how you should have description in the middle of a monologue. You only do that if you feel it's necessary to help create the picture. It's obvious when you just have description for the sake of description. Besides, the monologue was good anyways.

This match pretty much lived up to all expectations.