Post by veronicaaaahhhh on Aug 20, 2006 2:44:00 GMT -5
Wayne McGurk SuperBrawlIV RP: Montreal/Underdog.
Once upon a time there were three little pigs and the time came for them to leave home and seek their fortunes.
Before they left, their mother told them " Whatever you do , do it the best that you can because that's the way to get along in the world.
The first little pig built his house out of straw because it was the easiest thing to do.
The second little pig built his house out of sticks. This was a little bit stronger than a straw house.
The third little pig built his house out of bricks.
One night the big bad wolf, who dearly loved to eat fat little piggies, came along and saw the first little pig in his house of straw. He said "Let me in, Let me in, little pig or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!"
"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin", said the little pig.
But of course the wolf did blow the house in and ate the first little pig.
The wolf then came to the house of sticks.
"Let me in ,Let me in little pig or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in" "Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin", said the little pig. But the wolf blew that house in too, and ate the second little pig.
The wolf then came to the house of bricks.
" Let me in , let me in" cried the wolf
"Or I'll huff and I'll puff till I blow your house in"
"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin" said the pigs.
Well, the wolf huffed and puffed but he could not blow down that brick house.
But the wolf was a sly old wolf and he climbed up on the roof to look for a way into the brick house.
The little pig saw the wolf climb up on the roof and lit a roaring fire in the fireplace and placed on it a large kettle of water.
When the wolf finally found the hole in the chimney he crawled down and KERSPLASH right into that kettle of water and that was the end of his troubles with the big bad wolf.
The next day the little pig invited his mother over . She said "You see it is just as I told you. The way to get along in the world is to do things as well as you can." Fortunately for that little pig, he learned that lesson. And he just lived happily ever after!
*
SHE WAS ALREADY half asleep by the time he began. So it was no real surpirse that she was deep into slumber's embrace by the time he ended. She lies nestled in his arms; her little head resting on his chest. Times like these are hard to come by. Whenever the chance arises, he does whatever he can to take full advantage of it. She slowed him down. For the better; that was an underlined fact. In retrospect, she's his walking, breathing championship belt. The only thing that could take her away from him is another man; but that's still fifteen years ahead of our time, at the very least. There was something about that story... But it is not very important right now. This, this rare moment with his child, is the only thing that matters in this world. No pleasure or crisis could break it. God, she drewls in her sleep; like her father.
It what had been Vanessa's bedroom for nineteen years, has become her's for the night. Jesus, was the room cold; the way she likes it; like her mother. Jesus, was he blasphemous. Wayne rises from the rocking chair from where he sat, and cradles the child in his arms. An old lamp; a carnivale is etched into the vae above; tones the room's pale walls to a mild yellow shade. Wayne motions towards the bed and tucks the child deep into woolen sheets; across the sleeping child, on the pale walls, a Smashing Pumpkins poster stamps pinned. Good band. Vanessa favorite. A patter forms underneath the poster; a siries on intricate curves. Wayne sets a closer look in. Still to hard to tell; isn't really that important, albeit intriguing. Wayne kisses the girl in the forehead; darkness descending upon the room. Wayne motions out the door.
The mahogany hallway beyond Vanessa's door is shrouded in a dystany worth of silent memories; painfully embroided Persian carpets line the floor beneath his boots. Wayne takes to the left and discovers a new moment with every new step; many aged into sepia. Wayne comes across a faded old photo of a young girl. She has her hair kept back in a pony tail, freckles, and a familiar smile settled across her face. The girl is kept in suspended, in mid-air, porched on a swing. The aged picture begins to move before him. The girl, now swinging back, rapidly matures before his eyes. She fleetingly glides before him. Her facial features now come into view. Reflex dwells in; Wayne blinks.
. But he caught a sudden glimpse of her; Vanessa. It's a sight he won't soon forget. Wayne returns back to the world he knows and paces down the hallway.
Towards the staircase, another picture traps Wayne. A three piece family enjoying a meal. Unlike the former, it refuses to animate, but it leaves Wayne with wonder and amazement. It's a photo of Wayne, Vanessa, and their then-two year old daughter.
*
Come SuperBrawl, I shall bare the third piece to a caged puzzle. I will be the third man, in the third match from the last, in my third appearcance on a pay-per-view, facing what could be my third pay per view loss in rapid sucession. I've lined my words repeatedly inside, yet despite that, they seem impossible to mount. Amputated, I'm cut off from the tools of which I bare. My problems escalade until they fall; crashing over me. Recovery a horrendous impossibility. In fault of my own, I stumbled and drowned into the deep primordial stew of the WFWF. It was long 'til I was blessed with the chance. And when it floated my way, I took Vanessa by the palm of hand, and together, we surfaced out. Since, we saw the mountain and began our ascend. We climbed and climbed, even as the stones of the promotion rained upon us, we took the challenge and pressited on foward. For that, we rose further than everyone had anticepated. We accepted the open hand, the invitation, the saving grace; yet, we've continued to presist on our own. SuperBrawl is only the budding climax to an orgasm, and there isn't a damn thing anyone can do to stop it.
I look at the picture, and it's perfectly clear that I am a man of change. My life is indeed softer than it used to be and my outlook has since broadend. Although, in little ways, I rediscover myself. I take myself for the man I am, the man I was, and the man I will be. I'm breaking the mold and changing their preceptions. Did anyone ever stop to think past the Harley and take me for the man I really am? I'm aing wrestler God damn it! I may be a biker, but I'm also a wrestler, and I'll take the latter any damn day. But, it's so easy for people to take me as just another biker, I am above that. Anyone who has come across my path knows that it's a God given fact. I should be damned well comended for proving my worth.
A short time ago, in the middle of my fleeting intoxication, I told myself that I wasn't a confident man; that confidence is nothing more than a superficial emotion. While it may very well be true that nothing in this world is sure. We never know what's ahead of us, just like I don't know what's ahead of my on SuperBrawl. I've got an idea, I've prepared myself, and I still don't even know. I can drop dead five minutes from now, for all I know. And I don't. The beautiful thing about this is that I can give myself the right to enjoy SuperBrawl for all its worth. I'm confident about having a good match. I'm confident that I'll get myself over. But I don't know if I will walk away champion. I can say I'm going to. Because Lord only knows how much I want it. So I am going to do the only thing I can: fight for it. That I'm confident about.
*
IT'S A QUARTER to nine. They've been in the home of Vanessa's parents for a good day now, and Wayne still feels out of place. Wayne reaches the living room. There's a crisp notion of age and decadence between the walls. He recons if he had stepped into the home thirty years ago, it would have possibly looked the same. A baby-grand piano appears to be the center piece to the room. In the foreground, three sofa's stand; a beautiful pattern embroided into the fabric. The sofa's host Vanessa's relatives, amidst in a conversation. In French. God, although it gave a quaint little sense to the place. What had surprised Wayne about Montreal, is that for a place so near, it had the distinct aura of a foreign land. The accent probably has something to do with it. The French accent. Although, Vanessa's relatives spoke with a mild accent; she doesn't. She, in lack for better words, speaks normally. She has a normal accent; he can perfectly understand everything she mutters out. Why couldn't he say the same about the Brits? He can't even begin to comprehend how they could understand each other. Though, he should know, his grandfather was a Welsh. Note to self: must learn. But Montreal's distinction stretched far beyond an accent. Wayne can see Vanessa's grandmother, with the Gyno Championship layed before her; a smile settled across her face. Proud.
Wayne motions out the living room, crosses the empty dining room and walks into the kitchen. If you've seen one kitchen, you've seen them all. He thinks back to dinner, it was early by his standards, but it was prettying good; veal ragout and ratauoi, an assortment of vegtables cooked in stewed tomatos. Wayne's eyes Vanessa, washing the dishes; her reflection bounces from the window above the sink. Her dark-auburn curtains restrained in a ponytail; a dark-green suede blouse is drapped around her, barely concealing the space between her breasts; a tight leather skirt flows beneath. Slowly, he reaches her. He quietly places his arms around her waist. He closes his eyes and smells the honey-almond in her hair. He brings his lips to the back of her milky neck as his hands slowly inch lower. She jolts in surprise.
Bonsoir Monsieur McGurk. Comment allez-vous?
Bein merci, et tu?
That didn't come out right.
Vanessa places her hand on Wayne's cheek.
You're learning! Je voudrais prende un bain. You understand what I just said?
Not aing word.
Vanessa gently taps his cheek.
I know.
A small bite of dissapointment.
Is Scarlett asleep?
I tucked her in no more than fifteen minutes ago.
That's good. I want to take a bath.
Wayne could see the small droplets of sweat pour down Vanessa chest. He devours one; salty. Good.
Do it.
I'm not even halfway done here.
Wayne places his hand inside her shirt; the other pinned at her hip. He firmly tucks his fingers between her skin and the hemilne of her skirt. Vanessa's hands tread back to the sink. Wayne reaches Vanessa's lace panty. She takes a tighter grip on the faucet. She playfully squirms in his grasp and closes her eyes. He pulls her into him; she can feel him. He tuggles his hand to the side and slips his hand beneath the lace; he feels her. She cups her hand in his and withdraws his hand from inside her. Damn it.
Later.
Come on...
You really want to do something?
I do.
You wanna make me feel good; make me happy; come all over you?
Oh yeah. You know I can.
I do. Here; catch!
Vanessa throws a rag at his direction.
Youing tease.
Merci. Come on, give me a hand.
Si seniorita.
That isn't French and don't be so glum. I'll make it up to you in awhile.
What's awhile?
When we've finshed and I've bathed.
Vanessa hands Wayne a plate. Defeated, he takes the plate from her and starts to wipe. The family's Pomerainian begins to bark at Wayne; just like the rest of the family. Wayne refuses to mind the little bastard. A stabbing pain slowly sinks deep into Wayne's leg. McGurk investigates and theing bastard is biting his leg. Wayne releases the plate, pulls his leg away, and as a reflex it charges back into the ground. It misses the floor, but lands on the damn dog's head instead. The plate follows, and crashes over the dog. The final blow. Wayne and Vanessa look down to find blood slowly excreting out of the dog's head. There is just no win with this family.
I'm sorry...
That's all?
I don't know what to say, it was an accident.
Better; right...
Better late than never.
She murmurs.
What?
Vanessa parents stand in the door way. At least the dog's dead.
*
AFTER A BRIEF FUNERAL and a tetanous shot, Wayne commiserates in the wine cellar. They burried the dog in an actual coffin. A coffin, for a dog. Wayne digged a ditch three feet into the ground, which should've been enough for a dog, but it wasn't. He dug six feet into the ground. Sixing feet. As he burrowed, he could hear Vanessa's grandmother screaming in French. Vanessa later translated her words for him; was something like, "That dog lived through wars, earthquakes, fires, blackouts, but it died in a wreslter foot!". Sounded better in French, at least she called him a wrestler. What's ironic is that the Big Boot is one of his trademark moves; who knew it would be used as an "instrument of death". Vanessa told him that the dog was a pain in the ass to begin with. To top it off, it had liver cancer, so, as Vanessa see's it, he did good.
There's good ventalation in the brick wine cellar. There aew several small rows of wine, and Wayne decides to take from the top of the litter. He's dead. He's dead. There's not a damn thing he can do to bring it back. It stings, but there are bigger issues to face. SuperBrawl. It's fitted that the windows of the cellar are barred, because he faces a similar fate on SuperBrawl. It's almost like a meal; you've got your triple threat and to top it off, you've got your steel cage. It's familar territory to Wayne McGurk. Wayne removes the cork and takes a good swig.
This is just the begining for me; everything I've set myself out for. To some people, this chance comes immediately; it took a damn year for me. Back then, I just could not begin to comprehend the very idea that my career was going down the toilet. Unbeknownst to me, I had to learn. And for that it made me twice the man I was. It's been said that I once held the UCW World Heavyweight Championship for three straight years. While it has no relavence, it does bare repeating. As I started out, on Hyrbid, I figured that everything was just going to come my way. I forgot that I had to earn things. I stuck around and stagnated and for that I was layed off. I had to learn. I wasn't as good as I thought I was. That's the harsh realitly, and when you take it in, it's perfectly clear: I'm not any good. But I try and I learn. You see, my time in the UCW was good, but as far as I'm concerned, it's as good as dead to me. I'm not under their roster anymore, and to be honest, I never conjured going back. It's done, I'm moving foward, and as stupid as this sounds, I bleed the WFWF. Victory or defeat, I will proclaim myself as purely WFWF and nothing more. I'm placing my foot down; this is where I want to be. I've sacrificed myself, I've learned from my mistakes, and I've earned my spot. There isn't anywhere else I ought to be. And there isn't anywhere else I want to be. SuperBrawl will be the end of my past, and the begining of the rest of my life. Everything prior to that will be rendered insignificant.
The alcohol slowly kicks in; Wayne feeling it.
If we tread back to the past, we remember that the intital conception of the steel cage was to keep the combatants in the ring, with no way out. That is why I do shed blood over tears whenever I see the wrestlers try to escape. Own up to all your fears, be a man, and take it. The reason you're inside it is to fight; you aren't supposed to escape. But despite that, it's now become a form of habbit. A trend. A God damned standard. Now, whatever the objective may bare, I am willing to take and accept it. While I would rather put up a fight and pin someone, I guess I'll have to make myself avalable to escape. Now, I'm not confident that I will walk out of SuperBrawl as the champion, I can't say that, and I am not going to. But I damn well going to try. When I'm out there, I'm going to put everything on the line and I will stop at nothing. The blood, the sweat, tears, and every form of suffering concivable to the human mind won't stop me. And when I've proven myself and did my job, maybe, just maybe, I will walk away champion; I never know. If I fail, fine. It won't stop things, infact, it'll make me want it even more. Thus, further rendering me even more determined and exited. I live for it.
One advantage I'll have over me is that I'll be standing on familiar ground. I know what my opponents are capable of. I've studied them well before I've faced them before, and I've studied them even futher since. Calvin Lee, the sound of your very name alone brings to mind a vivid image of the man you really are. Or, the man whom you think you are. What pains me to see is that for a man of such great talent, you have degraded yourself to a moniker that is mediocre at best. How many times are we going to see the same pompous a**hole step between those ropes? Like myself once upon a time ago, you hold yourself superior above everyone else. Overall, it's a packaged deal; avalable to everyone whose ever entertained the thought of thus becoming a wrestler. I've brought you to your limits, and for that I did my job. I won my match, and I made you a better man, although despite that, you have yet to learn from your mistake. I'm unwrapping the box, and I will once again redeem you from your skin; showing the whole world that man you really are. I'm going down to the core. How deep will I go? From deep with in.
Calvin Lee, you are easy, and you're just waiting for me to take advantage of you; which I will. Just try to prove to me how wrong I really am... Although, I doubt there's any chance of that happening.
I've addressed certain issues, and expressed what needed to be said; I saved the best for last. Obo, last week on Odium I asked myself one question when I stepped into the ring with you. It's a question that'll probably continue to linger on well past SuperBrawl. Obo, what kind of man are you? I'm not expecting an answer from you, although I do recon I have an idea. Obo you stem me as a god damned coward. You've indirectly antagonized me through Vanessa. I love my wife; still inlove with her in fact. And I take those awful words toing offense; I was well prepared to verbally tare you a new a**hole. I'm not going to. Anymore. I took myself away from the world and contemplated my actions. I could stand here, get all pissed, tell you how much I loathe you for dissrespecting Vanessa, and describe how I'm going to kick your ass, and put you in your place on SuperBrawl. I want to say that; I should. But I'm not going to. Because, by doing that, I will be falling into the trap of which you have prepared for me. If there's anything you're expecting me to do-and-or-say, it's that. I am withdrawing you away from the satisfaction. I am seeing past that and moving foward. The only thing that will still remain is the underlining fact that you're a coward. Calling you a wimp or a **** would be a compliment. So, coward, is the truly the obvious choice for words. It's what you are. If you were really as great as you sell yourself, you would've taken the shot at me. You would have left Vanessa out of it, and you would've left Drakz and Kyzer out of it. As far as I'm concerned, they have no place in our match, so why bring them in. I am right here, half drunk and all alone. Come on, give it to me. Take your shot and do it now!
The reason you can't verbally touch me is because your scared. Saying anything less of me would be rendered a lie. You know it. You live it; it's the truth. You know what I can do and for that you fear me. I await the moment when you tell me how good I really am.
Among everyone else, I'm going into this as the underdog. One year ago, I was elminated from the New Breed battle royale at Distance. Eight months ago, I got fired, without notice, and was withdrawn from Fully Charged's fatal-four-way. I came back, and two months ago, I lost a match to Jason Viera at Scars and Stripes. Everyone took Viera on their shoulders and celebrated; I was left alone in the middle distance. Where's Viera now and why am I still standing?
*
IT'S SHOWTIME. Wayne sits on the Harley; despite what he's said, the Hog's a bitch that's hard to miss. Producers and assistants scowers like ants; there isn't any stop for another hour and a half. The Harley stands quiet; hallogen lights and black drapes surround the area. Everything either to fast or to slow; adrenaline. Wayne loves it. Vanessa walks foward, barefoot; the Gyno Championship placed around her waist.
Hey...
Hey...
Wayne takes a deep breath as Vanessa places her arms around him. Wayne shuts his eyes; it's beautiful. It's bliss; peace. The opening chords to "Superunkown" begins to roll. It's time. Vanessa releases and takes a couple steps back; Wayne kicks the Harley into life. The engines roar. Vanessa motions foward and kisses Wayne in the lips. She pulls away; it's what she has to do. Vanessa slowly walks away; Wayne watches her. A pattern slowly settles across the pale concrete floor. It's almost familiar; a siries of curves, it looks almost like a finger print. It exactly matches the same one he saw on the walls of Vanessa's bedroom. With every step Vanessa takes, a new pattern emerges. It's her footprint. Vanessa turns to Wayne, he catches her gaze; his hand turns, the bike pulls him away from her and into the noise of the sold out...
Once upon a time there were three little pigs and the time came for them to leave home and seek their fortunes.
Before they left, their mother told them " Whatever you do , do it the best that you can because that's the way to get along in the world.
The first little pig built his house out of straw because it was the easiest thing to do.
The second little pig built his house out of sticks. This was a little bit stronger than a straw house.
The third little pig built his house out of bricks.
One night the big bad wolf, who dearly loved to eat fat little piggies, came along and saw the first little pig in his house of straw. He said "Let me in, Let me in, little pig or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!"
"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin", said the little pig.
But of course the wolf did blow the house in and ate the first little pig.
The wolf then came to the house of sticks.
"Let me in ,Let me in little pig or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in" "Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin", said the little pig. But the wolf blew that house in too, and ate the second little pig.
The wolf then came to the house of bricks.
" Let me in , let me in" cried the wolf
"Or I'll huff and I'll puff till I blow your house in"
"Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin" said the pigs.
Well, the wolf huffed and puffed but he could not blow down that brick house.
But the wolf was a sly old wolf and he climbed up on the roof to look for a way into the brick house.
The little pig saw the wolf climb up on the roof and lit a roaring fire in the fireplace and placed on it a large kettle of water.
When the wolf finally found the hole in the chimney he crawled down and KERSPLASH right into that kettle of water and that was the end of his troubles with the big bad wolf.
The next day the little pig invited his mother over . She said "You see it is just as I told you. The way to get along in the world is to do things as well as you can." Fortunately for that little pig, he learned that lesson. And he just lived happily ever after!
*
SHE WAS ALREADY half asleep by the time he began. So it was no real surpirse that she was deep into slumber's embrace by the time he ended. She lies nestled in his arms; her little head resting on his chest. Times like these are hard to come by. Whenever the chance arises, he does whatever he can to take full advantage of it. She slowed him down. For the better; that was an underlined fact. In retrospect, she's his walking, breathing championship belt. The only thing that could take her away from him is another man; but that's still fifteen years ahead of our time, at the very least. There was something about that story... But it is not very important right now. This, this rare moment with his child, is the only thing that matters in this world. No pleasure or crisis could break it. God, she drewls in her sleep; like her father.
It what had been Vanessa's bedroom for nineteen years, has become her's for the night. Jesus, was the room cold; the way she likes it; like her mother. Jesus, was he blasphemous. Wayne rises from the rocking chair from where he sat, and cradles the child in his arms. An old lamp; a carnivale is etched into the vae above; tones the room's pale walls to a mild yellow shade. Wayne motions towards the bed and tucks the child deep into woolen sheets; across the sleeping child, on the pale walls, a Smashing Pumpkins poster stamps pinned. Good band. Vanessa favorite. A patter forms underneath the poster; a siries on intricate curves. Wayne sets a closer look in. Still to hard to tell; isn't really that important, albeit intriguing. Wayne kisses the girl in the forehead; darkness descending upon the room. Wayne motions out the door.
The mahogany hallway beyond Vanessa's door is shrouded in a dystany worth of silent memories; painfully embroided Persian carpets line the floor beneath his boots. Wayne takes to the left and discovers a new moment with every new step; many aged into sepia. Wayne comes across a faded old photo of a young girl. She has her hair kept back in a pony tail, freckles, and a familiar smile settled across her face. The girl is kept in suspended, in mid-air, porched on a swing. The aged picture begins to move before him. The girl, now swinging back, rapidly matures before his eyes. She fleetingly glides before him. Her facial features now come into view. Reflex dwells in; Wayne blinks.
. But he caught a sudden glimpse of her; Vanessa. It's a sight he won't soon forget. Wayne returns back to the world he knows and paces down the hallway.Towards the staircase, another picture traps Wayne. A three piece family enjoying a meal. Unlike the former, it refuses to animate, but it leaves Wayne with wonder and amazement. It's a photo of Wayne, Vanessa, and their then-two year old daughter.
*
Come SuperBrawl, I shall bare the third piece to a caged puzzle. I will be the third man, in the third match from the last, in my third appearcance on a pay-per-view, facing what could be my third pay per view loss in rapid sucession. I've lined my words repeatedly inside, yet despite that, they seem impossible to mount. Amputated, I'm cut off from the tools of which I bare. My problems escalade until they fall; crashing over me. Recovery a horrendous impossibility. In fault of my own, I stumbled and drowned into the deep primordial stew of the WFWF. It was long 'til I was blessed with the chance. And when it floated my way, I took Vanessa by the palm of hand, and together, we surfaced out. Since, we saw the mountain and began our ascend. We climbed and climbed, even as the stones of the promotion rained upon us, we took the challenge and pressited on foward. For that, we rose further than everyone had anticepated. We accepted the open hand, the invitation, the saving grace; yet, we've continued to presist on our own. SuperBrawl is only the budding climax to an orgasm, and there isn't a damn thing anyone can do to stop it.
I look at the picture, and it's perfectly clear that I am a man of change. My life is indeed softer than it used to be and my outlook has since broadend. Although, in little ways, I rediscover myself. I take myself for the man I am, the man I was, and the man I will be. I'm breaking the mold and changing their preceptions. Did anyone ever stop to think past the Harley and take me for the man I really am? I'm a
ing wrestler God damn it! I may be a biker, but I'm also a wrestler, and I'll take the latter any damn day. But, it's so easy for people to take me as just another biker, I am above that. Anyone who has come across my path knows that it's a God given fact. I should be damned well comended for proving my worth.A short time ago, in the middle of my fleeting intoxication, I told myself that I wasn't a confident man; that confidence is nothing more than a superficial emotion. While it may very well be true that nothing in this world is sure. We never know what's ahead of us, just like I don't know what's ahead of my on SuperBrawl. I've got an idea, I've prepared myself, and I still don't even know. I can drop dead five minutes from now, for all I know. And I don't. The beautiful thing about this is that I can give myself the right to enjoy SuperBrawl for all its worth. I'm confident about having a good match. I'm confident that I'll get myself over. But I don't know if I will walk away champion. I can say I'm going to. Because Lord only knows how much I want it. So I am going to do the only thing I can: fight for it. That I'm confident about.
*
IT'S A QUARTER to nine. They've been in the home of Vanessa's parents for a good day now, and Wayne still feels out of place. Wayne reaches the living room. There's a crisp notion of age and decadence between the walls. He recons if he had stepped into the home thirty years ago, it would have possibly looked the same. A baby-grand piano appears to be the center piece to the room. In the foreground, three sofa's stand; a beautiful pattern embroided into the fabric. The sofa's host Vanessa's relatives, amidst in a conversation. In French. God, although it gave a quaint little sense to the place. What had surprised Wayne about Montreal, is that for a place so near, it had the distinct aura of a foreign land. The accent probably has something to do with it. The French accent. Although, Vanessa's relatives spoke with a mild accent; she doesn't. She, in lack for better words, speaks normally. She has a normal accent; he can perfectly understand everything she mutters out. Why couldn't he say the same about the Brits? He can't even begin to comprehend how they could understand each other. Though, he should know, his grandfather was a Welsh. Note to self: must learn. But Montreal's distinction stretched far beyond an accent. Wayne can see Vanessa's grandmother, with the Gyno Championship layed before her; a smile settled across her face. Proud.
Wayne motions out the living room, crosses the empty dining room and walks into the kitchen. If you've seen one kitchen, you've seen them all. He thinks back to dinner, it was early by his standards, but it was pretty
ing good; veal ragout and ratauoi, an assortment of vegtables cooked in stewed tomatos. Wayne's eyes Vanessa, washing the dishes; her reflection bounces from the window above the sink. Her dark-auburn curtains restrained in a ponytail; a dark-green suede blouse is drapped around her, barely concealing the space between her breasts; a tight leather skirt flows beneath. Slowly, he reaches her. He quietly places his arms around her waist. He closes his eyes and smells the honey-almond in her hair. He brings his lips to the back of her milky neck as his hands slowly inch lower. She jolts in surprise.Bonsoir Monsieur McGurk. Comment allez-vous?
Bein merci, et tu?
That didn't come out right.
Vanessa places her hand on Wayne's cheek.
You're learning! Je voudrais prende un bain. You understand what I just said?
Not a
ing word.Vanessa gently taps his cheek.
I know.
A small bite of dissapointment.
Is Scarlett asleep?
I tucked her in no more than fifteen minutes ago.
That's good. I want to take a bath.
Wayne could see the small droplets of sweat pour down Vanessa chest. He devours one; salty. Good.
Do it.
I'm not even halfway done here.
Wayne places his hand inside her shirt; the other pinned at her hip. He firmly tucks his fingers between her skin and the hemilne of her skirt. Vanessa's hands tread back to the sink. Wayne reaches Vanessa's lace panty. She takes a tighter grip on the faucet. She playfully squirms in his grasp and closes her eyes. He pulls her into him; she can feel him. He tuggles his hand to the side and slips his hand beneath the lace; he feels her. She cups her hand in his and withdraws his hand from inside her. Damn it.
Later.
Come on...
You really want to do something?
I do.
You wanna make me feel good; make me happy; come all over you?
Oh yeah. You know I can.
I do. Here; catch!
Vanessa throws a rag at his direction.
You
ing tease.Merci. Come on, give me a hand.
Si seniorita.
That isn't French and don't be so glum. I'll make it up to you in awhile.
What's awhile?
When we've finshed and I've bathed.
Vanessa hands Wayne a plate. Defeated, he takes the plate from her and starts to wipe. The family's Pomerainian begins to bark at Wayne; just like the rest of the family. Wayne refuses to mind the little bastard. A stabbing pain slowly sinks deep into Wayne's leg. McGurk investigates and the
ing bastard is biting his leg. Wayne releases the plate, pulls his leg away, and as a reflex it charges back into the ground. It misses the floor, but lands on the damn dog's head instead. The plate follows, and crashes over the dog. The final blow. Wayne and Vanessa look down to find blood slowly excreting out of the dog's head. There is just no win with this family.I'm sorry...
That's all?
I don't know what to say, it was an accident.
Better; right...
Better late than never.
She murmurs.
What?
Vanessa parents stand in the door way. At least the dog's dead.
*
AFTER A BRIEF FUNERAL and a tetanous shot, Wayne commiserates in the wine cellar. They burried the dog in an actual coffin. A coffin, for a dog. Wayne digged a ditch three feet into the ground, which should've been enough for a dog, but it wasn't. He dug six feet into the ground. Six
ing feet. As he burrowed, he could hear Vanessa's grandmother screaming in French. Vanessa later translated her words for him; was something like, "That dog lived through wars, earthquakes, fires, blackouts, but it died in a wreslter foot!". Sounded better in French, at least she called him a wrestler. What's ironic is that the Big Boot is one of his trademark moves; who knew it would be used as an "instrument of death". Vanessa told him that the dog was a pain in the ass to begin with. To top it off, it had liver cancer, so, as Vanessa see's it, he did good. There's good ventalation in the brick wine cellar. There aew several small rows of wine, and Wayne decides to take from the top of the litter. He's dead. He's dead. There's not a damn thing he can do to bring it back. It stings, but there are bigger issues to face. SuperBrawl. It's fitted that the windows of the cellar are barred, because he faces a similar fate on SuperBrawl. It's almost like a meal; you've got your triple threat and to top it off, you've got your steel cage. It's familar territory to Wayne McGurk. Wayne removes the cork and takes a good swig.
This is just the begining for me; everything I've set myself out for. To some people, this chance comes immediately; it took a damn year for me. Back then, I just could not begin to comprehend the very idea that my career was going down the toilet. Unbeknownst to me, I had to learn. And for that it made me twice the man I was. It's been said that I once held the UCW World Heavyweight Championship for three straight years. While it has no relavence, it does bare repeating. As I started out, on Hyrbid, I figured that everything was just going to come my way. I forgot that I had to earn things. I stuck around and stagnated and for that I was layed off. I had to learn. I wasn't as good as I thought I was. That's the harsh realitly, and when you take it in, it's perfectly clear: I'm not any good. But I try and I learn. You see, my time in the UCW was good, but as far as I'm concerned, it's as good as dead to me. I'm not under their roster anymore, and to be honest, I never conjured going back. It's done, I'm moving foward, and as stupid as this sounds, I bleed the WFWF. Victory or defeat, I will proclaim myself as purely WFWF and nothing more. I'm placing my foot down; this is where I want to be. I've sacrificed myself, I've learned from my mistakes, and I've earned my spot. There isn't anywhere else I ought to be. And there isn't anywhere else I want to be. SuperBrawl will be the end of my past, and the begining of the rest of my life. Everything prior to that will be rendered insignificant.
The alcohol slowly kicks in; Wayne feeling it.
If we tread back to the past, we remember that the intital conception of the steel cage was to keep the combatants in the ring, with no way out. That is why I do shed blood over tears whenever I see the wrestlers try to escape. Own up to all your fears, be a man, and take it. The reason you're inside it is to fight; you aren't supposed to escape. But despite that, it's now become a form of habbit. A trend. A God damned standard. Now, whatever the objective may bare, I am willing to take and accept it. While I would rather put up a fight and pin someone, I guess I'll have to make myself avalable to escape. Now, I'm not confident that I will walk out of SuperBrawl as the champion, I can't say that, and I am not going to. But I damn well going to try. When I'm out there, I'm going to put everything on the line and I will stop at nothing. The blood, the sweat, tears, and every form of suffering concivable to the human mind won't stop me. And when I've proven myself and did my job, maybe, just maybe, I will walk away champion; I never know. If I fail, fine. It won't stop things, infact, it'll make me want it even more. Thus, further rendering me even more determined and exited. I live for it.
One advantage I'll have over me is that I'll be standing on familiar ground. I know what my opponents are capable of. I've studied them well before I've faced them before, and I've studied them even futher since. Calvin Lee, the sound of your very name alone brings to mind a vivid image of the man you really are. Or, the man whom you think you are. What pains me to see is that for a man of such great talent, you have degraded yourself to a moniker that is mediocre at best. How many times are we going to see the same pompous a**hole step between those ropes? Like myself once upon a time ago, you hold yourself superior above everyone else. Overall, it's a packaged deal; avalable to everyone whose ever entertained the thought of thus becoming a wrestler. I've brought you to your limits, and for that I did my job. I won my match, and I made you a better man, although despite that, you have yet to learn from your mistake. I'm unwrapping the box, and I will once again redeem you from your skin; showing the whole world that man you really are. I'm going down to the core. How deep will I go? From deep with in.
Calvin Lee, you are easy, and you're just waiting for me to take advantage of you; which I will. Just try to prove to me how wrong I really am... Although, I doubt there's any chance of that happening.
I've addressed certain issues, and expressed what needed to be said; I saved the best for last. Obo, last week on Odium I asked myself one question when I stepped into the ring with you. It's a question that'll probably continue to linger on well past SuperBrawl. Obo, what kind of man are you? I'm not expecting an answer from you, although I do recon I have an idea. Obo you stem me as a god damned coward. You've indirectly antagonized me through Vanessa. I love my wife; still inlove with her in fact. And I take those awful words to
ing offense; I was well prepared to verbally tare you a new a**hole. I'm not going to. Anymore. I took myself away from the world and contemplated my actions. I could stand here, get all pissed, tell you how much I loathe you for dissrespecting Vanessa, and describe how I'm going to kick your ass, and put you in your place on SuperBrawl. I want to say that; I should. But I'm not going to. Because, by doing that, I will be falling into the trap of which you have prepared for me. If there's anything you're expecting me to do-and-or-say, it's that. I am withdrawing you away from the satisfaction. I am seeing past that and moving foward. The only thing that will still remain is the underlining fact that you're a coward. Calling you a wimp or a **** would be a compliment. So, coward, is the truly the obvious choice for words. It's what you are. If you were really as great as you sell yourself, you would've taken the shot at me. You would have left Vanessa out of it, and you would've left Drakz and Kyzer out of it. As far as I'm concerned, they have no place in our match, so why bring them in. I am right here, half drunk and all alone. Come on, give it to me. Take your shot and do it now!The reason you can't verbally touch me is because your scared. Saying anything less of me would be rendered a lie. You know it. You live it; it's the truth. You know what I can do and for that you fear me. I await the moment when you tell me how good I really am.
Among everyone else, I'm going into this as the underdog. One year ago, I was elminated from the New Breed battle royale at Distance. Eight months ago, I got fired, without notice, and was withdrawn from Fully Charged's fatal-four-way. I came back, and two months ago, I lost a match to Jason Viera at Scars and Stripes. Everyone took Viera on their shoulders and celebrated; I was left alone in the middle distance. Where's Viera now and why am I still standing?
*
IT'S SHOWTIME. Wayne sits on the Harley; despite what he's said, the Hog's a bitch that's hard to miss. Producers and assistants scowers like ants; there isn't any stop for another hour and a half. The Harley stands quiet; hallogen lights and black drapes surround the area. Everything either to fast or to slow; adrenaline. Wayne loves it. Vanessa walks foward, barefoot; the Gyno Championship placed around her waist.
Hey...
Hey...
Wayne takes a deep breath as Vanessa places her arms around him. Wayne shuts his eyes; it's beautiful. It's bliss; peace. The opening chords to "Superunkown" begins to roll. It's time. Vanessa releases and takes a couple steps back; Wayne kicks the Harley into life. The engines roar. Vanessa motions foward and kisses Wayne in the lips. She pulls away; it's what she has to do. Vanessa slowly walks away; Wayne watches her. A pattern slowly settles across the pale concrete floor. It's almost familiar; a siries of curves, it looks almost like a finger print. It exactly matches the same one he saw on the walls of Vanessa's bedroom. With every step Vanessa takes, a new pattern emerges. It's her footprint. Vanessa turns to Wayne, he catches her gaze; his hand turns, the bike pulls him away from her and into the noise of the sold out...
