Post by Mr.Ego on Sept 23, 2017 1:55:35 GMT -5
Friday, July 7, 2017 - New Orleans, Louisiana: New Orleans City Park - Day Two of Wrestlestock
"Alan! Alan, can you hear me?!"
He can't focus, and even if he could, it's unlikely he would be able to see anyway, due to the sheer amount of blood that covers his once-pristine face. The match itself was bad enough, as both B-Pac and Jason Ingalls had thrown everything they had at the team of 'Sex and Violence', and on this night, they stood victorious over the multi-time champions that had fast become one of the most liked cooperative teams in this company's history. But times, they do indeed change.
"Alan Wallace, you gotta give us something."
He heard the voices all shouting down at him, as he was wheeled through the backstage area on what he only surmised was a stretcher. But frankly, he didn't care. His head hurt too badly, whether it was due to Ingalls and that steel chair shot, or from Killian…
Ahh yes, Killian. Alan's partner, his confidant, his best friend. At least that was what he had thought, at least up until about fifteen minutes ago.
You see, Vain didn't hold Jase's actions against him. 'Do everything in your power to win' was always the mantra that he had lived by, going all the way back to when he was a headstrong kid just starting out his career. Jase saw an opening, and he took it… and if he was in any condition to do so, Vain would walk up to Jason Ingalls and shake his hand right now… congratulating him on his first-ever championship as an in-ring competitor. Even if had come at 'The Vain One's' own expense. But what Killian King had done… that could never be forgiven.
"Alan, you gotta give us something, man."
Even with his brain scrambled from Jase going 'yard' on his cranium, Vain remembered everything that occurred after he and his partner had embraced, and then disappeared through the curtain. The straight right hand that had knocked him against the wall; the vicious European Uppercut that had lifted him completely off his feet; the big boot that could have done serious damage to Vain's pearly whites. He remembered the wide-open feeling of flying through the curtain, courtesy of the overhead throw that 'The Gentleman's Savage' had so graciously shown him after their horrific Cooperative Championship Match. He also, vividly, remembered how it felt when his body slammed into the hard steel of the stage. True to form, Killian had stayed on the attack. It was a trait that, before tonight, he had always admired in 'England's Greatest Export'.
Now? Not so much…
"We're gonna have to get him to Tulane Medical, pronto. Likely concussion, possible damage to his nasal cavity and orbital sockets, and he still has yet to respond."
A Black Adder onto the steel grating, followed by three Beefeaters. Each time that he had tried to get back to his feet, to figure out why this was happening… Killian had taken it upon himself to not only put him down, but the look in his eyes had told Vain that he wanted to put his partner out of the company. Completely. And only when Vain could not physically get up again, did the vicious onslaught cease.
Frustration is one thing, as Vain himself was frustrated at the outcome here tonight. But the malicious intent in the actions perpetrated by Killian here tonight, but more importantly, the utter look of disgust and contempt that was etched on his face as he was assaulting Alan Wallace… this was something that had been brewing for quite some time. Vain had known that Killian had been teetering on the edge of blowing up for the last few weeks, but this? This was so, so much more. How long had he been planning this attack? Weeks? Months? Since Vain had brought him to UGWC?
How had he not seen it? How could he have allowed himself to be caught off guard like this? How?
The sound of the ambulance backing up finally brings Alan Wallace to his senses, albeit slightly. Keeping his eyes closed hadn't stopped the searing pain from emanating throughout his entire head and face, and opening his eyes magnified it ten-fold. The backstage medical staffing members and paramedics that surround him all begin talking at once, but Vain does his best to ignore them. Instead, he begins attempting to get off the stretcher, to the objections of all those around him.
He catches a glimpse of Simon Wellington, standing off to the side as he worriedly checks on his client. Vain motions for him, and then also notices the head trainer, JK, standing beside of Simon. Vain motions for him as well, and as both men near him, he leans over and whispers something into Wellington's ear.
"Alan wants me to thank you for the tremendous help that you have been to him here this evening, but in his own words… and I am sure that this is the concussion talking… but he isn't planning on being loaded into that fucking ambulance."
Numerous protests arise, to which Simon begins speaking once more as he looks over at JK.
"Alan has requested that JK and I take him to the hospital ourselves."
Again, numerous protests arise from the paramedics, causing the concerned Simon Wellington to become annoyed with the peons in front of him.
"Yes, I am well aware of the risks if he is not taken to the hospital immediately. Which is why I am leaving with him as soon as I load him into my vehicle. You all can feel free to follow us there if you would like. Alan is not against being checked out at a well-renowned medical facility such as Tulane Medical Center, but I know him well enough to know that if I allow him to be loaded into that ambulance by you good people, not only will I be out of a job, but I likely will also end up at a hospital of my choosing, in due time when he is feeling more himself. And frankly gentlemen... my pay, and my own physical well-being, will not allow that to happen. Thank you, and have a great day."
With that, Simon begins helping Alan towards the exit, with JK following behind. Ever the opportunistic little cunt, Jason Reeves rushes up towards the three of them, microphone in hand.
Reeves: "Vain! What are your thoughts on what Killian did here tonight?!"
===============================================
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
Simon stares at the phone for what seems like an eternity, Eden Morgan's voice ringing in his ears.
"…you lost Alan?"
Finally, after the sixth and seventh times of reading that most recent Twitter post, it had finally started to sink in. He had lost Alan. Not in the general sense, like one loses a set of car keys, or a child loses a toy. Alan Wallace was a grown adult, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He certainly didn't need a caretaker… someone to watch his every move, and ensure that he was going to be safe with anything and everything that he did. In a perfect world, 'Vain' Alan Wallace would make his way through this world the exact way that he had maneuvered his way through his wrestling career. With elegance, dignity, and his own certain flair for the dramatic.
But these were far from perfect times.
The physical injuries had certainly taken their toll, and had taken time to fully heal, that much is true. Yet, it was the mental pain that had kept him up at nights. The emotional turmoil that Alan Wallace had been through since that fateful evening in New Orleans over two months ago had waged its own mini-war within 'Arrogance Personified', varying from bouts of severe depression, to fits of violent rage. Still, it was but one question that led to both. 'Why'?
Why had Killian chosen to try and injure his partner, just to break free from their team? Would a simple conversation been too much to ask?
If Killian wanted to venture out into singles competition, why not just come to Alan like a man and tell him. The man known as Alan Wallace most certainly would have understood, considering he spent the better part of 2015 carrying the company on his back as its World Heavyweight Champion.
Most importantly, why had Killian chosen to ruin years of friendship, just because Eden Morgan's true colors had finally revealed themselves? Was he so love scorned, that he would allow the actions of a devilish harlot to skew his view on anything and everything around him, and lash out at the one closest to him, in a fit of rage?
For those that following professional wrestling, the answer to that last question was made abundantly clear on the night of July 7th, in New Orleans, Louisiana. And for the last month-and-a-half, it is a reality that Simon Wellington has watched Alan Wallace relive, time and time again.
All because of Eden Morgan.
The thought of her causes Simon to look back down at his phone, as he fires off a reply to UGWC's 'Sweetheart.
"He's a grown man, Ms. Morgan. I'm sure he has his reasons for going off the proverbial grid."
Even after he had posted the words, they had rang hollow. Alan Wallace was, normally, a man that loved being in the limelight. There wasn't a single instance in time where Simon can remember Vain not wanting to be seen or heard, in some way, shake, or form. 'Going off the grid', frankly, was a term that he would have no semblance of knowledge of. Yet, that is exactly what he had done.
And that is exactly why Simon now finds himself at a place where he never expected, nor wanted, to be.
"The fuck are you doing here, Wellington" the man barks, as the sound of the door slamming behind him is heard. "Have you lost your ever-loving, fuckin' mind?"
With a sigh, Simon places his cellphone into his pocket, before fixing his face with a smile. Turning, his head moves upwards, his eyes locking with those of 'The Drunken Buzzsaw' himself, Chaos.
"You gotten hard of hearing in your old age" he asks, as his hands instinctively form into fists. "Or you just looking for me to finish what I fuckin' started back in GCW?"
"Chad, it is a pleasure to see you, my good man. You're looking well."
"And you still look like a fuckin' schmuck" comes the curt reply from Chad Anthony. "The fuck you want, Simon?"
"Well Chad, as you well know, Outlast is less than two weeks away, and as you witnessed first-hand during the Outlast Draft Special, Alan Wallace has been selected to be on Team Hastings for this year's festivities-"
"The fuck's that gotta do with me?"
Simon fakes a laugh, as he takes a step forward. Chaos, by pure reflex, comes down the first two steps that lead up to the massive porch that adorns the DMW Clubhouse. Simon, realizing the error of his ways, immediately takes two steps backwards, flashing a nervous grin at his longtime adversary.
"My apologies, Chad. I was merely wondering if…. If you had seen Alan lately?"
"Why in the bluest of all shits would I see Wallace" he asks incredulously, glaring at Simon for many moments before continuing. "He wouldn't even think about stepping foot on this property again, that much I can fuckin' assure you!"
Simon, his head moving in a downward position, stares at his shoes for a few seconds, as Chaos eyes him inquisitively. A look of realization soon hits 'The Buzzsaw', causing him to chuckle.
"You don't have a clue where he's at, do you Wellington" he asks, his answer provided to him when Simon Wellington looks back up at him, uncertainty etched on his face.
"Fucks sake, Wellington, consider it a sign from whatever fuckin' higher power you believe in" he says laughing, before taking a gulp from the bottle of Chadweiser that he pulls from his front pants pocket and opens. "You're finally rid of that arrogant fuckin' twatstain. I say enjoy it, and get the fuck away from Miami as soon as you can. You're finally free, asshole."
A mixture of anger and annoyance appears on Simon's face, as he takes a step towards Chaos.
"Free? You think that I'm free? Hardly, Mr. Anthony. Alan is not only my client, but he's also my friend. And after what Killian King put him through, finding him is the only thing that is on my mind right now!"
"Oh spare me the fuckin' pity party, Wellington" spits Chaos, as he tosses the bottle off to the side, before stepping down off the porch steps completely, and walking up to the former wrestler. "So he got attacked by someone he thought was a friend. Big fuckin' deal. Not like that shit hasn't happened to everyone at some point in time. Shit, didn't I do the same to you, ending that worthless speck of fuckin' time that you considered yourself a professional wrestler?"
"I'm not sure we were ever, what you would call, friends, Chaos."
He almost sneers Cha's in-ring name, the look in his eyes almost daring 'The Drunken Buzzsaw' to do something about it. Chaos, to his credit, doesn't take the bait. Instead, he laughs in the mans face, as he pulls out his pack of smokes. Taking one from the package, he replaces them in the inner pocket of his cut, before pulling his Zippo from his pants pocket. Lighting his Marlboro, he inhales deeply, and exhales slowly… blowing the smoke directly at Simon Wellington. Simon takes a few steps back, recoiling from the smoke that just hangs in the dense Louisiana air.
"I know you don't think of me as the smartest man, Wellington" Chaos begins, flicking the burnt ash from the end of his cigarette, "but even I'm smart enough to know that, if you two were friends, you'd know where the fuck he is."
Simon doesn't say anything, but deep down, he knows that Chaos is right.
"'Sides" Chaos continues, as he takes another drag, "who gives a shit if he was drafted to Hastings' team anyway? What's not showing up gonna do? Christ, he's been MIA for months anyway. What's one more show to blow off, as he continues being pussy-hurt and crying himself to sleep at night?"
"I just think it will help him get through all that he has been through, that's all."
"What, by getting his ass beat" Chaos asks incredulously. "Look, I know when it comes to Wallace, your over-intelligent ass can't see your nose in order to spite your face, so I'm gonna break it down for you real quick. Wallace ain't what he used to be, Simon. Far from it. He's got a knack for living off of past accomplishments, that much I'll give him… HSW, his reign as the World Champ in UGWC, and whatever bullshit that dipshit was involved in between those two time periods… but he isn't nearly as good as you, or he, thinks he is anymore. He's gotten old, he's gotten slow, and if Wrestlestock was any indication, he's gotten fuckin' stupid, too."
"And here you want someone that you call a friend to get embarassed in front of the world, yet again" he asks, disbelievingly. "Christ man… even I'm not that fuckin' callous."
"I think you, and a lot of others, would be surprised at just how much Alan has left in the proverbial tank, Mr. Anthony."
"And I think you're nothing more than a blubbering Vain fanboy, Simon" he answers, as he takes one last puff from his smoke, before butting it out on the heel of his boot, and then tossing it into the driveway. "What do you think is gonna happen even if he does show up in Newark?"
"I think he helps Team Hastings eliminate Team Rydell, moves on to the Main Event… and if Killian can somehow manage to eliminate the love of that pathetic excuse of what he calls a life… right the wrongs that were done to him twelve weeks ago."
"Yeah" Chaos says, as he turns and walks over towards a lawn chair that rests in the front yard, "and if your Aunt had a prick, she'd be your fuckin' Uncle."
Simon sighs heavily, before pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
"Always a way with words, Mr. Anthony."
"Pretty good with drinking, fighting, and fucking, too" he says, as he lights another smoke. "But this ain't about me. This is about what UGWC has in store for that pissant you call a client, if he shows his face in Jersey. You stand here expecting me to believe that not only will Wallace find his way to the main event, but that the stars will align and lighting will strike, and he will not only get the chance to enact his revenge for Killian rearranging his fuckin' face at Wrestlestock, but will actually be successful in doing so? After being out of action for the last two months? Boy, you're fuckin' mental."
"I am far from a boy, Mr. Anthony… and I am most definitely not your boy."
"Just shut the fuck up and listen, Simon, because I don't think you've been paying attention to what's been going on in UGWC lately" Chaos states matter-of-factly. "You might look down your nose at Team Rydell, but they have the ability to surprise a lot of fuckin' people in this tournament. Rydell has come on strong lately… fuckin' kid had a fire lit under his ass or something, and he's wrestling better now than I've seen since I joined the company. And the more success he has, the better he's gonna continue to get. You and I both know that Deimos is probably the stalwart of the entire fuckin' company, and he always performs at his highest, when the most is on the line. Mathis is fuckin' lightning quick in that ring, and hasn't even realized her full potential in this business. When she does… watch out. And the new kid? Chassie Fear's kid. And while she might not be her mother in that ring… greatness is in her goddamn genes. She just has to realize it."
Chaos allows the words to permeate for a few moments, giving Simon the time to digest everything that he has said, but cuts him off before he has a chance to speak.
"Shut the fuck up, because I'm not finished" he spits, the look in his eyes telling Simon that, for now, it's best he keep quiet. "The team that your cocksmoke of a client was drafted onto? Sure, they have the talent to all make it to the World Title match against Baal at the end of the night. All former champions at every fuckin' level in the entire fuckin' company… your dumbass client included. But you expect them to get along? Were you born yesterday? Christ son, we all saw how well Hastings and Zane got along last Monday when the Cooperative Titles were on the line. You put two egomaniacs like Pierce and Wallace with them, and those fuckin' four won't be able to get along well enough to get out of their own fuckin' way to do anything of consequence come Monday. And the sooner you come to that understanding, the better it'll be for your own sanity."
"You're entitled to your opinion, Chad."
"It ain't my fuckin' opinion, you ignorant fuckin' douche" Chaos says while laughing. "It's what's gonna happen, because it's the fuckin' truth. What, you think just because Wallace had previous success with Hastings and Scott in those rindy-dink fuckin' abominations they called stables, that history is gonna repeat itself, and they'll be propelled to victory in the Northeast? Ok, I'll play along… say they do get along well enough to make it to the Main Event. Then what? Say King's team gets beaten by Princess and her team of halfwit fucktards. Does your client even feign interest in being in the Main Event, if he moved on earlier in the night? Or does he take his ball and go back home for another couple of months? On the other hand, say King is in the match. We're talking about a World Title opportunity… and I know how much that schmuck loves having gold around his waist, so what then? Does he focus on King, and most likely lose his shot at regaining that title belt that I'm sure he bathed with at every opportunity when he held it two years ago? Or does he go for the title, and lose his shot at his revenge?"
He lights another cigarette, smiling, as he watches Wellington mentally go back and forth with what he has just said.
"And you expect someone that's gone off the fuckin' deep end to know what to do, in each of those situations, all while he doesn't even know which way is up because he lost his… what did they call each other? His heterosexual life partner? Seriously?"
Simon says nothing, instead preferring to stand silently, as he looks over at Chaos.
"Yeah, just what I thought" comes the disgusted response from 'The Drunken Buzzsaw'. "The fuck off this property, Wellington, before you get the same fuckin' treatment that Ingalls got when he was our guest for all those months."
Simon says nothing, as he turns and walks back towards his car.
===============================================
Tuesday, September 20th, 2017 - Dungeon of Pain
A table and chairs have been set up in the meeting room of the Dungeon of Pain, the training gym owned and operated by Donovan Hastings, that clearly has not been utilized in years. It is in disarray, dusty and cobwebbed, and has a musty scent to it.
Donovan sits at the head of the table, flanked by Owen Peterson. Opposite him on the other end of the table sits Zane Scott, with Larry standing just behind him. Travis Pierce sits on one side, with Alan Wallace across from him, however Vain is set back from the table, with Simon Wellington down on one knee next to him, whispering something in his ear.
Hastings: Thank you all for coming, obviously we have to go over our team strategy for Outlast, but first, let me begin by saying I’m very excited about this alliance, this is exactly the team I set out to put together when I sat down at the draft.
Zane: Maybe you could start by not patronizing us.
Simon leans towards Alan again, speaking in his ear.
"Does he honestly believe that anyone here suspects he purposely chose the team that he did, when we are all aware that each and every pick was inadvertent and, dare I say, slightly comical?"
Vain says nothing, only slightly exhaling, as he stares across the table at nothing in particular. Simon, realizing that he is going to have to step in for Vain during this meeting, decides to take action. Pulling a chair up to the table, he takes a seat, and then looks out across at the other three members of Team Hastings.
"I would point out that no one, not even Alan himself, knew he was returning in time for Outlast at the time of the draft."
Hastings: Who the fuck told you that you could speak?
Taken aback, Simon Wellington almost looks offended as he looks towards Donovan and speaks.
"Excuse me?"
Zane: I’d have to concur. Do you see him talking?
Zane gestures behind himself towards Larry.
Zane: Or him?
Zane points across the table at Owen standing behind Donovan, as Donovan nods in agreement.
Pierce: Sorry, should I have brought Rob?
Vain slowly turns his head towards Zane, watching as he first points out everyone's favorite masculinity-deficient metrosexual, and then points out Donovan's Simon… before slowly casting his gaze upon 'The Icon of Entertainment' himself. He contemplates speaking up, but prefers to instead refocus on the vast amount of nothingness that is situated across the table from him. The conversation has continued.
Hastings: Are you deaf? I started all this by saying we have to discuss our strategy.
Zane: No, I mean why are we here.
Zane gestures around at the surroundings.
Hastings: In the Dungeon of Pain?
Zane: If that’s what you call it.
Hastings: It’s certainly a better name than Der Ort Nehmen sie Hunde sie Kastrieren.
Zane: That’s not what I call my lair.
Hastings: Well, you should. Sounds to me like a name that would instill fear.
Zane: No. It just sounds weird, and vaguely insulting.
At this point, realizing this strategy meeting is going absolutely nowhere, Simon leans over to Vain and speaks.
"I feel coming here was a mistake. There is absolutely no way that these three individuals are going to come to any agreement on the strategy that will be involved to be successful next Monday. Honestly, they could meet every day for the rest of this week, and they will still be no closer to becoming a unified team than the North and the South were in the early-1860's. And quite frankly… you being here isn't going anybody any good, either."
Simon thinks he hears Vain give a slight 'hmph', but he can't be sure, as Donovan Hastings and Zane Scott are engaged in a war of words over the proper term to refer to Tate Levine's mother as, before then switching subjects to rickshaws. Typical Hastings, Simon thinks to himself. Focus on the inconsequential, forget about the real reason everyone is actually here. Yet one more reason why Vain's - and Simon's - services are no longer required for this preposterousness.
Zane: I fail to see the connection between my usage of a rickshaw, which is a delightful way to travel and helps me get my daily steps in, and your shitpile of a lair.
Pierce: Wait, which of you pulled the rickshaw?
Zane: It helps pay the bills.
Hastings: You shouldn’t have bills. You should have a self-sustaining lair, or don’t have one at all.
Simon, and then Vain, both rise from their seats.
Zane: If this was all I could manage for a lair, I’d go with not having one at all.
Hastings: You think you could do better?
Zane: I know a great interior decorator.
"Well gentlemen, I believe that our time here is finished. Please continue this asinine rambling… my client and I are leaving."
Hastings: There you go, fucking speaking again. And dammit, this is a team strategy meeting! This is important! Where are you going?!
Neither man says a word, as Simon opens the door, and he and Alan both exit. Before the door shuts, he hears Hastings one last time.
Hastings: Treachery! Mutiny! How dare those two depart 'The Lord of Pain Team Preparedness Meeting' without first being dismissed?!?! Insolence!
The door shuts, but as they walk through the corridors, Simon can still hear bits and pieces of what is going on inside.
Hastings: I don’t want this place looking like a German airport!
Zane: Nothing of the sort. She can have this place cleaned up and spiffy and stylish in record time. Could get us an ice cream machine too.
Pierce: I love ice cream.
Larry: Chocolate ice cream!
With a sad shake of his head, Simon opens the door that leads outside, first allowing Alan to exit, before walking through the door himself, the door closing behind him.
===============================================
Saturday, September 23, 2017 - Miami, Florida: Worth Estates
"I'm telling you Simon, I've never seen him like this before. I've known him to be a lot of things over the course of his life, but I've never seen him this down in the dumps. Frankly, it's worrying me."
"Has he spoken about the incident at all?"
"The incident? Hell Simon, he hasn't spoken, period. He just showed up here one day last week, bags in hand. I knew what had happened, and I even asked how he was handling things. He never uttered a peep. And you know how much he has always loved the sound of his own voice. He's scaring me."
"I was just with him for many hours this past Tuesday. I, too, have still yet to hear him speak. And then… and then there's this…"
Simon silently reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a set of folded up papers. He cautiously hands them over to the woman that most affectionately refer to as Candi, and she eyes them with hesitation.
"What's that?"
"It seems as if your dear Alan has taken to writing. He gave that to me when Team Hastings had their 'Lord of Pain Team Preparedness Meeting', or whatever it was that Donovan yelled at us as we were leaving. Apparently I am to make sense of that mumbo jumbo, like some sort of therapist. The issue, however, is that he still refuses to acknowledge me in any way, shape, or form. At least outside of the occasional stare, I might add. So honestly, I am not exactly sure what it is that I am supposed to do with that. I was hoping a fresh set of eyes might possibly help me understand just how deep of a hole he has dug for himself."
Slowly, Celeste reaches over and takes the papers. Unfolding, she begins to read.
Celeste puts the papers down, as she and Simon share a look of concern in silence
===============================================
Friday, July 7, 2017 - New Orleans, Louisiana: New Orleans City Park - Day Two of Wrestlestock
The question from Reeves rings in his ears, as do the thoughts that have been running through his mind ever since he had regained consciousness after the third and final Beefeater. What were his thoughts… and how could he not have seen this coming. JK takes it upon himself to attempt to get Reeves to back off, but Vain motions that it's ok.
As Reeves sticks the microphone in his face, a slideshow of sorts begins playing through the mind of 'Mr. Ego'. For every instance of Vain and Killian reigning supreme during their numerous Cooperative Title reigns, there is an instance of the Black Adder on the steel grating; for every instance of the two of them in good times, there is an instance of a Beefeater; for every happier time, a time of betrayal.
Through all of the blood, and through all of the pain, there is also a look of sadness in his face as he struggles to look up at the camera. It takes many moments for him to respond, whether due to the pain or the emotion, who can say? Once he finally does though, the four words he speaks resonates for all those that are around to hear them.
"He broke my heart…"
FIN
"Alan! Alan, can you hear me?!"
He can't focus, and even if he could, it's unlikely he would be able to see anyway, due to the sheer amount of blood that covers his once-pristine face. The match itself was bad enough, as both B-Pac and Jason Ingalls had thrown everything they had at the team of 'Sex and Violence', and on this night, they stood victorious over the multi-time champions that had fast become one of the most liked cooperative teams in this company's history. But times, they do indeed change.
"Alan Wallace, you gotta give us something."
He heard the voices all shouting down at him, as he was wheeled through the backstage area on what he only surmised was a stretcher. But frankly, he didn't care. His head hurt too badly, whether it was due to Ingalls and that steel chair shot, or from Killian…
Ahh yes, Killian. Alan's partner, his confidant, his best friend. At least that was what he had thought, at least up until about fifteen minutes ago.
You see, Vain didn't hold Jase's actions against him. 'Do everything in your power to win' was always the mantra that he had lived by, going all the way back to when he was a headstrong kid just starting out his career. Jase saw an opening, and he took it… and if he was in any condition to do so, Vain would walk up to Jason Ingalls and shake his hand right now… congratulating him on his first-ever championship as an in-ring competitor. Even if had come at 'The Vain One's' own expense. But what Killian King had done… that could never be forgiven.
"Alan, you gotta give us something, man."
Even with his brain scrambled from Jase going 'yard' on his cranium, Vain remembered everything that occurred after he and his partner had embraced, and then disappeared through the curtain. The straight right hand that had knocked him against the wall; the vicious European Uppercut that had lifted him completely off his feet; the big boot that could have done serious damage to Vain's pearly whites. He remembered the wide-open feeling of flying through the curtain, courtesy of the overhead throw that 'The Gentleman's Savage' had so graciously shown him after their horrific Cooperative Championship Match. He also, vividly, remembered how it felt when his body slammed into the hard steel of the stage. True to form, Killian had stayed on the attack. It was a trait that, before tonight, he had always admired in 'England's Greatest Export'.
Now? Not so much…
"We're gonna have to get him to Tulane Medical, pronto. Likely concussion, possible damage to his nasal cavity and orbital sockets, and he still has yet to respond."
A Black Adder onto the steel grating, followed by three Beefeaters. Each time that he had tried to get back to his feet, to figure out why this was happening… Killian had taken it upon himself to not only put him down, but the look in his eyes had told Vain that he wanted to put his partner out of the company. Completely. And only when Vain could not physically get up again, did the vicious onslaught cease.
Frustration is one thing, as Vain himself was frustrated at the outcome here tonight. But the malicious intent in the actions perpetrated by Killian here tonight, but more importantly, the utter look of disgust and contempt that was etched on his face as he was assaulting Alan Wallace… this was something that had been brewing for quite some time. Vain had known that Killian had been teetering on the edge of blowing up for the last few weeks, but this? This was so, so much more. How long had he been planning this attack? Weeks? Months? Since Vain had brought him to UGWC?
How had he not seen it? How could he have allowed himself to be caught off guard like this? How?
The sound of the ambulance backing up finally brings Alan Wallace to his senses, albeit slightly. Keeping his eyes closed hadn't stopped the searing pain from emanating throughout his entire head and face, and opening his eyes magnified it ten-fold. The backstage medical staffing members and paramedics that surround him all begin talking at once, but Vain does his best to ignore them. Instead, he begins attempting to get off the stretcher, to the objections of all those around him.
He catches a glimpse of Simon Wellington, standing off to the side as he worriedly checks on his client. Vain motions for him, and then also notices the head trainer, JK, standing beside of Simon. Vain motions for him as well, and as both men near him, he leans over and whispers something into Wellington's ear.
"Alan wants me to thank you for the tremendous help that you have been to him here this evening, but in his own words… and I am sure that this is the concussion talking… but he isn't planning on being loaded into that fucking ambulance."
Numerous protests arise, to which Simon begins speaking once more as he looks over at JK.
"Alan has requested that JK and I take him to the hospital ourselves."
Again, numerous protests arise from the paramedics, causing the concerned Simon Wellington to become annoyed with the peons in front of him.
"Yes, I am well aware of the risks if he is not taken to the hospital immediately. Which is why I am leaving with him as soon as I load him into my vehicle. You all can feel free to follow us there if you would like. Alan is not against being checked out at a well-renowned medical facility such as Tulane Medical Center, but I know him well enough to know that if I allow him to be loaded into that ambulance by you good people, not only will I be out of a job, but I likely will also end up at a hospital of my choosing, in due time when he is feeling more himself. And frankly gentlemen... my pay, and my own physical well-being, will not allow that to happen. Thank you, and have a great day."
With that, Simon begins helping Alan towards the exit, with JK following behind. Ever the opportunistic little cunt, Jason Reeves rushes up towards the three of them, microphone in hand.
Reeves: "Vain! What are your thoughts on what Killian did here tonight?!"
===============================================
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
Simon stares at the phone for what seems like an eternity, Eden Morgan's voice ringing in his ears.
"…you lost Alan?"
Finally, after the sixth and seventh times of reading that most recent Twitter post, it had finally started to sink in. He had lost Alan. Not in the general sense, like one loses a set of car keys, or a child loses a toy. Alan Wallace was a grown adult, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He certainly didn't need a caretaker… someone to watch his every move, and ensure that he was going to be safe with anything and everything that he did. In a perfect world, 'Vain' Alan Wallace would make his way through this world the exact way that he had maneuvered his way through his wrestling career. With elegance, dignity, and his own certain flair for the dramatic.
But these were far from perfect times.
The physical injuries had certainly taken their toll, and had taken time to fully heal, that much is true. Yet, it was the mental pain that had kept him up at nights. The emotional turmoil that Alan Wallace had been through since that fateful evening in New Orleans over two months ago had waged its own mini-war within 'Arrogance Personified', varying from bouts of severe depression, to fits of violent rage. Still, it was but one question that led to both. 'Why'?
Why had Killian chosen to try and injure his partner, just to break free from their team? Would a simple conversation been too much to ask?
If Killian wanted to venture out into singles competition, why not just come to Alan like a man and tell him. The man known as Alan Wallace most certainly would have understood, considering he spent the better part of 2015 carrying the company on his back as its World Heavyweight Champion.
Most importantly, why had Killian chosen to ruin years of friendship, just because Eden Morgan's true colors had finally revealed themselves? Was he so love scorned, that he would allow the actions of a devilish harlot to skew his view on anything and everything around him, and lash out at the one closest to him, in a fit of rage?
For those that following professional wrestling, the answer to that last question was made abundantly clear on the night of July 7th, in New Orleans, Louisiana. And for the last month-and-a-half, it is a reality that Simon Wellington has watched Alan Wallace relive, time and time again.
All because of Eden Morgan.
The thought of her causes Simon to look back down at his phone, as he fires off a reply to UGWC's 'Sweetheart.
"He's a grown man, Ms. Morgan. I'm sure he has his reasons for going off the proverbial grid."
Even after he had posted the words, they had rang hollow. Alan Wallace was, normally, a man that loved being in the limelight. There wasn't a single instance in time where Simon can remember Vain not wanting to be seen or heard, in some way, shake, or form. 'Going off the grid', frankly, was a term that he would have no semblance of knowledge of. Yet, that is exactly what he had done.
And that is exactly why Simon now finds himself at a place where he never expected, nor wanted, to be.
"The fuck are you doing here, Wellington" the man barks, as the sound of the door slamming behind him is heard. "Have you lost your ever-loving, fuckin' mind?"
With a sigh, Simon places his cellphone into his pocket, before fixing his face with a smile. Turning, his head moves upwards, his eyes locking with those of 'The Drunken Buzzsaw' himself, Chaos.
"You gotten hard of hearing in your old age" he asks, as his hands instinctively form into fists. "Or you just looking for me to finish what I fuckin' started back in GCW?"
"Chad, it is a pleasure to see you, my good man. You're looking well."
"And you still look like a fuckin' schmuck" comes the curt reply from Chad Anthony. "The fuck you want, Simon?"
"Well Chad, as you well know, Outlast is less than two weeks away, and as you witnessed first-hand during the Outlast Draft Special, Alan Wallace has been selected to be on Team Hastings for this year's festivities-"
"The fuck's that gotta do with me?"
Simon fakes a laugh, as he takes a step forward. Chaos, by pure reflex, comes down the first two steps that lead up to the massive porch that adorns the DMW Clubhouse. Simon, realizing the error of his ways, immediately takes two steps backwards, flashing a nervous grin at his longtime adversary.
"My apologies, Chad. I was merely wondering if…. If you had seen Alan lately?"
"Why in the bluest of all shits would I see Wallace" he asks incredulously, glaring at Simon for many moments before continuing. "He wouldn't even think about stepping foot on this property again, that much I can fuckin' assure you!"
Simon, his head moving in a downward position, stares at his shoes for a few seconds, as Chaos eyes him inquisitively. A look of realization soon hits 'The Buzzsaw', causing him to chuckle.
"You don't have a clue where he's at, do you Wellington" he asks, his answer provided to him when Simon Wellington looks back up at him, uncertainty etched on his face.
"Fucks sake, Wellington, consider it a sign from whatever fuckin' higher power you believe in" he says laughing, before taking a gulp from the bottle of Chadweiser that he pulls from his front pants pocket and opens. "You're finally rid of that arrogant fuckin' twatstain. I say enjoy it, and get the fuck away from Miami as soon as you can. You're finally free, asshole."
A mixture of anger and annoyance appears on Simon's face, as he takes a step towards Chaos.
"Free? You think that I'm free? Hardly, Mr. Anthony. Alan is not only my client, but he's also my friend. And after what Killian King put him through, finding him is the only thing that is on my mind right now!"
"Oh spare me the fuckin' pity party, Wellington" spits Chaos, as he tosses the bottle off to the side, before stepping down off the porch steps completely, and walking up to the former wrestler. "So he got attacked by someone he thought was a friend. Big fuckin' deal. Not like that shit hasn't happened to everyone at some point in time. Shit, didn't I do the same to you, ending that worthless speck of fuckin' time that you considered yourself a professional wrestler?"
"I'm not sure we were ever, what you would call, friends, Chaos."
He almost sneers Cha's in-ring name, the look in his eyes almost daring 'The Drunken Buzzsaw' to do something about it. Chaos, to his credit, doesn't take the bait. Instead, he laughs in the mans face, as he pulls out his pack of smokes. Taking one from the package, he replaces them in the inner pocket of his cut, before pulling his Zippo from his pants pocket. Lighting his Marlboro, he inhales deeply, and exhales slowly… blowing the smoke directly at Simon Wellington. Simon takes a few steps back, recoiling from the smoke that just hangs in the dense Louisiana air.
"I know you don't think of me as the smartest man, Wellington" Chaos begins, flicking the burnt ash from the end of his cigarette, "but even I'm smart enough to know that, if you two were friends, you'd know where the fuck he is."
Simon doesn't say anything, but deep down, he knows that Chaos is right.
"'Sides" Chaos continues, as he takes another drag, "who gives a shit if he was drafted to Hastings' team anyway? What's not showing up gonna do? Christ, he's been MIA for months anyway. What's one more show to blow off, as he continues being pussy-hurt and crying himself to sleep at night?"
"I just think it will help him get through all that he has been through, that's all."
"What, by getting his ass beat" Chaos asks incredulously. "Look, I know when it comes to Wallace, your over-intelligent ass can't see your nose in order to spite your face, so I'm gonna break it down for you real quick. Wallace ain't what he used to be, Simon. Far from it. He's got a knack for living off of past accomplishments, that much I'll give him… HSW, his reign as the World Champ in UGWC, and whatever bullshit that dipshit was involved in between those two time periods… but he isn't nearly as good as you, or he, thinks he is anymore. He's gotten old, he's gotten slow, and if Wrestlestock was any indication, he's gotten fuckin' stupid, too."
"And here you want someone that you call a friend to get embarassed in front of the world, yet again" he asks, disbelievingly. "Christ man… even I'm not that fuckin' callous."
"I think you, and a lot of others, would be surprised at just how much Alan has left in the proverbial tank, Mr. Anthony."
"And I think you're nothing more than a blubbering Vain fanboy, Simon" he answers, as he takes one last puff from his smoke, before butting it out on the heel of his boot, and then tossing it into the driveway. "What do you think is gonna happen even if he does show up in Newark?"
"I think he helps Team Hastings eliminate Team Rydell, moves on to the Main Event… and if Killian can somehow manage to eliminate the love of that pathetic excuse of what he calls a life… right the wrongs that were done to him twelve weeks ago."
"Yeah" Chaos says, as he turns and walks over towards a lawn chair that rests in the front yard, "and if your Aunt had a prick, she'd be your fuckin' Uncle."
Simon sighs heavily, before pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
"Always a way with words, Mr. Anthony."
"Pretty good with drinking, fighting, and fucking, too" he says, as he lights another smoke. "But this ain't about me. This is about what UGWC has in store for that pissant you call a client, if he shows his face in Jersey. You stand here expecting me to believe that not only will Wallace find his way to the main event, but that the stars will align and lighting will strike, and he will not only get the chance to enact his revenge for Killian rearranging his fuckin' face at Wrestlestock, but will actually be successful in doing so? After being out of action for the last two months? Boy, you're fuckin' mental."
"I am far from a boy, Mr. Anthony… and I am most definitely not your boy."
"Just shut the fuck up and listen, Simon, because I don't think you've been paying attention to what's been going on in UGWC lately" Chaos states matter-of-factly. "You might look down your nose at Team Rydell, but they have the ability to surprise a lot of fuckin' people in this tournament. Rydell has come on strong lately… fuckin' kid had a fire lit under his ass or something, and he's wrestling better now than I've seen since I joined the company. And the more success he has, the better he's gonna continue to get. You and I both know that Deimos is probably the stalwart of the entire fuckin' company, and he always performs at his highest, when the most is on the line. Mathis is fuckin' lightning quick in that ring, and hasn't even realized her full potential in this business. When she does… watch out. And the new kid? Chassie Fear's kid. And while she might not be her mother in that ring… greatness is in her goddamn genes. She just has to realize it."
Chaos allows the words to permeate for a few moments, giving Simon the time to digest everything that he has said, but cuts him off before he has a chance to speak.
"Shut the fuck up, because I'm not finished" he spits, the look in his eyes telling Simon that, for now, it's best he keep quiet. "The team that your cocksmoke of a client was drafted onto? Sure, they have the talent to all make it to the World Title match against Baal at the end of the night. All former champions at every fuckin' level in the entire fuckin' company… your dumbass client included. But you expect them to get along? Were you born yesterday? Christ son, we all saw how well Hastings and Zane got along last Monday when the Cooperative Titles were on the line. You put two egomaniacs like Pierce and Wallace with them, and those fuckin' four won't be able to get along well enough to get out of their own fuckin' way to do anything of consequence come Monday. And the sooner you come to that understanding, the better it'll be for your own sanity."
"You're entitled to your opinion, Chad."
"It ain't my fuckin' opinion, you ignorant fuckin' douche" Chaos says while laughing. "It's what's gonna happen, because it's the fuckin' truth. What, you think just because Wallace had previous success with Hastings and Scott in those rindy-dink fuckin' abominations they called stables, that history is gonna repeat itself, and they'll be propelled to victory in the Northeast? Ok, I'll play along… say they do get along well enough to make it to the Main Event. Then what? Say King's team gets beaten by Princess and her team of halfwit fucktards. Does your client even feign interest in being in the Main Event, if he moved on earlier in the night? Or does he take his ball and go back home for another couple of months? On the other hand, say King is in the match. We're talking about a World Title opportunity… and I know how much that schmuck loves having gold around his waist, so what then? Does he focus on King, and most likely lose his shot at regaining that title belt that I'm sure he bathed with at every opportunity when he held it two years ago? Or does he go for the title, and lose his shot at his revenge?"
He lights another cigarette, smiling, as he watches Wellington mentally go back and forth with what he has just said.
"And you expect someone that's gone off the fuckin' deep end to know what to do, in each of those situations, all while he doesn't even know which way is up because he lost his… what did they call each other? His heterosexual life partner? Seriously?"
Simon says nothing, instead preferring to stand silently, as he looks over at Chaos.
"Yeah, just what I thought" comes the disgusted response from 'The Drunken Buzzsaw'. "The fuck off this property, Wellington, before you get the same fuckin' treatment that Ingalls got when he was our guest for all those months."
Simon says nothing, as he turns and walks back towards his car.
===============================================
Tuesday, September 20th, 2017 - Dungeon of Pain
A table and chairs have been set up in the meeting room of the Dungeon of Pain, the training gym owned and operated by Donovan Hastings, that clearly has not been utilized in years. It is in disarray, dusty and cobwebbed, and has a musty scent to it.
Donovan sits at the head of the table, flanked by Owen Peterson. Opposite him on the other end of the table sits Zane Scott, with Larry standing just behind him. Travis Pierce sits on one side, with Alan Wallace across from him, however Vain is set back from the table, with Simon Wellington down on one knee next to him, whispering something in his ear.
Hastings: Thank you all for coming, obviously we have to go over our team strategy for Outlast, but first, let me begin by saying I’m very excited about this alliance, this is exactly the team I set out to put together when I sat down at the draft.
Zane: Maybe you could start by not patronizing us.
Simon leans towards Alan again, speaking in his ear.
"Does he honestly believe that anyone here suspects he purposely chose the team that he did, when we are all aware that each and every pick was inadvertent and, dare I say, slightly comical?"
Vain says nothing, only slightly exhaling, as he stares across the table at nothing in particular. Simon, realizing that he is going to have to step in for Vain during this meeting, decides to take action. Pulling a chair up to the table, he takes a seat, and then looks out across at the other three members of Team Hastings.
"I would point out that no one, not even Alan himself, knew he was returning in time for Outlast at the time of the draft."
Hastings: Who the fuck told you that you could speak?
Taken aback, Simon Wellington almost looks offended as he looks towards Donovan and speaks.
"Excuse me?"
Zane: I’d have to concur. Do you see him talking?
Zane gestures behind himself towards Larry.
Zane: Or him?
Zane points across the table at Owen standing behind Donovan, as Donovan nods in agreement.
Pierce: Sorry, should I have brought Rob?
Vain slowly turns his head towards Zane, watching as he first points out everyone's favorite masculinity-deficient metrosexual, and then points out Donovan's Simon… before slowly casting his gaze upon 'The Icon of Entertainment' himself. He contemplates speaking up, but prefers to instead refocus on the vast amount of nothingness that is situated across the table from him. The conversation has continued.
Hastings: Are you deaf? I started all this by saying we have to discuss our strategy.
Zane: No, I mean why are we here.
Zane gestures around at the surroundings.
Hastings: In the Dungeon of Pain?
Zane: If that’s what you call it.
Hastings: It’s certainly a better name than Der Ort Nehmen sie Hunde sie Kastrieren.
Zane: That’s not what I call my lair.
Hastings: Well, you should. Sounds to me like a name that would instill fear.
Zane: No. It just sounds weird, and vaguely insulting.
At this point, realizing this strategy meeting is going absolutely nowhere, Simon leans over to Vain and speaks.
"I feel coming here was a mistake. There is absolutely no way that these three individuals are going to come to any agreement on the strategy that will be involved to be successful next Monday. Honestly, they could meet every day for the rest of this week, and they will still be no closer to becoming a unified team than the North and the South were in the early-1860's. And quite frankly… you being here isn't going anybody any good, either."
Simon thinks he hears Vain give a slight 'hmph', but he can't be sure, as Donovan Hastings and Zane Scott are engaged in a war of words over the proper term to refer to Tate Levine's mother as, before then switching subjects to rickshaws. Typical Hastings, Simon thinks to himself. Focus on the inconsequential, forget about the real reason everyone is actually here. Yet one more reason why Vain's - and Simon's - services are no longer required for this preposterousness.
Zane: I fail to see the connection between my usage of a rickshaw, which is a delightful way to travel and helps me get my daily steps in, and your shitpile of a lair.
Pierce: Wait, which of you pulled the rickshaw?
Zane: It helps pay the bills.
Hastings: You shouldn’t have bills. You should have a self-sustaining lair, or don’t have one at all.
Simon, and then Vain, both rise from their seats.
Zane: If this was all I could manage for a lair, I’d go with not having one at all.
Hastings: You think you could do better?
Zane: I know a great interior decorator.
"Well gentlemen, I believe that our time here is finished. Please continue this asinine rambling… my client and I are leaving."
Hastings: There you go, fucking speaking again. And dammit, this is a team strategy meeting! This is important! Where are you going?!
Neither man says a word, as Simon opens the door, and he and Alan both exit. Before the door shuts, he hears Hastings one last time.
Hastings: Treachery! Mutiny! How dare those two depart 'The Lord of Pain Team Preparedness Meeting' without first being dismissed?!?! Insolence!
The door shuts, but as they walk through the corridors, Simon can still hear bits and pieces of what is going on inside.
Hastings: I don’t want this place looking like a German airport!
Zane: Nothing of the sort. She can have this place cleaned up and spiffy and stylish in record time. Could get us an ice cream machine too.
Pierce: I love ice cream.
Larry: Chocolate ice cream!
With a sad shake of his head, Simon opens the door that leads outside, first allowing Alan to exit, before walking through the door himself, the door closing behind him.
===============================================
Saturday, September 23, 2017 - Miami, Florida: Worth Estates
"I'm telling you Simon, I've never seen him like this before. I've known him to be a lot of things over the course of his life, but I've never seen him this down in the dumps. Frankly, it's worrying me."
"Has he spoken about the incident at all?"
"The incident? Hell Simon, he hasn't spoken, period. He just showed up here one day last week, bags in hand. I knew what had happened, and I even asked how he was handling things. He never uttered a peep. And you know how much he has always loved the sound of his own voice. He's scaring me."
"I was just with him for many hours this past Tuesday. I, too, have still yet to hear him speak. And then… and then there's this…"
Simon silently reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a set of folded up papers. He cautiously hands them over to the woman that most affectionately refer to as Candi, and she eyes them with hesitation.
"What's that?"
"It seems as if your dear Alan has taken to writing. He gave that to me when Team Hastings had their 'Lord of Pain Team Preparedness Meeting', or whatever it was that Donovan yelled at us as we were leaving. Apparently I am to make sense of that mumbo jumbo, like some sort of therapist. The issue, however, is that he still refuses to acknowledge me in any way, shape, or form. At least outside of the occasional stare, I might add. So honestly, I am not exactly sure what it is that I am supposed to do with that. I was hoping a fresh set of eyes might possibly help me understand just how deep of a hole he has dug for himself."
Slowly, Celeste reaches over and takes the papers. Unfolding, she begins to read.
Thick as thieves, they were
For most of their days
Most were annoyed by their antics
But they saw no error in their ways
For years they were there for each other
In every sense of the word
Until one fateful July evening
Maybe you have heard
The one was a King
Not in title, but by name
The other, an egomaniac
All his monikers, one and the same
The King had lost his Queen
An occurrence for the best
And his partner bore the brunt of it
Unbelievably, not in jest
The attack itself was savage
Horrific and unjust
The aftermath completely heartbreaking
Revenge, she was a must
But how can one focus
On what is important and true
When every waking moment he spends
His redemption being his only view
He thought things through fully
He had been through this shit before
But never had such an occurrence
Hurt him any more
He considered King his best friend
His confidant, and his brother
He was the closest person to him
Even closer than his mother
All the successes in his life
All the battles he had won
They all were distant memory
His heartache, the weight a ton
He could continue as he was
Arrogance in all its glory
But that feeling he couldn't shake
Was indeed, that of worry
Because as proud as he was
As vain as he had become
He knew that it would take more
Possibly by borrowing from some
Maybe he becomes royalty
Becomes the next 'Lord of Pain'
But even with a throne and a crown
That schtick, it's utterly lame
Maybe he grows cold
Acts tough, a new 'Personification of Pain'
Or maybe the masses see through it all
And he has literally nothing to gain
Or maybe he stays the course
Continue his show, proclaiming to be the new 'Icon'
And watch as his whole career continues to flounder
Ultimately swallowed up, like when a rabbit meets a python
No, the best thing to do
When battling emotions, rage, and hate
Is to not stray from the norm
But to continue that steady gait
Revenge will be swift, and most certainly sweet
That will be noted, duly
But it will be even sweeter when performed
By 'Yours Fucking Truly'
For most of their days
Most were annoyed by their antics
But they saw no error in their ways
For years they were there for each other
In every sense of the word
Until one fateful July evening
Maybe you have heard
The one was a King
Not in title, but by name
The other, an egomaniac
All his monikers, one and the same
The King had lost his Queen
An occurrence for the best
And his partner bore the brunt of it
Unbelievably, not in jest
The attack itself was savage
Horrific and unjust
The aftermath completely heartbreaking
Revenge, she was a must
But how can one focus
On what is important and true
When every waking moment he spends
His redemption being his only view
He thought things through fully
He had been through this shit before
But never had such an occurrence
Hurt him any more
He considered King his best friend
His confidant, and his brother
He was the closest person to him
Even closer than his mother
All the successes in his life
All the battles he had won
They all were distant memory
His heartache, the weight a ton
He could continue as he was
Arrogance in all its glory
But that feeling he couldn't shake
Was indeed, that of worry
Because as proud as he was
As vain as he had become
He knew that it would take more
Possibly by borrowing from some
Maybe he becomes royalty
Becomes the next 'Lord of Pain'
But even with a throne and a crown
That schtick, it's utterly lame
Maybe he grows cold
Acts tough, a new 'Personification of Pain'
Or maybe the masses see through it all
And he has literally nothing to gain
Or maybe he stays the course
Continue his show, proclaiming to be the new 'Icon'
And watch as his whole career continues to flounder
Ultimately swallowed up, like when a rabbit meets a python
No, the best thing to do
When battling emotions, rage, and hate
Is to not stray from the norm
But to continue that steady gait
Revenge will be swift, and most certainly sweet
That will be noted, duly
But it will be even sweeter when performed
By 'Yours Fucking Truly'
Celeste puts the papers down, as she and Simon share a look of concern in silence
===============================================
Friday, July 7, 2017 - New Orleans, Louisiana: New Orleans City Park - Day Two of Wrestlestock
The question from Reeves rings in his ears, as do the thoughts that have been running through his mind ever since he had regained consciousness after the third and final Beefeater. What were his thoughts… and how could he not have seen this coming. JK takes it upon himself to attempt to get Reeves to back off, but Vain motions that it's ok.
As Reeves sticks the microphone in his face, a slideshow of sorts begins playing through the mind of 'Mr. Ego'. For every instance of Vain and Killian reigning supreme during their numerous Cooperative Title reigns, there is an instance of the Black Adder on the steel grating; for every instance of the two of them in good times, there is an instance of a Beefeater; for every happier time, a time of betrayal.
Through all of the blood, and through all of the pain, there is also a look of sadness in his face as he struggles to look up at the camera. It takes many moments for him to respond, whether due to the pain or the emotion, who can say? Once he finally does though, the four words he speaks resonates for all those that are around to hear them.
"He broke my heart…"
FIN