17- Tyrone "Purple" Hayes *SCWE VOLUNTEER HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION*
[The King of Squared Circle Wrestling Entertaining and current Volunteer State Heavyweight champion, Tyrone "Purple" Hayes, is lounging in a plush purple throne, his left leg draped over an arm rest as his red headed lackey, "Mr. America" Ilya Olenskaya, fans King Tyrone with a long feathered fanning apparatus. Meanwhile, Page Hamilton is sitting on the floor, poking the ground with a stick. A yawn escapes Tyrone before he acknowledges the camera.]
TPH: Goodness! It seems that I, the precious vitae of SCWE, has lost a match!
[Page Hamilton looks up and then goes back to poking the ground.]
TPH: I know that my wonderful and loyal subjects will tell me I was hornswaggled. My faithful serfs will point out that my "loss" was the product of a nefarious plot by the Fulcrum of Fear: Young, Darring and that wayward youngster: Duke Adder.
[Sitting up, Tyrone motions for Page Hamilton to dust the King of SCWE off. Hamilton sighs, then does his appointed duty. Tyrone pats the boy on the head before shoving Hamilton out of camera view.
TPH: A plot! A nefarious plot! An expected ruse by Young and his man servant, Adder! Do not be fooled by their supposed spat! The two, Adder and Young, hope to overthrow your rightful sovereign! Their vile black plots and probable experimentation with black magic and other, um, scarier things at overnight camp, will not bear fruit! The two vile fellows plot and scheme but who do they want on the throne if not the noble and giving King Tyrone?
[Here it comes...]
TPH: None other than the black blooded usurper: Sean Darring!
[Didn't see that coming, did you? The camera zooms out to see Ilya looking dense and Page Hamilton poking the ground yet again, then being elbowed by someone and hvaing a terrible fake shocked look come across his face.]
TPH: I know! This, this... commoner, dare raise arms against the benevolent King Tyrone - he who reigns through the glorious benediction of the Lord in heaven! That Lord being...
[Tyrone reaches into his cape and produces a box filled with questionable "meat" snacks proclaiming "new, amazing escargot and fish egg flavor".]
TPH: ...Fatty BouyZ Meat Snax! King Tyrone would nary have smelled the throne... well, smelled the throne instead of one of those smelly challengers, without the amazing curative properties of Fatty BouyZ Meat Snax! Fatty BouyZ Meat Snax is America's favorite food facsimile and can be used as building material or as radiation shielding with its incredible lead content! Fatty BouyZ Meat Snax - we put the faux in terrific!
[Putting his pitch man prop away, Tyrone goes back to the task at hand.]
TPH: Where was I? *mumbling and going over lines again* Got it!
[Our hero in purple smiles at the camera, then remembers he is supposed to look determined.]
TPH: Fear not, fair subjects! For the scoundrel Darring gets his at Ground Zero! Darring, you have proven you are a schemer, a trickster, a rogue, and a knave! You may have wrestling accumen but you do not have the regal bearing of a man such as myself nor the purple blood flowing through your veins that makes being champion a destiny. Your game of thrones has been bested! You and your fellow conspirators thought to have special stipulations placed on our match at Ground Zero! Instead, the heroic, handsome and, uh, helpful?
[Tyrone mutters to himself.]
TPH: ...yeah, let's go with helpful.
[Another cheese filled smile.]
TPH: Instead the heroic, handsome and helpful Tyrone Hayes foiled your scheme by convincingly allowing Brian Young to cheat me out of a victory that was all but assured. In addition to foiling your bigger plot, I also forced the hand of your third gunman! Damond Addler, you are no longer welcome in the Kingdom of Tyrone for your falsehoods. Instead of defeat, I actually won!
TPH: I won! I won the right to prevent Sean "EVIL BABY KILLER" Darring any excuse to fall back on when his grab for power crumbles. Sean "I KICK PREGNANT LADIES IN THE STOMACH" Darring has nothing to fall back on when his legacy crumbles! The Purple Blood that bubbles in these noble veins alerted me to your plan! I used your plan against you! I turned your trap against you by making sure that this is a fair fight with fair rules, Darring. My blessed blood is not spilled so easily, Darring.
[Jumping up, Tyrone's construction paper crown falls off his head. Muttering to himself, Tyrone directs Ilya to pick it up and the red headed Russian happily places the purple construction paper crown (which seems to be decorated with the Lucky Charms shapes) back on Tyrone's head.]
TPH: For all your rabbling rousing, Darring. For all your braggadoccio, Darring. For all your talk of legends - you still know nothing of what it takes to create a legacy. Be thankful _YOUR_ sovereign is so kind, forgiving and generous. For you see, I will teach you a lesson on a subject you seem to be sorely lacking knowledge on, Seany-poo. At Ground Zero, Darring: you will learn the proper respect!
[Huffing and stomping away, the interview ends with Page Hamilton still poking the ground.]
18- Stephen Sage
(Scene opens to a darkened room. We cannot really make out much of the room itself. A dim shaded window provides the only interior light. As the camera pans to the right, we can see a shadowy figure seated in the corner to the right of the window. We can make out that the person is shirtless, and has a towel covering his head, with his face obscured. He is rubbing his hands together before he begins to speak.)
Man: So this is it...Ground Zero approaches. A day many in the SCWE have been waiting for. A day that will perhaps change the face of the world of professional wrestling. It is certainly one that I have been waiting for, quite intently. You see, for some this day will be one of pursuing gold...chasing a dream. For others it will be about making a name for themselves...seeking glory. Climbing the ladder of success. Trying to impress men in suits. Trying to win the adulation of the fans.
(He pauses. It is obvious he is breathing somewhat heavily...though probably not from exhaustion. It is something else. Anger, perhaps?)
Man: I am not one of them. I will not be present at Ground Zero to seek gold or glory. I will only be there in the pursuit of a single endeavor. I will be there for only one cause. It is simply..."revenge!" For I have been wronged, time and time again...by a single man. This single man wishes to mold SCWE into his own macabre creation. This single man manipulates those around him, and brings nothing but a negative energy. This single man is a worthless being, but one to be reckoned with, none the less.
Balogun! That name has become a curse upon me. My days and nights are filled with thoughts of his destruction. And at Ground Zero...I will have it. Revenge will be mine!
(With that, the figure throws the towel off his head, and we can see that it is obviously the young rookie and former Television Champion, Stephen Sage. However, this is not the Stephen Sage we are used to seeing. He reaches over and slowly raises the blind up the window, just enough to expose his face. Gone is the short hair from his head...he is now completely shaved bald. That is not all...a scar still remains on his left cheek, from the attack by Balogun and Inkanyamba. Further, his eyes now...they look different. As if to match his name, they now look...green.)
Sage: Do I look different to you? I should. Where I was once youthful and exuberant, no more. Not now. Perhaps never again. At Ground Zero, Balgoun, you will be faced with a different competitor. Yes, I am still Stephen Sage. But I won't be defending one title or chasing another. I will not be there to make my ways up the ranks of competition. I will be there seeking revenge...and I will bring great violence upon you in the process!
I am willing to put myself on the line, once again. I am willing to give up a chance at a future Television Title shot. A chance to regain MY title, even though another wears it now! I am going to come to Ground Zero, and I am going to HURT you, Balogun. I am going to cause you great pain. And there will be no escape. We will be in the cage...the cell. Yes, it really will be hell in a cell for you, Balogun.
(Sage stares intently as the camera zooms in, slowly, upon his face.)
Sage: Two men enter, one man leaves. What could be more wonderful? I think it is a perfect way to settle things, don't you? Just you and me. No Inkanyamba, no other interlopers. No Fitzgerald to further complicate things. And after I defeat you in that metal structure...you will be done! Your career in SCWE will be FINISHED! And for that, I am willing to risk everything. My body, my health, my chance at reclaiming MY belt. It is all worth it in order to punish you. To make you suffer.
(Sage stands up, almost visibly shaking with rage, and a scowl coming across his mouth.)
Sage: Balogun...at Ground Zero, you and me, one on one. It's what you've been begging for, with attack after attack you've waged upon me. It's what I've wanted since you put me in that hospital. And at Ground Zero...remember one thing is all too clear. I'm Stephen Sage...and NO ONE can stop me...
(Fade out as Sage continues rubbing his hands together and scowling.)
[...Well at least its current.]
[Really? For all the money a person shills out, one would think these offices could afford to renew their damned subscriptions! Why... did you want to read Womanís world? NO. Iím not interested in that particular publication. Iím not. Not at all. Itís the principle of it! Thomas Grissom thumbs through sparse magazine collection in the waiting room of his psychiatristís office. The senior road agent is still wearing a neck brace from the last brutal beating the wrestling veteran received at the hands of The Motherland. Grissomís bloodshot eyes reveal how little sleep he has gotten since The Beast first stole the television title. Fitzgerald wonít stop calling. Grissom is so tired. The sleep deprivation is taking its toll. Everywhere he looks...]
Inkanyamba: The doctor will see you now.
[WHAT THE HELL? No. The receptionist is a mousy blond woman. Not a flamboyantly dressed seven foot African man. So tired. Everywhere Grissom goes is the same. His ears must be playing tricks on him. Exhausted, Thomas struggles to get out of his chair. Staggering over to the shrinkís door, Thomas Grissom is greeted by the skull faced visage of his arch nemesis.]
Dr. Pedowski: Hello Mr. Grissom.
[Spitting image. I swear. So tired. Thomas Grissomís eyes are also playing tricks on him. The doctor looks JUST LIKE that massive freak. Are you saying they look alike? NO. The senior road agent didnít say that... he didnít think that. That sounds racist, and heís not. He knows that Doctor Pedowski is an elderly polish psychiatrist, and NOT a malevolent swenka whose sole purpose is to ruin poor Thomasí life... while wearing really nice shoes. This is all in his head... but there is a striking resemblance. Swallowing hard, the wide eyed official sheepishly enters the office.]
Dr. Pedowski: You look like youíve seen a ghost.
Thomas Grissom: Everywhere I look heís there... taunting me... mocking me...
Dr. Pedowski <chuckle>: You donít waste time.
Thomas Grissom: You charge by the hour.
Dr. Pedowski <forced smile>: Have a seat.
[The couch. Holding his neck to try and further support the brace, Thomas Grissom awkwardly lays back against it. The psychiatrist wanders into the background. #thump# Barely able to move his neck, Thomas has a hard time following Pedowskiís movements, and quickly resigns himself to staring up at the ceiling. They should dust. #thump#]
Dr. Pedowski: So this man you keep seeing?
Thomas Grissom: A co-worker that makes every day miserable. ...Every day. When I first started with SCWE, thatís my wrestling promotion, when I first started, I was excited. Helping to shape a new product, put my stamp on it. #thump# Huh? ...So they tell me to bring in some of my friends to help fill out the locker room, a few old hands to enhance the new talent. I got him the job. #thump# (tries to look up but canít, gives up) Can you believe it? I was the one that put in the good word to get that miserable piece of crap hired! #thump# What was that?
Dr. Pedowski: What was what? Continue.
Thomas Grissom: ...So I get him the job. I figure he can do his old shtick, running around like a dumb animal and scaring children. Itís really all that stupid jerkís good for. We give him a plastic spear, and act like we brought this missing link over from the wilds of Africa. All the best routines are like that... play yourself... and as far as Iím concerned heís basically a stupid beast. He was playing himself. Go with what you know. He does stupid monster well... but does he go with the winning formula?
Thomas Grissom: Youíre not hearing that?
Dr. Pedowski: What should I be hearing?
Thomas Grissom: Never mind. #thump# So the jerk acts like Iím being racist or something... Iím not. So the [whoooa] doesnít play ball, actually thinks he pulled one over on me by not drooling all over himself. Way to go ass[whoa]. Can you believe the audacity? Outrageous! The scum. We get into a little scuffle, and admittedly he did come out on top... Iíve been retired a few years, Iím rusty. Back in the day I used to kick his ass all the time! ...I felt embarrassed. #thump# Rather than let corporate fire the [whoa], I keep him in the league, string him along, figure as long as heís under contract I have a chance at some REAL revenge. ...Only...
Dr. Pedowski: What happened?
Thomas Grissom: My boss... he took it to far. #thump# Actually put the lummox... look... there is a very real possibility that the creep could end up winning one of our titles. A very good possibility...
Dr. Pedowski: You #THUMP# feel like he is being rewarded for hurting you?
Thomas Grissom: Iím a nice guy. I got the trash a job. I mean heís subhuman... shouldnít karma have caught up with him by now? Whereís the divine wrath? Whereís MY retribution? Iím looking for lightning to strike him dead, instead theyíre practically handing him glory!
Thomas Grissom: Youíre REALLY not hearing that pounding noise?
Dr. Pedowski: It is all in your head. Like Poeís tell tale heart... it is your conscience tormenting you. You are guilty Thomas for letting this horrible incident come to pass.
Thomas Grissom: Horrible doesnít even begin to describe it. A savage monster like him with one of our titles? #THUMP# Weíll be a laughing stock! #THUMP# The federation will be out of business LONG before Fitzgerald has a chance to fire me.
Dr. Pedowski: You #THUMP# ...really think this man will win the title?
Thomas Grissom: Williams -- the kids heís fighting -- doesnít stand a chance. #THUMP# The young punk has the same size going for him, #THUMP# but his offense is all one dimensional mock-MMA. If his strikes had any power behind them, management would have paired him off with Weaver... #THUMP# thatís another one of our performers. No. The kid has some good references, and a solid ego, but I donít see it cushioning the blows. #THUMP# Iím the monsterís worst enemy, and _IíM_ telling you, the miserable piece of crap has this in the bank.
#THUMP# ...Itís all my fault.
Dr. Pedowski: One thing still puzzles me.
Thomas Grissom: Hayes for the win.
Dr. Pedowski: Not that. #THUMMMMP# Do you think Chase is conceited because he is a bastard, or is conceited about being a bastard, Thomas?
Thomas Grissom: Why would he be conceited about... wait...
[Too much knowledge of SCWE product... #THUMP# that unnaturally perfect diction... #THUMP# has he been calling me Thomas? DAMN IT. The doctor that referred him to Pedowski spoke the same way! So tired. Wide eyed, the senior road agent awkwardly grabs the side of the couch, shifting his weight to drag himself upright. Itís a battle. Thomas Grissom sucks in his breath, agonized as he sits up to find... everyoneís least favourite swenka. Inkanyamba stands across the office, looming over a desk with a hammer.]
Thomas Grissom: It is you!
Inkanyamba <what the f*ck is your problem>: Who were you expecting?
Thomas Grissom: I knew I wasnít losing it. Everywhere I go, every turn I make, youíve been following me!
Inkanyamba <shrug>: I get around.
[Turning back to his work, The Man From Deep River brings the hammer down once more on the table. #THUMP# The object heís striking is obscured by the South Africanís massive frame. #THUMP# Sparks fly with every strike. A sinking feeling in his stomach, Thomas Grissom tries to stand up to get a closer look at the sinister scene, but can barely move.]
Inkanyamba: Now many people would ask WHY Chase Williams chose me to defend his title against, why he put me on top of Tanner for the victory. If you had a choice between the scariest man in the federation, and a bloody husk, who would you choose?
Thomas Grissom: Why Iíd #THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMP#
Inkanyamba <cold dead eyes>: Rhetorical, my friend. Picking the better game, is it the act of a warrior, or a truly conceited bastard? Neither. There was no choice. #THUMP# I was briefly dazed, while Adrian Tanner was a broken shell. If Chase had decided to put Tanner on top, I would have simply kicked out, and continued with my decimation of the assassin. All Williams did was distract from a foregone conclusion. That I beat weaker prey? No. That I successfully put down a man in one night, that Williams had been attempting to hurt since arriving. I finished a job that he found impossible to complete.
I made it look easy.
I am actually glad Chase showed up. You see, I was not only destroying Tannerís credibility, but taking any that Williams had with it. It is only fair that the boy is given a fighting chance to preserve his bastard dignity.
Thomas Grissom <holding temple>: WILL YOU STOP THAT!
#THUMP# #THUMP# #THUMP# #THUMP#
Inkanyamba: ...I think not. Why did it take Chase Williams so long to take revenge for my little shark cage stunt? In his position, I would be very upset. I have been. So why wait a few weeks to try to rectify our issue? He was afraid. Why did he attack me from behind? He is still afraid. He is RIGHT to be afraid. It is nice to see that despite his bastard status, Williams has managed to possess some sense of self-preservation. Perhaps it is that same sense of preservation that saw his parents recognize their unholy union, and choose not to get married? <shakes head> And I thought the Styrofoam spear was a bad idea.
[Reaching down with his free hand, Inkanyamba starts push and fold the object heís been pounding away at.]
Inkanyamba: The boy knows fear. What questions must be running through his mind? What questions are running through ALL of their minds! The night before the pay per view, and the boys have butterflies in their stomachs. There are so many things to ask. Will he hit this move? Should I scout that one? What victory speech should I give? Will I win the title? Will my partner in crime get his job back? Will my favourite official get fired for gross incompetence? ...Pretty common, yes?
I am not worried about any of those things. You see, I know I will win the title. I know that Balogun will get his job back, just as I know Sage will be eating food through a straw for the next month. As for your employment, I sometimes wonder about karma myself.
You see, I have all the answers. The one question... The only thing that I am wondering about is...
<winking at his reflection> What will I wear?
Thomas Grissom: Are you kidding me?
Inkanyamba: As a swenka, these things are important to me. #THUMP# Fortunately... I have the perfect accessory.
[Spinning around, The Beast holds up a crown. A very special crown. An irregular, messy looking crown, that appears as though it has been hammered into shape. Thomas Grissom is going to throw up.]
Inkanyamba: Do you like it?
Thomas Grissom: Motherf[whoooooa]!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Inkanyamba <admiring his craftsmanship>: I think it brings out my eyes.
Thomas Grissom <pause>: Motherfu[whoooooa]!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Inkanyamba: Language, Thomas, Language.
Thomas Grissom <long pause>: MOTHERF[whoooooooooa], you destroyed the television title for THAT?
Inkanyamba <admiring his reflection in the window>: I shall walk out of Ground Zero as the new king of television; it is a far more fitting symbol of my power.
Thomas Grissom <he raises some very good points>: ...motherf[whooooooa]. GIVE ME BACK THE BELT!!!
Inkanyamba <chuckle>: What belt?
[Trying to rise, the senior road agent starts to reach out, he can barely stand. Crossing the little office, Inkanyamba starts to hold out his crown to Grissom, and then starts to raise it. Higher and higher, Grissom reaches up for that obscure object of desire. #SNAP# Back giving out on him, Thomas Grissom falls down to the couch, tears streaming down his face. The only thing stifling the manís scream of agony is the pleasure that Inkanyamba would derive from his cries.]
Inkanyamba <lowering crown>: You do not want it? <chuckle> Fair enough my friend. It can wait. <eyes narrow> At Ground Zero you can officially give it to me.
[The road agent shakes in anger, possibly pain as well. That well dressed Man From Deep River, straightens his Versace tie, before placing the television title... now crudely constructed crown, on top of his painted head.]
Inkanyamba <looking at his reflection again>: Assaulting officials, fans, brutally attacking wrestlers, playing with results, stealing straps... you charge me with a lot of offenses, but you missed the main one.
The real crime? ...Looking this good.
[Oh yeah! I used it! What? Heís not from here, that line is new for him. Tossing his velvet Louie Vuitton jacket over his broad shoulder, the endearing swenka heads towards the door.]
Inkanyamba: I look forwards to the coronation my friend.
[The Beast turns off the office light. From his catatonic position on the couch, Grissom tries to swear, but all he can muster are barely audible yelps. Always trying to be helpful, the TV title thief closes the door behind him, leaving the senior road agent in darkness.]
[Whimpering curse words are audible, but the image is black.]
[The headache remains.]
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