[Mark Ward]

 Post your roleplays here! Good luck!

[Simon Jones]

 Monday 17th March

The scene opens to show Simon Jones strolling into the hallway of his home in Las Vegas, pulling a black trolley case behind him; Simon is wearing dark blue jeans, and a red t-shirt. Simon moves further into the house, but stops short of the entrance to the living room; he glances around, from left to right, and after not seeing any signs of life, Simon calls out.

Simon: 'Jacqui?'

Simon takes his hand off the handle of the case, and again glances around his home, first to his left, then to his right; as Simon is looking to his right, into view - from the opposite side of the shot - walks Jacqueline Jones, who is wearing yellow jeans, and a purple t-shirt that has an embroidered white and aqua floral print.

Jacqueline: 'Yes, I'm here.'

A little startled, Simon turns around to face Jacqueline, and smiles at the sight of his wife; the couple then embrace one another, and kiss.

Jacqueline: 'How was your trip to Northridge?'

Simon: 'I can't complain - another match, and another win.'

Jacqueline: 'So I saw; it's becoming something of a habit for you, isn't it?'

Simon: 'Thankfully, yes; hopefully it will last a while longer yet - at least until Blaze Of Glory, so that the next time I return home from a jaunt away for work, I'll have a trophy to show off to you and Matty.'

Simon and Jacqueline kiss again; they then loosen their hug, and hold each others hands instead.

Simon: 'And how have you and Matty been, while I've been elsewhere?'

Jacqueline: 'Fine; she's still being a very well-behaved child, although I do wonder how long that will continue - I think it might be too much to ask for it to last for the next eighteen years.'

Simon chuckles at his wife's remark.

Simon: 'I don't envy you, having to look after Matty on your own, for a whole weekend, without me here.'

Jacqueline: 'Well I won't have to next weekend, will I, what with the extra week that you have between shows.'

Simon: 'No, that's right, I'll get to enjoy a rare weekend at home - not that it's going to be a weekend of rest for me, though, as I'll be having to work hard, preparing for the finale to Blast from the Past.'

Jacqueline: 'I'm aware of that. But I'll still get to see considerably more of you this weekend than I have recently - the past four weekends, the only way that I've been able to get a glimpse of you is by watching Climax Control.'

Simon smiles.

Simon: 'Look, in two weeks, when we're back at home in the UK, we'll be able to offload Matty on either my parents or your parents - or both - so that we can have some time together, just the two of us, and I can have the chance to treat you to some nights out, to show how grateful I am to you for putting up with me while I trek around North America.'

Jacqueline: 'If you want to express your gratitude, retaining your title - and bringing home that trophy with it - would be a good way to start, to show that all the time we have had to spend apart over the past twelve months or so, has been worth it.'

Simon: 'You know I'll try as hard as I can to make that happen; I want to do the SCW double - I want to achieve the feat of winning the Blast from the Past tournament while being the reigning Heavyweight Champion. And the thought of you - at home, with our daughter - provides me with all of the motivation that I need.'

Simon leans forward to kiss Jacqueline again.

Simon: 'Right, I'd better take my case upstairs, and go and get changed - if I leave it any longer I'll have Jason phoning me, asking where I am.'

Jacqueline: 'Where are you meeting him?'

Simon: 'I'm not sure - I'll give him a call shortly, to find out where he is; he told me that he's managed to find something like six or seven Irish pubs in Vegas, so I assume he'll be wanting to do a pub crawl - but I'll try not to be home too late.'

Jacqueline: 'Well, as long as you don't wake me up.'

Simon: 'Now that I can promise you I won't do.'

Simon and Jacqueline smile at one another; as Simon picks up his case, taking hold of its handle, the scene fades to black.

The scene fades in to show the interior of J.C. Wooloughan's Irish Pub, which - as the name suggests - is an Irish pub, in Las Vegas. And the pub is as busy as one would expect it to be on Saint Patrick's Day.

The camera is focused on Jason O'Neil - the Irish friend of Simon Jones - who is sat on a stool, at a corner of the bar, to the left of it; Jason - who has two pints of Guinness by him, on the bar - is wearing black jeans, and a green Ireland rugby union jersey. He is currently in conversation with two attractive women in their mid-to-late-twenties, who are stood to his left: the woman nearest to Jason is a redhead, whereas the other woman has blonde hair. Both women are wearing pale blue jeans; the redhead is wearing a white t-shirt, while the blonde is wearing an orange t-shirt.

From the right-hand side of the shot, Simon Jones soon walks into view; he is wearing the same dark blue jeans that he was wearing earlier, but he is now wearing a different t-shirt - a black t-shirt, which has the words "A GUINNESS WALLBANGER?" printed on the front of it, in white. Jason breaks away from his conversation with the two women, to greet Simon.

Jason: 'Simon!

Simon: 'Alright, Jase?'

Jason: 'I'm okay, mate. I'd like you to meet Sandy...'

Jason gestures first to the redhead.

Jason: '...and Crystal.'

And then to the blonde.

Simon: 'Alright, ladies?'

As Sandy and Crystal smile wordlessly, Jason turns towards the bar, and picks up one of the pints of Guinness; he then turns back to face Simon.

Jason: 'Before we go any further, get this down your neck.'

Jason proffers the pint glass to Simon.

Simon: 'What, you want me to down it?'

Jason nods his head.

Jason: 'Yeah - you need to make up for lost time.'

Simon shrugs his shoulders.

Simon: 'Fair enough.'

Simon accepts the Guinness from Jason, raises the glass to his lips, and proceeds to down it; around ten seconds later, having polished off the pint, Simon takes the now-empty glass away from his mouth, and glances at it.

Simon: 'Now I remember why I only drink this stuff on Saint Patrick's Day.'

Simon puts the glass down on the bar, and then looks back to Jason, Sandy and Crystal.

Simon: 'You know, positioned like that, you three almost look like the Irish flag.'

Jason, Sandy and Crystal look at themselves, then at one another, examining the colour of their clothes.

Simon: 'Or at least, you would if you were the way round - at the moment, you look more like the Ivorian flag.'

Sandy frowns.

Sandy: 'Ivorian?'

Simon: 'Yes, love; Ivorian, as in, Ivory Coast - it's a country in Africa. In fact, the company that I work for is going to be visiting the Ivorian capital - Yamoussoukro - next month, as part of their tour of Africa.'

Crystal: 'You mean, the wrestling company that you work for, right?'

Simon nods his head; Crystal then strokes her hair, and smiles at Simon.

Crystal: 'Jason told us that you're a wrestler.'

Sandy: 'And is it true that you're currently a champion in the company? That's what Jason told us.'

Simon: 'Oh he did, did he?'

Simon looks at Jason momentarily, before looking back to the two women.

Simon: 'Well, yes, it is true: as of fifteen days ago, I am the Sin City Wrestling Heavyweight Champion, for a second time. But how long I'll be the champion for remains to be seen - the title will be at stake in my next match, thirteen days from now.'

Crystal: 'I'm sure you'll win.'

Simon: 'Thanks for your support.'

Simon again glances towards Jason, before returning his gaze to Sandy and Crystal.

Simon: 'Now, did Jason also tell you that I have a wife - and a daughter? And that he has a son? Or did he neglect to mention those details?'

Sandy and Crystal simultaneously direct their attention to Jason, glaring at him. Without saying anything, they both then turn around, and walk off in the opposite direction; Jason responds by turning to call after them.

Jason: 'Ladies, come back! Yes, I have a son, but he doesn't live with me - he doesn't even live in this country; I never see him.'

Simon: 'I'm not sure you're helping your cause there, Jase.'

Jason turns back to face a smirking Simon.

Jason: 'You're a shit wingman.'

Jason then points towards Simon, with his right hand.

Jason: 'For that, you're buying the next round.'

Simon: 'Fine with me; if I'd known that was the price I would have to pay - to avoid having a slut coming on to me - then I would have offered to buy you a drink as soon as I got here.'

Simon glances over to the other, untouched pint of Guinness, which is still on the bar.

Simon: 'Do you want me to wait for you to drink that, first?'

Jason turns to look at the pint, and then turns back to Simon.

Jason: 'Don't you worry about that; you just get me another drink to go with it - a shot, or something.'

Simon: 'Okay - just as long as you don't get me doing Jägerbombs.'

Jason: 'I'm not making any promises - we'll see how the night pans out.'

Simon turns to his right, towards the bar, joining the throng of revelers attempting to draw the attention of one of the bar staff - it can now be seen that printed on the back of Simon's t-shirt, in white, is the outline of a cocktail glass, underneath which are the words "IT'S GOT TO BE GUINNESS ON ST PATRICK'S DAY;" while he waits, Simon continues the conversation.

Simon: 'So, when did you start drinking?'

Jason: 'Saturday.'

Simon turns his head to look over his left shoulder, at Jason.

Simon: 'Saturday?'

Jason: 'Yeah, Saturday.'

As Simon turns his attention back to the queue for drinks, Jason picks up his pint of Guinness from the bar, and takes a gulp of the drink; he then puts the glass back on the bar.

Jason: 'Saturday morning, to be more specific; I started while I was watching the final match of the Six Nations, between Ireland and France. Then, after the match finished, I carried on drinking, celebrating Ireland's win. And apart from two intervals I had - when I was asleep - I carried on drinking right the way through up to now.'

Simon again turns to look at Jason.

Simon: 'Judging by the smell of that shirt of yours, you're wearing the same clothes as you were on Saturday.'

Jason: 'I'm not going to dignify that with a response.'

Simon turns back to the bar; Jason has another drink from his glass of Guinness.

Jason: 'I know that you don't care about the Six Nations - or rugby union at all, for that matter - but when the championship was up for grabs, the English couldn't rely on the French to help them win the title. And at Blaze Of Glory, that scenario is going to repeat itself: the English challenger for your title will not get sufficient assistance from his French ally, and so will fail in his quest to win the championship.'

Simon: 'Regardless of the outcome of the match, one thing is for certain: once Blaze of Glory is over, an Englishman will be the SCW Heavyweight Champion.'

Jason: 'And that Englishman will be you.'

Simon: 'I bloody hope so.'

As Jason picks up his glass, to take another sip of Guinness, Simon turns to look at him again.

Simon: 'You are aware, aren't you, that in the previous two rounds, Delia - Ethan Brody's "French ally," as you referred to her - has been the one that has claimed the win for their team?'

Jason puts his Guinness back on the bar.

Jason: 'Yes. But Jessie Salco is no Brandi Shotze. And if the  word on the grapvine is to be believed...'

Simon interrupts Jason.

Simon: '"Grapvine?" What's that - a wrestling based pun on grapevine?'

Jason: 'Yes. Now, as I was saying, apparently Brandi has phoned for assistance - so you shouldn't have to worry about her falling victim to interference from the Mean Girls, in the same way that Odette Ryder did last night. And if the action stays inside the ring, unhindered, then whether it's you against Brody, or Brandi against Delia, I expect your team to triumph.'

Simon turns away from Jason, back to the bar.

Jason: 'And even if Delia does somehow manage to pin Brandi, at least you'll still retain the title.'

Simon is then approached by a bartender.

Bartender: 'Are you being served?'

Simon: 'No; I'd like two shots of Jameson, please.'

While the bartender pours whiskey into two shot glasses, Jason drinks some more of his Guinness. Simon pulls his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, to pay for the drinks; after being given his change, Simon puts his wallet away, then picks up the two shot glasses, turns to face Jason, and hands one of the glasses to him, which Jason takes.

Jason: 'Good health.'

Simon nods; both men then down their respective shot of whiskey, after which they place their empty glasses on the bar.

Simon: 'Right, going back to what we were talking about, before the whiskey arrived, I don't want to retain the title by virtue of losing the match, but having Brandi be the one that is pinned, rather than myself; that's like retaining the title by default - it would almost be akin to defending the title in a one-on-one match, and retaining the title following a loss by either count out or disqualification. No, if I'm going to retain the title, I want to do it the correct way: by having Brandi and I win the match - and ideally with me pinning Brody to get the win.'

Jason: 'And I'm confident that you and Brandi Shotze will win the match; it's just worth noting that should you lose, there will still be a silver lining - you know, provided that you don't allow Brody to pin you.'

Simon: 'I don't plan on letting that happen. But where is this talk of defeat coming from? You're usually more optimistic about my chances than I am.'

Jason shrugs his shoulders.

Jason: 'I don't know; I guess it's the drink talking. Don't worry about me - I have full faith in you, and your tag team partner.'

Simon: 'Good. On the subject of drinking, though, I was a bit surprised that you were so keen for me to come out and get drunk with you, when I have such an important match looming on the horizon.'

Jason: 'For today, training for your match can wait - it is Saint Patrick's Day, after all. And you deserve to have the opportunity to enjoy the day of our patron saint, just as much as anyone else does; all work and no play, et cetera.'

Simon: 'Thanks - I think. It does have to be said, after what was going on this time last year, when I was in Canada and you were in London, I'm glad this year to be marking Saint Patrick's Day in the right manner: by being in a pub, with you, getting hammered.'

Jason slams his fist down on the bar.

Jason: 'That's right. And to make up for not doing this together last year, I think it's only right that we put in twice as much effort this year.'

Simon: 'Challenge accepted. But before I get so drunk that I can't walk in a straight line, and have to resort to looking at the ground to navigate, I think I ought to record an opening gambit for my opponents at Blaze Of Glory.'

Jason: 'Really, now?'

Simon: 'I get the feeling that I'm going to be nursing a hangover tomorrow - so yeah, let's do it now, while I still have some mental clarity left.'

Jason picks up what remains of his pint of Guinness.

Jason: 'Fine; just let me finish this off first, and then we'll go and find somewhere a bit more secluded.'

As Jason downs the contents of his glass, with Simon watching on, the scene fades to black.

The scene fades in to show Simon Jones stood in an alley, in the early evening Las Vegas sunshine; Simon is wearing the same dark blue jeans and black t-shirt as when he was last seen, in J.C. Wooloughan's. However, the first voice that is heard - from off camera - is that of Jason O'Neil.

Jason: 'Okay, it's recording.'

With his right hand, Simon points towards the camera.

Simon: 'Where did you even get that? I was gone for less than two minutes, having a Johnny Cash, and when I come back, I find you in possession of a camera.'

Jason: 'Never mind that, you just hurry up and get on with talking about your match at Blaze Of Glory - you're using up valuable drinking time.'

Simon moves his hand to cover his mouth, as he coughs; he then lowers his arm, and begins to speak again.

Simon: 'What a difference a year makes: twelve months ago on Saint Patrick's Day, I sat in a bleak room in Halifax, Nova Scotia, to talk about an upcoming match I had in ACW, against Magni, where there was little at stake other than pride; now, here I am in the warmer climes of Las Vegas, ready to talk about my forthcoming match at Blaze Of Glory III, a match in which, for two of the combatants - myself and Ethan Brody - there will be two prizes on the line. And with what is there to be won, at Blaze Of Glory, I'm aiming to avoid a repeat of the outcome of the match I had with Magni last year, when I ended March with a defeat.'

Simon nods his head.

Simon: 'Of course, twelve months ago I wasn't even a member of the SCW roster; it wasn't until April last year that I first set foot inside the six-sided ring - and even then it was only to promote a match that I was going to be in against Vixen, at the end of that month, in ACW. Now, ACW is dead in all but name - a solitary belt serving as a reminder of its existence - and I've gone from being a contender to a certain organisation's cruiserweight title, to being a two-time SCW Heavyweight Champion; not all change is bad.'

With both hands, Simon motions towards his waist, gesturing for a championship belt.

Simon: 'And so now, fifteen days into my second reign as the SCW Heavyweight Champion, I'm thirteen days away from making my first appearance at the biggest show on the SCW calendar, Blaze Of Glory - and in a suitably high profile match. I'm not going to talk for that long about my opponents today - as the days pass, and the buildup for the match gathers pace, I'll have more to say; besides, it is Saint Patrick's Day, and there's a pint or several with my name on it, waiting to be drunk. So for now, I'll keep things short - starting with SCW's resident fashionista.'

Simon momentarily looks towards the ground, before looking back at the camera, and continuing.

Simon: 'Last week, I said that if Steve Ramone - along with Odette Ryder - reached the final of the Blast from the Past tournament, then I would look forward to hearing whatever he had to say about me. But with his team having been eliminated - in dubious circumstances - I instead await to see what nonsense one of their conquerors - Delia - will spout with regards to myself and Brandi Shotze; I wonder, with us currently being in a two week gap between shows - rather than the more customary period of one week - does that mean we'll get a double helping of "the Burn Book?" Whatever the case, Delia, I expect that you're not short of insults to use - but let me assist you, anyway.'

With his right hand, Simon tugs at his jeans.

Simon: 'If I remember correctly, these jeans cost six pounds - which is just over seven euros, or just under ten dollars, depending on your preferred currency. And this t-shirt...'

Simon uses his left hand to tug at his t-shirt.

Simon: '...which I've had for around a dozen years, was literally given to me, for nothing; I like an expensive suit as much as the next man, but Delia, while you're unlikely to be seen in anything other than high fashion brands, I'm perfectly comfortable wearing an outfit, the cost of which barely runs into double figures. So that's my clothes verbally dissected, but I'm sure, Delia, that you'll find other things about me to pick fault with - my hair, perhaps?'

Simon runs his hand through his hair.

Simon: 'In all seriousness, whilst we may be on different planets as far as fashion is concerned, what's most important is that, when it comes to wrestling, we do occupy the same world - which is what brings us to being opponents at the end of this month. You may have surprised people with your performances, on your way to reaching the final of the Blast from the Past tournament, but having now had the chance to see you compete in three matches, there's no longer that mystery surrounding what you're capable of in the ring - and so I can assure you that Brandi Shotze won't be caught off-guard in the same way that, say, Jessie Salco, was; I look forward to seeing Brandi have some fun, when she gets her hands on you in the ring.'

Simon rubs his chin.

Simon: 'Prior to our semi-final last night, I had expected that, if Brandi and I made it through to the final of Blast from the Past, then the first title defence of my second reign as Heavyweight Champion, would have to wait until after Blaze Of Glory III - but as anyone that has seen the line-up for Blaze Of Glory can attest, I was wrong in that regard. And so what a situation Ethan Brody finds himself in right now: if things go in his favour at Blaze Of Glory, he could finish the night as one half of the winners of the Blast from the Past tournament, and as the new SCW Heavyweight Champion. However, I don't intend to let either of those things happen - I plan on leaving Ethan Brody doubly disappointed.'

Simon smiles wryly.

Simon: 'Winning a title is one thing, but keeping hold of it is harder still. What was it Nessa Wall said? "First defences are the worst," I believe is the phrase that she used - and Ethan Brody can certainly verify that: having won the tag team titles at the beginning of the year, he and Landon Axel then lost them four weeks later, in their first defence. It's okay though, Ethan, as I too know how that feels - my first reign as Heavyweight Champion, last year, ended with my first defence of the title. But there's no way that I'm going to allow lightning to strike twice - that title is staying with me for a while longer.'

Simon sighs.

Simon: 'I don't mean to discredit your ability, Ethan - I'm well aware of how proficient you are inside a wrestling ring. You tweeted earlier today that it seems surreal for you to be in the final of Blast from the Past, and to be in with a chance of winning the heavyweight title - and while that may be an extraordinary situation for you to find yourself in, I'm not so surprised that you are the one that will be the male half of the opposing team at Blaze Of Glory. You see, I remember back in May of last year - while I was earning my first shot at the SCW Heavyweight Championship - how well you acquitted yourself, in both the King of the Death Matches tournament, and the Lord of the Ring match. Ultimately though, you won neither - at the conclusion of Blaze Of Glory, I hope that the same can be said: that you won neither the Blast from the Past tournament, nor the heavyweight title.'

Simon quickly glances up at the sky, before looking back at the camera.

Simon: 'Before I wrap this up, there's one final thing - for now - that I want to say about Ethan Brody. My Dad once told me, "Never trust a man that doesn't like football." Now, I tend to think that statement can't really be applied to men from here in North America, where football doesn't have the same place in the public consciousness that it has in the UK - which excuses most of the men in SCW. But up until last week, I had concerns about Ethan Brody - from his stint in ACW, through to his time in SCW, not once I had heard this compatriot of mine mention football. That changed, though, when Brody likened the the team of himself and Delia, to one of the cosmopolitan teams in the Premier League. So now I'm satisifed that Ethan Brody is a man that can be trusted, the only puzzle left, is who is his team?'

Jason: 'Okay, good - now finish it off.'

Simon: 'I've already talked about clothes once, so that seems as good a subject as any to end on: while I may not always project the appearance of a champion, with the way that I dress, in thirteen days, at Blaze Of Glory III, I'll show that it's the man that makes the clothes, and not the other way round - or, to put it another way, I'll show that it's the man that makes the title; I'm not ready to give up possession of the heavyweight title yet - instead, at Blaze Of Glory, I intend to get myself a trophy to go with it.'

Jason: 'And cut.'

The scene fades to black.


Tuesday 18th March

The scene opens to show the living room of Simon Jones' home. Stretched out, asleep on a brown leather sofa, opposite the camera is Simon - who is still wearing the same dark blue jeans and black t-shirt that he wore the previous evening. Seconds later, Jacqueline Jones walks into the foreground of the shot; she is wearing a pink and grey striped nightdress.

Jacqueline is carrying their daughter, Matilda, who is wearing a white bodysuit. Jacqueline places Matilda on the chest of her sleeping husband; Matilda then paws at Simon, causing him to wake up.

Simon: 'Aren't you a sight for sore eyes.'

Simon smiles at Matilda.

Jacqueline: 'What happened to not being home too late?'

Simon turns his head to look at Jacqueline.

Simon: 'I said I would try not to be home too late; I did warn you that Jase would want to do a pub crawl. But by choosing to sleep on the sofa, I did at least keep my promise not to wake you up.'

Simon takes hold of Matilda, and sits up.

Jacqueline: 'I assume that you had a good night.'

Simon: 'We did. I think I'm going to feel the effects of it later though, when I'm in the gym.'

Simon yawns.

Jacqueline: 'Starting your training for your big match, I take it?'

Simon: 'Yep. And in doing so, attempting to ensure that following Blaze Of Glory, I have another reason to go out and get drunk - and not to cry into my beer, because of a defeat, but to toast success, in Blast from the Past.'

As Simon rubs his eyes, the scene fades to black.

[Guns For Hire]

 Army Barracks, Colchester, Essex. September 1990[/17b]

The Gulf War begins to unfold in the newspapers, television news and through general gossip. Corporal Ethan Brody had been watching the developments of Iraq ‘s invasion of Kuwait with great interest, a young man who’s just turned 21 and serving his third year in the British Military, deployment if the United Nations agree to the coalition would be imminent for him. Ethan’s first taste of action. Having just finished his morning training, Ethan heads into his barracks to see Major General Arthur Brody standing there with Sergeant Christopher Todd, Ethan stands to attention as the Major General acknowledges his presence.

Major General Arthur Brody
At ease, Corporal.

Ethan doesn’t move.

Major General Arthur Brody
It’s good to see you, Son. It’s been a while.

Corporal Ethan Brody
I’m doing my duty, Major General, to serve queen and country!

Arthur smiles.

Major General Arthur Brody
Sergeant Todd has been telling me that you’re excelling in every department, you’ve been getting excellent reports and I put that down to the excellent tutorage of Sergeant Todd, therefore I hereby promote you to Staff Sergeant.

Major General Arthur Brody walks over and adds another stripe to Christopher Todd’s arm.

Staff Sergeant Christopher Todd
Thank you, Sir.  

Major General Arthur Brody
If you don’t mind, Staff Sergeant, I’d like to have a private word with my son.

Staff Sergeant Christopher Todd
Off course, Sir,

Staff Sergeant Christopher Todd salutes and makes his exit from the barracks, leaving Ethan and his father standing there, Arthur pacing back and forth whilst Ethan just stands there.

Major General Arthur Brody
I suppose you’ve been keeping up with the events in Iraq?


Corporal Ethan Brody
Yes sir, I have.

Major General Arthur Brody
Dreadful business, Saddam Hussein’s forces are strong, off course the yanks want to be all Uncle Sam and save the day. I’ve been authorised to promote you, son, to be the new Sergeant.

Ethan’s heart beats faster hearing of this promotion, rising to the ranks of Sergeant was always achievable, but never did he imagine he’d be Sergeant so soon into his Military career.

Major General Arthur Brody
You will be doing her majesty proud, Sergeant Ethan Brody, you’ve made your mother and me very proud.

Arthur Brody attaches the new stripe to Ethan’s uniform.

Major General Arthur Brody
With the proposed coalition we’ll be sending garrisons out to Iraq, which means you’ll be in the front line with our American cousins, they’re meant to be in-charge but don’t let them step on your toes. You’re British! Sergeant of the British Empire!

Ethan feels a sense of pride hearing his father talk.

Major General Arthur Brody
Our motto is…

Corporal Ethan Brody
Be The Best.

Major General Arthur Brody
That’s right, be the best, you’ll have to install that into your squadron until it’s the only thing they mutter.

Ethan smirks.

Major General Arthur Brody
Let’s kick Saddam Hussein’s Iraqi arse!

Arthur and Ethan solute one another as his father leaves the barracks, leaving his ever so proud son standing there with a sense of belief, belief that he can be the best the British Army requires him to be, but teach his team members that the British Army motto “Be The Best” isn’t just a motto but a way of life as the scene fades away to black.

Blackadder Camp (One of the British Camps), Iraq. January 1991/17b]

The scene opens to the sight of one of Iraq’s deserts, sand spraying from the wheels of several tanks causes it to look like smoke, British squadron lead by the young Ethan Brody sits inside of the tank. The ride bumpy as the tank sores through the desert, the different coloured lights flash from multiple panels inside, Ethan looks at some of his unit as they grip hold of their guns tightly. The tank slowly decelerates and comes to a standstill, the sound of bullets hitting the outer shell of the tank can be heard, some of the unit look slightly petrified as they look towards their sergeant for guidance.

Sergeant Ethan Brody
From want we’ve been told, this war is slowly coming to an end…

Private Jim Johnson
Doesn’t sound like it out there, Sarg, sounds like they want to put as many bullets they can into each one of us!

Sergeant Ethan Brody
And we’ll let them try, but the difference is they’re Iraqi’s and we’re British, and being British means that we’re the best. So, Private, they’ll try to defeat us but the British Empire didn’t own the majority of this world at one point for nothing! We’re the best. Be the Best.

Ethan checks his gun.

Sergeant Ethan Brody
If you can keep your wits about you while all others are losing theirs, and blaming you. The world will be yours and everything in it, what's more, you'll be a man, my son.

Ethan’s unit recognise the passage from Rudyard Kipling’s ‘If’ poem.

Sergeant Ethan Brody
Now let’s get the job done so we can have beers and play some cards!

The unit smile and share a laugh as the hatch of the tank opens, Ethan smiles at his unit, nodding his head towards them as he places his foot on the metal ladder, elevating himself up into the bright sunlight with the sound of bullets flying past his head as the scene fades away.

Ethan Brody’s Bar, Galveston Texas. March 2014

The scene fades in to Ethan Brody laying in his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, the bullet scars in his chest evident of why he is now a professional wrestler. Ethan flicks through some photographs of himself twenty years ago when he was a sergeant, remembering his successful time serving in the gulf war, the brief moment he shared with his father that he had idolised his whole life. All he had ever wanted to do was replicate what his father achieved, gaining the praise and recognition from him was better than any service medal or award, making him proud and sharing it with him was his whole life. Until that fateful day. Ethan rubs the scars from the shotgun blast to the chest, trying to save his unit but failing as he was the only man to survive the brutal slaughter, although he feels a piece of him died that very day. Getting up slowly to sit up on the edge of the bed, placing the pictures on his bedside table with empty bottles scattered all over the floor, Ethan glances at the window to see the Texas sun shining brightly in the sky.  He reaches down and slides his jeans on, grabbing any random socks from the floor to put them on, Ethan heads downstairs into the bar and before he could grab a glass a thunderous bang comes from the door.

Familiar voice
OPEN UP!

Ethan recognises the voice as being Landon Axel, his partner and associate in Guns for Hire, Ethan walks over to the door and unbolts it. Landon comes strolling in wearing his normal Jean’s, leather jacket, a bandana over his forehead with his blonde locks moving as he walks. Ethan shuts the door and walks around the bar, Landon perches himself on a bar stool looking glum, Ethan grabs a glass and pours some whisky in. As Brody places the bottle down, Landon reaches over, grabs the glass and begins to drink it. Ethan watches his partner with a lock of shock on his face.

Ethan Brody
I’ll give you five seconds to explain to me why I shouldn’t kick your ass!

After taking a sip, closing his eyes and moving his head from side to side in utter distain, Landon looks at his partner and sighs.

Landon Axel
Am I being replaced?

Ethan Brody
Five…

Landon takes another sip, the whisky is strong for his taste buds, resorting in him repeating the same actions as before.

Landon Axel
How do you drink this stuff, honestly, I’ve taken a few sips and I’ve lost my eye sight already!

Ethan Brody
Four…

Landon Axel
My teeth now have hairs on them. Am I being replaced by that blonde thing?

Ethan Brody
Three…

Landon Axel
I’m blonde, if you want me to grow some boobs, give me a few months in McDonalds and I’m sure I’ll have a decent moob for you to squeeze.

Landon finishes the drink and slams the glass on the table.

Landon Axel
Now how about a beer?

Ethan Brody
Two…

Landon sighs.

Landon Axel
I’m sorry I took your drink, but it’s been playing on my mind, this whole situation with Delia.

Ethan Brody
We are partners, L.A, that’s the situation here.

Landon Axel
Did you hear what she said about me the other day?

Before Ethan could talk, Landon pushes the barstool away, pacing back and forth.

Landon Axel
Am I being replaced by her, Ethan, I know you’ve got the chance to become Heavyweight Champion and I’ve got a match with the self-proclaimed Number One Contender, but what is going on with you and your “partner” use the term loosely.

Ethan Brody
Loosely or not, Landon, we’ve won three matches together. At first I questioned whether we’d be compatible, chalk and cheese, but we’re in the finals of this tournament and she’s got every right to be there.

Landon snorts.

Landon Axel
If you put a bottle of orange juice in front of her, she’d stare at it for hours, because it said “concentrate” on it.. but she’d have to have someone read that too her because she’s got as much intellect as George W Bush!

Ethan Brody
You’re stereotyping…

Landon Axel
And you’re partners with that French Poodle! If you require a bitch then I’ll happily invest in this..

Landon pulls out a folded bit of paper from his jean pocket, he unfolds it and slams it against the counter, Ethan looks at the picture of a dog and glares at Landon.

Landon Axel
I hear this one can be a real bitch, just like Delia, so you’ll grow fond of her and I’m sure you can play with her… the dog that is

Ethan yanks the picture of the dog away and rips it in half.

Ethan Brody
Has this got a point, Landon?

Landon Axel
YES! Delia is only using you to get that golden opportunity!

Ethan Brody
That was stated to me on Twitter several weeks ago, Landon, the winners of this tournament would get a championship opportunity. We have our tag title rematch but I could use that opportunity to go for the Roulette or Heavyweight Championship..

Landon Axel
Okay, but what if she gets the winning pin at Blaze of Glory? You’ll get that title opportunity contract, but she could cost you your first Heavyweight Championship opportunity by pinning Brandi?

Ethan nods his head in agreement.

Ethan Brody
That she can, if she’s legal and gets the pin, then we’ll be the Blast from the Past tournament winners. The goal we set our sights upon several weeks ago. Yes me getting the pin would be amazing, becoming SCW Champion, but strangely I’ve grown fond of my partner.

Landon’s jaw hits the ground.

Landon Axel
What?

Ethan Brody
I don’t know, maybe I’m thinking aloud.

Landon Axel
Delia Darling is not good news, Ethan, she’s bad news! A bitch and FRENCH! …FRENCH!

Ethan smiles.

Ethan Brody
And you’re American and I’m British and the whole world goes round in a circle.

Brody grabs the camera from the bar and chucks it at Landon.

Ethan Brody
If you want to do something useful, film this will you.

Landon looks Ethan up and down.

Landon Axel
This isn’t going to be a naughty video for Delia, is it?

Ethan glares at Landon.

Ethan Brody
Just hit record.

Landon presses the record button, getting the camera in focus of Ethan standing behind his bar, pressing the palms of his hands down on the counter as he looks deep into the lens.

Ethan Brody
In the late 1400’s the beginnings of a dawning empire began, The British Empire, from the two kingdoms of England and Scotland, the colonisation of America, the widespread dominance of this small isle shaped the world into what it is today. Without the British Empire the world could have been a different place. The Spanish could of tried world dominance, the French or Dutch, perhaps the Portuguese. But they didn’t. The British came and “ruled” the world at one point or another. Fast forward several decades to 2014, a little promotion found in the state of Nevada called Sin City Wrestling, holding its second Blast from the Past tournament with the final comprising of two men from a small little isle. One from the midlands and the other from London, one being the SCW Heavyweight Champion and the other a former Tag Champion, for one of these men will be the tournament winner. Who will it be?

I keep hearing a lot of football references recently, not the one with the egg shaped ball, proper football that people disown by calling it “Soccer”. Ben Jordan can be seen down the Den, watching his beloved Millwall losing on a regular basis, kind of hard being a Millwall fan recently but his heart is there. Simon Jones wants to know which team I support. Interesting question that, I could say the normal ‘glory hunter’ teams in Manchester United or Liverpool, since I’m from the south majority of them are United fans. Or I could say my actual team but it doesn’t really matter, does it, Ben Jordan compared this to a cup match with Jones being United and himself being Millwall. If that is the case then I should be Eastleigh, lowly Eastleigh in the Skrill South. Someone you may not have heard off but winning matches in the preliminary qualification to get into the first round of the cup gets the attention of some people, winning more and more, getting into the third round of the FA Cup to face a football league team causes media frenzy. Little Eastleigh manages to win, goes on, beating league team after league team until the unthinkable happens, they reach the final. Eastleigh versus a very respectable league team. That is the scenario we have here, Simon Jones, the unexpected has happened and this man faces you for the illustrious Heavyweight Championship.

You could say I’m much more than a small, little team like Eastleigh, but then again if we compare the title history of our first defences then we could look at teams who have overachieved and fallen from grace. Blackburn Rovers, winning the premier league title to get relegated, Wigan Athletic winning the FA Cup and getting relegated in the same season, same could be said of Portsmouth who won the FA Cup and suffered multiple relegation and going into administration. No one wants to be Blackburn Rovers or Portsmouth, heck no one wants to be Birmingham City as they’ve done from Premier League regulars to almost League One obscurity, we cannot all be Premier League title contenders. The ones people remember. But we can be like Eastleigh or Wigan who can create cup upsets, or in our case, Championship upsets as if I pin you I’ll become the new Heavyweight Champion.

It isn’t something I set out in doing, Simon, I just wanted to win the tournament and have the bragging rights for that. Yes winning in controversial circumstances, on more than one occasion, could take the lacklustre from this occasion but we’re in the final and getting over the finishing line, hearing the final whistle is what we all want.

Landon lowers the camera.

Ethan Brody
What are you doing?

Landon Axel
Your battery died.

Ethan looks at him in dismay as he pours a glass of whisky and downs in.

Ethan Brody
Fuck sake.

Landon laughs as he sits back up at the bar stool as the scene fades away to black.

[Christian Underwood]

 The first RP Period has passed. Everything posted after this counts toward the second RP Period.

[Brandi Shotze]

 Being a redneck has it's advantages, big advantages. You dress comfortable, you don't even think of expensive shoes, or flashy little things. The fancy cars and the expensive wine, becomes a pick up truck and a beer. La-de-dah fancy dresses, become jeans and shirt, and people accept you for who you are because you're just like them. Well, other then the snobby bitches who peek down their nose at ya. Screw the make up, the natural look is very good when you're a redneck from a little place, instead of one of those big city dwellers. Folks help each other down here, not piss on ya, like they would in New York City. Being a redneck is fucking something for a gal like me. Glad the penny's dropped for you, because yeah, this is Brandi and I just narrated the shit out of the opening of my promo. Yeeeeeeeeeeeah bitches. Put ya feet up, grab a beer of the nearest man you can grab ladies and enjoy this shit!

Moore County in Lynchburg Tennessee, y'all probably read Lynchburg somewhere, probably on a bottle of Jack Daniels, a hero round these parts for making men screwable, women too, since 1875. Don't get me wrong, some chicks pants hit the floor by the time y'all can sneeze, but for the picky ones, good ol' J.D can help. Just ask good ol' Bo on the SCW cruise, a shot of J.D, and not even a sneeze and he was doing a naked war dance. Anyway, getting off track here. All SCW folk take week one before a supercard to get away, get their arses in a thong bikini and hit a beach, or head on home to their families around the country. Considering I've seen my ass in a thong, I went on home. So welcome to Moore County.

The parking lot of a small complex is seen, well, a redneck parking lot, a whole lot of dirt and gravel, and some cars on top. A broken neon sign, showing the words "Cooters Old Country House" (Think about it people, think....) is placed above the door of an old looking shack style, wooden building. The sign blinks on and off as the sound of country music is heard thumping from behind the door. The door opens and two men come stumbling out, dressed as typical cowboys, jeans, plaid shirts and cowboy hats. The camera switches inside to see a band up on a stage in the bar setting. The band start to play a cover of Kid Rock's "Half Your Age", one of the few country songs he recorded. A crowd gathers in front of them, line dancing in front of the stage.

The camera moves around to show the decor of the bar. A long wooden bar, not in the best condition covers a small part of the room. Above the bar hangs, hangs a bucks head. Beside that, the red background, with a blue circle, with a thin white band around, and three white stars in the solid blue circle, Tennessee state flag, hands low. Behind the bar, a row of fridges are seen. Neon signs are seen, advertising the many brands of alcohol that can be purchased from the premises, flash on and off at random times. In front of the bar, different shapes and sized of bar stools, sit in front of wooden paneling, that goes down to the floor. The camera turns a little more to show an old style Jukebox, standing from the floor, with bright red lights pulsating through the sides and to the top, before bouncing back down. A crowd of men gather around a pool table, it's greatest days long behind it, as beer stains and light rips in the felt are visibly seen.

The band finish their current song and a cheer is heard. The band don't pause much longer as they start to play Hank Williams's Jr's "Naked Women And Beer".

The camera turns around further the see a waitress walking past a camera, carrying a tray of tall frosty beers and delivers them to a nearby table. The camera moves a little further to see an area with more tables, with man patrons sitting around them, some deep in conversation, others moving their head along to the beat. The camera moves through the tabled area to where people are seen gathered around a dart board. The camera gets in a little closer to see the person with a dart in their hand is none other then Brandi Shotze. Brandi pulls her arm back and thrusts it forward, releasing the dart. The dart hurtles towards the board, landing in the double twenty. A small cheer happens and Brandi turns to the man nearest to her.

Brandi: Make it rain baby!

The man places money in her hand and walks away.

Brandi: Who needs a real job when you can beat drunks at throwing arrows?

Brandi turns away and walks towards the bar, weaving through the bar crowd. Brandi gets to the bar, moving to an empty space, next a woman. Brandi nods politely at the woman, tipping her cowboy hat in the woman's direction.

Brandi: Howdy.

The woman smiles, as she sways side to side.

Brandi: You look like you're having a good time.

The woman, clearly drunk after a good night of alcohol and country music, nods at Brandi.

Drunk woman: I love this place! I've never been here before but by golly gee, it's a swinging place.

Brandi: Yeah, it's not too bad.

Brandi puts her hand up to the barman, who nods at Brandi.

Drunk woman: I love it!

Brandi turns her head around and looks at the woman.

Brandi: You love it?

Drunk woman: Can't get enough of it!

Brandi bites her top lip, holding on to a laugh.

Brandi: So what you're saying is you love the KOCH?

The woman nods and smiles, not hearing Brandi completely over the music.

Brandi: And you can't get enough of the KOCH?

The woman nods again, once more, the music slightly louder then Brandi's voice. The barman places a bottle of beer and a shot on the bar in front of Brandi. Brandi quickly picks up the shot and sees it off in one quick motion. She looks back at the woman, and puts her hand on her shoulder.

Brandi: You and me both darlin'.

Brandi picks up her beer from the bar and turns away from the drunk lady, a smile on her face. She talks to herself as she walks away.

Brandi: Takes all sorts.

Brandi reaches in to her pocket as her phone starts to shake in her jeans. She looks at the name on it and smiles again, walking though the bar, and quickly through a door, leading in to a corridor. A sign that says "bathrooms" with an arrow pointing down the corridor. A row of three payphones are seen against the wall. Brandi quickly hits the button on the phone and speaks.

Brandi: Bout time ya called me back bitch, left ya a message days ago.

Brandi listens for a few seconds.

Brandi: Firemen, eh?

Brandi nods impressively.

Brandi: Very impressive. So what do you think of the idea?

Brandi pauses, listening for a response.

Brandi: I just need an eye kept on certain people to make this one fair. It's in the Pyramid Gymnasium in Long Beach California on the thirtieth. Ah do appreciate ya help on this one.

Brandi waits for a reply, nodding her head in agreement, whilst drinking back on the beer in her hand.

Brandi: Yeah, it should be a whole heap of good ol' time fun. I'll be heading that way soon anyway, so let me know when you're around and we'll go find a fun place to be.

Brandi laughs

Brandi: Alright, I'll see y'all then. Bye now.

Brandi hit the button on the front of the phone, sliding it back in to her pocket and taking a gulp of her beer. She turns to walk back through the door and back in to the main bar area as "Redneck Paradise" starts to play. She looks around the bar, but a woman in the seated area starts to wave at her, desperately trying to get Brandi's attention. Brandi rolls her eyes, lifting her hand with a weak wave. The woman waves her hand towards herself, beckoning Brandi towards her. Brandi rolls her eyes, holding up a single finger, to indicate that she will be there shortly.

Brandi: Fantastic.

The sarcasm drips from Brandi's tone as she starts to move her way through the line dancing people and towards the seating area. She passes two tables in order to get to the table where the woman sits.

Brandi: Howdy, Betty Lou.

Betty Lou: Howdy Brandi. I needed to talk to you.

Brandi takes a seat opposite the smaller, pretty, blonde woman, with blue eyes. Brandi leans in to listen over the music.

Brandi: I figured that's why ya called me over.

Brandi rests her beer on the table, but keeps her fingers wrapped around the bottle, her thumb flicking at the label.

Betty Lou: It's about the school reunion this weekend.

Brandi looks surprised at Betty Lou, her eyebrows raises as she puts her elbow on the table. Brandi leans forward and rests her head on her open palm.

Brandi: The what?

Brandi moves her head a little closer.

Betty Lou: The school reunion. Don't tell me you didn't get the invite.

Brandi shrugs, lifting her eyes towards the ceiling.

Brandi: This is the first time I've been home in a while, been too busy kicking ass at work and living it up in California, to really check. Came home to a pile of mail.

Betty Lou: It's probably somewhere in there. Will you be attending? I'm arranging it.

Brandi sits up in the chair, lifting a finger to her lips. She removes her finger and lifts the beer bottle up to her lips, taking a gulp of the beer. She places her finger back to her lip, looking as if she's thinking. She waves her finger around in front of here, moving it up and down before finally speaking above the music.

Brandi: Fuck no!

Betty Lou looks taken back by this statement, her mouth slightly open at Brandi's bluntness.

Betty Lou: But.... why?

Brandi takes her fingers away from her beer, putting both her hands out in front of her.

Brandi: School was shit, everyone had their own little groups, I had me, myself, and I. Why in the name of fuckery would I wanna be in a room full of jerk offs, who ignored the shit outta be all those years ago? That's like being the devil and going to church.

Betty Lou runs her hand down the side of her tied back blonde hair.

Betty Lou: But you have to be there. People would wanna see you.

Betty Lou smiles a half smile towards Brandi, who just shakes her head firmly.

Brandi: People didn't wanna see me years ago, I don't think they're gonna give a horses ass if I'm there now or not.

Brandi leans back in her chair, taking her beer with her and taking a gulp out of the bottle.

Betty Lou: They will wanna see how you've change.

Brandi scoffs at the thought, moving her head forward once more to speak.

Brandi: Those d-bags and their little kilqs didn't know me back then to see how I've changed. The jocks were too busy slamming nerds in lockers, everyone was too busy kissing the cheerleaders asses to give a damn about people like me.

A look of discomfort crosses over Betty Lou's face.

Betty Lou: I was a cheerleader

Brandi: And y'all probably got the schools world record for lips on asses, but no fuck wanted to know me then and no fuck wants to know me now.

Brandi nods her head confidently.

Betty Lou: Than it would be fun for you to show them who you are now, tell them what you've done, show them who you're with. You are with someone.... right?

Brandi turns her head away from Betty Lou before snapping it back and looking her directly in to her eyes.

Brandi: Yeah, an Indian....

Betty Lou: An Indian?

Brandi tries to keep her calm as she looks directly at her.

Brandi: Yeah, Native American, all war paint, feathers, tomahawk and the urge to scalp idiots.

Betty Lou: A cowgirl and a Native American?

Brandi grits her teeth, her jaw tightening as she speaks through her gritted teeth.

Brandi: Keep talking.

Betty Lou cups her ear, moving towards Brandi.

Betty Lou: What was that? I couldn't hear you cause of the music.

Brandi cups her mouth, talking slightly louder, trying to speak over the music.

Brandi: I said keep talking. Look, pretty sure no one remembered my name, let alone sent me an invite to this stuck up party where y'all can rub success in each others faces. Y'all wanna know my success, just tune in to Sin City Wrestling and watch me. That way, any idiot that really gives a fuck can find out all about me. I don't need no fancy ass party to be known.

Betty Lou: Oh.

Brandi: Oh nothing. Hopefully, the invitation got lost in the mail and my ass won't have to be there to put up with the shit that comes along with it. Excuse me now.

Brandi stands up, walking towards the bar once more, drinking back on her beer, draining the bottle as she goes. She gets to the bar, holding to fingers up to the barman, who nods. He turns grabbing a beer from the fridge, popping the cap off, and picks up a shot glass from the back of the bar. He places the beer bottle and shot glass in front of Brandi before picking up a bottle of Jack Daniels and pouring it in to the shot glass. Brandi picks up the shot glass, knocking it back with one quick swoop as the camera fades out.

*******

You want me to narrate this scene too? Hmmm, ok, well yeah, I'm drunk as fuck and life seems rosey. Not really a lot more to say, other than YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!

Stumbling through the mobile homes park we see Brandi Shotze under the moonlight. In her hand is her silver flask. She unscrews the cap and drinks from it. She tries to put the cap back on the flask, but her impaired judgement makes her miss the top of the flask.

Brandi: Get on there, you bastard!

Brandi stops in her tracks, trying to put the cap back on, eventually, she manages the task and looks up. Brandi looks around the park.

Brandi: Now where the fuck do I live again?

She points to the left, but shakes her head.

Brandi: Nah, not that way, so it's gotta be thata way!

Brandi points towards the right and nods to herself, before walking in that direction. She stumbles past a trailer, and steps towards another one.

Brandi: That looks familiar.

She points at a mobile home and walks towards it and looks at the temporary mail box, with the name "B. Shotze" written on the front. Brandi opens her mouth wide.

Brandi: WOW! This broad has the same name as me!

Brandi scratches her head.

Brandi: Oh wait!

She smiles as she walks towards the door and reaches in to her pocket, pulling out her keys. She moves them towards the lock, aiming for the keyhole, but misses, aiming to the ring.

Brandi: Get in the hole!

She smiles widely.

Brandi: Not the first time I've said that and sure as fuck won't be the last.

She tries again, but aims to low.

Brandi: Aim higher!

Another wide smile crosses her face.

Brandi: Said that before too!

She tries a third time and eventually the key goes in the keyhole. She twists the key and pulls the door open.

Brandi: Home sweet fucking home!

She steps inside, reaching her hand around, reaching for the light switch.

Brandi: I know you're around here somewhere light switch. Are you hiding from me again?

Brandi reaches over to the other side, the opposite wall and finds the light switch, switching on the light.

Brandi: Sneaky bastard, how did you get over that side?

Brandi turns around and reaches for the door handle, and shuts the door behind her. She moves over to a built in sofa. She sits down, but quickly springs to her feet.

Brandi: BEER!

She moves over towards the fridge in a small kitchenette area. She bends down, pulling the door open and pulls a beer from a shelf. She turns around and swings her hips, hitting the door with her rear end, and knocking it shut.

Brandi: Ass one, fridge door zero! Suck it fridge door!

Brandi moves back over to the sofa and sits. She puts her hand on top of the beer can and pulls the opener back, sending beer flying everywhere.

Brandi: It exploded in my hand! Not for the first time either.

Brandi puts the can to her mouth, drinking back on it.

Brandi: OOOOOH Suddy!

She places the beer down on a nearby table. A pile of mail sits on the table. She grabs the mail and looks at it. She starts to throw letters to either side.

Brandi: Junk.... junk..... BBQ menu.... another BBQ menu....

Brandi stops at a letter.

Brandi: Awwww shit.

She rips the envelope open and reads the heading.

Brandi: You are invited to a school reunion.

Brandi: I said it before, and I'll say it again.... awww shit!

Brandi looks at a window behind her and back down at the letter. She reaches her free hand back and turns the handle of the window and pushes it open. She takes the letter in her other hand and drops it out of the window. She dusts off her hands.

Brandi: Problem solved.

She pulls the window shut and twists the handle to lock it once more.

Brandi: Now where was I?

Brandi reaches over and grabs the beer from nearby and takes a gulp as the scene fades.

*******

Another narration? Shit, who's idea was this anyway? Ok, let me take a deep ol' breath and see what we can come up with. The most peaceful areas, can often be the ones not many people know about... obvious statement, right? No really. Let me explain, you all know what Indian reservations are, right? But how many of you have put you foot on one? My guess is not many, but we all have a spot we can go where no matter what is going on around us, we feel alone, we feel at peace. Then there's me, Brandi Shotze and I seriously fucking hate peace and quiet, be enough quiet when my fat ass is in the ground.

Brandi: What the fuck Bo? This is not gonna help!

Fade in to the native America reservation in Tahlequah, Oklahoma. Brandi Shotze looks over the open land before her, mostly desert. Beside her stands Bo Dreamwolf. Brandi is dressed in torn, faded blue jeans, big cowboy boots and a sleeveless black shirt. Bo is wearing tanned suede pants, with just an opened vest on his upper body. His hair is long and braided, running down his back. Next to Bo is an Indian Tepee

Bo: You need this.

Bo nods convincingly at Brandi.

Brandi: I need a six pack, country music, and your little war chief standing to attention. I don't need silence and open desert, and you wearing pants.

A long sigh leaves Brandi's lungs as she shakes her head, looking at the surroundings.

Brandi: It's shit Bo. I'm gonna wake up with sand up my ass being out here!

Bo smiles down at Brandi, his eyes warm.

Brandi: And it's hotter here than a backstage fuck fest at a Chippendales gig. Why would you bring me here?

Bo: Well one, I live here on the reservation. Secondly, your mind has been so over the place lately. You have doubted yourself since you entered the Blast From The Past II tournament, and yet you find yourself in the final. You have added pressure on you and this will help you relax.

Brandi: If you want me to relax, bend me over and smack my ass, don't put me in the middle of the desert to become "one with nature". I don't want those scorpion things crawling in places they shouldn't go. How the hell am I meant to relax in focus when I can get stung, and not in a good way?

Bo places a reassuring hand on Brandi's shoulder.

Bo: This place has a calming effect on people.

Brandi: Not doing a great job right now, is it?

Bo: No, but it shall soon enough. Being out here, life feels very different from the city, or even the country lifestyle that you are very much used to. It's like an island set in the middle of an ocean. You breathe in a whole new lease of life here.

Brandi turns her head to Bo.

Brandi: Very poetic, but I have a question.

Bo: Sure

Brandi: Did you have a sex change when I was away? Cause you sound like a girl right now. Poetic shit, and calming, and breathing and all the rest of it.

Bo bites his lower lip, his well mannered nature keeping him calm.

Bo: Why do I put up with you again?

Brandi looks down at her chest, pointing her thumbs at them.

Brandi: Because I have massive tits. If you haven't seen that by now, might need to see someone about those eyes of yours.

Bo smiles politely.

Bo: You can see those things from space.

A wide smile appears on Brandi's face.

Brandi: Wow! You made a funny, but you still haven't told me why I have to sleep in a freaking tent in the desert, when you have buildings over there!

Brandi points behind Bo, before looking in the camera.

Brandi: Cameraman, spin that heap of metal over there, will ya?

Brandi points again, and the camera spins around, showing a row of white buildings. Brandi's voice can be heard off camera.

Brandi: See what I mean?

The camera turns back around to Brandi, who stares back at it with her palms out, her head tilted, and the left side of her lip slanted downwards. She looks back up at Bo.

Brandi: Right over there, there's a school that you teach at, there's a medical center, there's stores, homes, all you're short of is a Starbucks and McDonalds! There's even fucking WIFI up there but I gotta sleep in a tent out here?

Bo: It will help you. Once you start enjoying the silence, then your mind will come clear, it will allow you to focus at the task in hand at Blaze Of Glory III.

Brandi: What task? I do what I always do, I turn up, I smash the shit out of some unlucky bitch and I find the nearest honky tonk, drink like it's going out of fashion and fuck off home. What's so different about this match or Delia?

Bo puts both his hands on Brandi's shoulders, standing partly behind her.

Bo: In your head, you already know the answer to that.

Brandi: Bo, in my head, I know the words to every LoCash Cowboys song, it doesn't mean I'm gonna win any prizes for having them.

Bo points to the nearby Tepee.

Brandi: No Bo.

Bo: Just come and sit for a while.

Bo takes Brandi by the hand and directs her to outside of the Tepee. He crouches to sit and points to the floor in front of him.

Bo: Sit.

His soft tones makes Brandi roll her eyes and she moves in front of him, slowly sitting down in front of him. Bo sits cross legged, while Brandi folds her left leg underneath her right, but keeps her right foot planted firmly on the ground. She leans forward, resting her right arm across her knee.

Brandi: If I get sand up my ass for sitting on the ground, Bo Dreamwolf, I swear to God, the only time you will get in my pants is when ya walking around the bedroom when I'm not there and you're having a curious moment.

Bo: I don't do that!

Brandi: If you say so. Now why is my ass closer to the center of the earth than usual?

Bo: Because we need to talk about this match.

Brandi breathes in deeply.

Brandi: Fine, big bad Bo, you wanna talk about it? Ok, why isn't this match in the main event? It's got the fucking heavyweight champion in and it's a tournament final? Is title vs title really bigger than something like this? Is it Bo? Is it really?

Bo: SCW promotes equality.

Brandi: So? Is two titles bigger than the top guy in SCW and a tournament final?

Bo: That is for neither of us to decide Brandi. That is down to the choices made by Mr Underwood, Mr Ward and Mr Staggs. It is their business and they have to do what they see as right.

Brandi: Well I think they fucked this one right up. Simon Jones is Mr Main Event, Ethan Brody has gained more respect in six weeks than most do in months, and Delia's entrances alone grab the attention.

Bo: That seems to take away from both Vixen and Necra's contributions.

[Brandi Shotze]

 Brandi's face turns to unimpressed.

Brandi: Who's side are you on?

Bo throws his hands up in innocence.

Brandi: Well?

Bo: No one's side at all, but both Vixen and Necra Octavian Kane have earned their titles and their spot.

Brandi: I am not taking anything away from either. Yes, they both has a hand in building the SCW Bombshell division. Yes, they deserve to be high up, but come on SCW has been promoting the shit outta this tournament for weeks.

Bo: Again Brandi, it's not our place to decide, but you're only using that as an excuse to hide the fact that what is really bothering you, is that you're in a huge match on Sunday.

Brandi sighs, slightly letting her guard down. A softer look crosses her face.

Brandi: Ok Bo, want the truth? Yeah, it's one of the biggest matches of my career. I've had the Bombshell tag titles here before so I know the pressure of holding gold, but it was always my gold to lose. If I lost it, I had no one else to blame but me. This match, is someone else's gold on the line, someone else's future, and I ain't gonna be the one who fucks it up for someone who deserves what he has. Winning this thing opens doors, gets you title shots at top titles, gets your name out there, but fuck that Bo. Someone in this match has worked his ass off to be the owner of the top gold, and I'll be damned if I wanna see him lose that belt, because I can't put Delia away as quickly as possible.

Bo: And if you win, it means you can join Mr Jones as a top champion.

Brandi: Fuck that too Bo, it ain't always about the top titles. You know I didn't get in to this game to be an ego driven asshole, who can't survive without a title. Half of SCW have come out saying they want this title, they want that title, all they're doing is proving they're pointless unless they have ten pounds of leather and gold with them. It's sad that they can't live without gold. When did people stop doing this for the sake of a good story, and to entertain, and become all about the titles and accolades?

Bo: It's been a common thing in wrestling for years.

Brandi: Well it's not me. People come out demanding shots when they've earned nothing. People like Simon Jones worked his ass off to be there, and people who show up and demand shots make me sick.

Bo: By winning this tournament, you would have earned a shot.

Brandi: Whatever, but I didn't get in to for that. I got in to wrestling because I liked fighting, I liked using it to get my anger out. I didn't come here for the gold, and let be completely honest, me and Delia, we're the garnish for this match, we're the sprigs of parsley people throw away, people wanna see Simon and Ethan, but if I can help Simon keep that title, you can bet your ass I'm gonna do it.

Bo: This is why you need focus Brandi. This is why you need to clear your head of all other thoughts and worries and focus on Delia and not just the occasion.

Brandi: I am focused on Delia, I'm fully aware of what she can do. I've got my eyes open enough to know that she might be a rookie, but that rookie learns fast. I'm aware of the chick with a dick and the dirty little slut she has helping her win matches. That's why I'm equaling the odds for that, and I know that will be taken care of. I know what I have to do, and I know I have to throw everything in and show Delia that ahm'a ready to throw wrestlin' out the window and turn up for a fight.

Bo: Your mind is becoming clearer already, because of where we are.

Brandi: Ah hell nah! It's becoming clearer because y'all gums keep flapping away, not cause my ass is on some injun land.

Bo: You keep telling yourself that.

Brandi: Oh ah will and I'll keep telling you that too. It's just helping to talk.

Bo: Then let's talk about this school reunion.

Brandi shakes her head.

Brandi: Let's not

Bo: Why not?

Brandi: Cause I have no intention of actually being there around those idiots who couldn't be bothered to say hi in school, fuck them all and the retarded horses they rolled in on. Couldn't give a damn about them.

Bo: That's how you want to be remembered from that time?

Brandi: Like I give a damn what they think. None of those lot will remember me anyway, so I'm not gonna sit there and act like I care.

Bo: Then give them someone to remember from this time around. A wise man once said it's not where you've been, it's where you're going.

Brandi: For a wise man, that guy spoke a lot of shit.

Bo: Can it really hurt to be there?

Brandi: It will hurt them if they talk down their noses at me, because I'll be knocking their bleached teeth down their throats. I don't wanna be there around them. Half the people from my year at school all fucked off to the big city as soon as they could, like they hated Moore County. They high tailed it out faster then the roadrunner, like they was ashamed of where they were from. I wasn't, I'm proud of who I am and where I'm from. I'll end up kicking the shit outta people.

Bo shakes his head in disagreement.

Brandi: Act like a bobble head all you want, I know me.

Bo: I know you too and I think you will be fine.

Brandi: I don't wanna be there, having to dress all girly and shit.

Bo: You should give it some consideration.

Brandi: Nope.

Bo smiles at Brandi's bluntness, his eyes full of warmth. Bo stands up and looks down at Brandi.

Brandi: Off to use the little Indians room?

Bo shakes his head.

Bo: Off to get some supplies, but I'll be back soon. Can I get you anything?

Brandi: Yeah, a six pack, some country music and some noise.

Bo smiles down at Brandi as he walks past her and starts to walk towards the town in the distance.

Brandi: Silly fucker thought I was joking!

She looks around at the empty land in front of her.

Brandi: I won't tell him this, but it is pretty peaceful here.

Brandi leans backward, laying down on her elbows as the scene fades out.

*******

Why do people wanna hear this narration shit anyway? Ok, let me do this thing. Facing people from the past, it's all fake bullshit. The double kiss on the cheek, the shitty lines like "Wow, you look amazing" when really, your face has become as saggy as your tits and you're fooling no one with an in of make up on that face. These reunions are always disappointing, especially when douche bags try to rub their success in your face, so you just wanna put your fist in their face. Then all the dressing up stuff. Me, I'd rather whack on my blue jeans and not give a fuck, but not in Bo's eyes. "You can't wear that Brandi, you need to go in there and knock them out Brandi." Yeah Bo, I'd like to, with a left cross and a right hook. Ok, let's get this embarrassing shit over and done.

Inside the mobile home of Brandi Shotze, down in good ol' Moore County in Lynchburg, Tennessee. Just the face of Bo Dreamwolf in seen. His hand appears on camera in front of him, holding a watch in front of his eyes.

Bo: Brandi, we're gonna be late.

Brandi's voice is heard behind a door.

Brandi: Couldn't give a flying fuck.

The camera pans out on Bo, who is seen to be wearing a black tuxedo, with a white shirt. Around his neck, he has a bow tie, and his hair is neatly tied back, a far cry from his usual smart but traditional demeanor. Bo stands up, pulling back the corner of a white curtain as headlights are seen approaching.

Bo: Brandi, we really need to get a move on now.

Brandi yells at Bo from behind the door.

Brandi: Bo, nothing's changed in the past twenty seconds, I still don't give a fuck.

Bo moves to the mobile home's door and slightly opens it, putting his hand out and holding it up, before moving back inside.

Bo: The cars here and we need to get going.

Brandi: It's a fucking taxi, it can wait, it's not going anywhere and it's already got the meter started so he won't be complaining.

Bo moves towards the door that Brandi is behind, and wraps his knuckles on the door.

Bo: Is there anything I can help you with?

Brandi talks from behind the door.

Brandi: Nope, been ready for half an hour, but don't really wanna come out from behind the door, because I look stupid and these damn heels are killing me.

Bo moves his head back in surprise, whispering to himself.

Bo: Heels?

Bo clears his throat and talks through the door.

Bo: Come on Brandi, just come out. The sooner you do this thing, the sooner its over and you won't get another one of these invitations for another ten years.

Her voice is barely heard behind the door.

Brandi: Yeah, and I won't wanna go to that one either.

The door handle turns and Bo steps back, moving out of the way. It opens and Brandi steps out. Bo's mouth opens wide as Brandi is seen to be looking completely different from her usual fashion sense. Brandi is wearing a dark blue dress, with matching blue heels. Her hair is tied up above her head in a neat fashion, and her make up is subtle but becoming.

Brandi: Fashion tips from Odette Ryder.

Brandi steps forward from out of the room.

Bo: Brandi, you look....

Brandi puts her hand up in front of Bo's face, stopping his words in their tracks.

Brandi: Don't say it.

Bo steps forward, placing his hands on Brandi's hips and looking in to her eyes.

Bo: But...

Brandi puts her hand over Bo's mouth, stopping him from continuing.

Brandi: No, just no.

Brandi moves her hand away from the Native American's mouth, firing him a stern look.

Bo: But you really look...

She softly growls at Bo.

Brandi: Shut up! I don't wanna know I look beautiful, I feel like an idiot.

Bo: I was gonna say you look very feminine.

Brandi pushes Bo away, causing him to smile a little.

Brandi: I have tits, that makes me feminine, jackass.

Brandi walks past Bo, and in to the living area of the mobile home, stumbling on the heels upon her feet. She turns to look at him.

Brandi: Well, you look like a penguin dressed like that.

Bo rolls his eyes and Brandi moves away from him, picking up door keys from a kitchen work surface. She turns back to Bo and throws the keys in his direction. Bo catches them comfortably.

Brandi: You might wanna hold on to those things.

Bo: Why?

Brandi: Do you see any pockets in this thing?

Brandi moves her hand up and down the side of the dress, looking seriously at Bo.

Brandi: Not a pocket to be seen Bo.

Bo just nods at Brandi, sliding the keys in to his pocket. She looks at the door and sighs.

Brandi: Ok, let's get this shit over with before I change my mind, crack open a six pack and order a pizza or something.

Bo points to the door, opening it and stepping to the outside. He puts his arm back in, reaching out for Brandi's hand. Brandi moves towards the open door and takes hold of Bo's hand, as she struggles to walk down the steps in her blue heels.

Brandi: Now that's the fanciest taxi I've ever seen.

A dark black shiny limousine waits outside the mobile home, it's windows tinted and neon blue lights shining at the front. A driver leans against the front of the car, but springs in to action when he sees Bo and Brandi. Brandi stands at the bottom of the steps and Bo quickly reaches up them, shutting the home's door and steps down towards Brandi. Brandi looks at the smiling Bo.

Brandi: Care to explain?

Bo: Well, you was worried everyone was going to look down on you and that's why you didn't wanna be here, so I figured let's give them a reason not to.

Brandi: Bit over the top, don't you think?

Bo: Not really when you consider for the last two months, you've been streamed around the world, winning wrestling matches and seen in lots of countries. Plus your teaming with Mr Jones, who is the heavyweight champion and people who don't speak English know who you are. I think this is about right.

Brandi hugs Bo, her arms around his neck, almost choking him. She releases him and looks at him, her voice soft.

Brandi: Thank you.

Bo: You're welcome.

Bo points to the limo and Brandi moves towards it. The driver opens the door and Brandi looks at him.

Brandi: There's booze in there, right?

The driver nods his head. Brandi turn around, giving Bo two thumbs up as she moves in to the limo. She steps inside as the camera fades.

*******

A school building is seen and a black limo pulls up outside of it, the camera gets up close to limo as it stops. People moving in to the school stop to turn around, looking curiously as the driver turns off the engine. The driver steps out of the driving seat and moves around to the back door, opening it up. Bo Dreamwolf steps out first, the small crowd unphasing him as he reaches in to the car with him hand. Brandi takes Bo's hand as he helps her out of the car and on to the sidewalk. The small crowd mutter amongst themselves as the driver shuts the door behind them. Brandi leans in to Bo.

Brandi: I still look and feel like an idiot.

Bo links his arm with Brandi, slowly shaking his head.

Bo: You look great, so stop saying that. Now, shall we?

Bo points to the door of the building, moving Brandi towards the eight steps in front of the door. Bo helps Brandi up the steps and to the door. He opens the door, holding it open for Brandi and they step in to the well lit halls. Signs posted on the locker, with the word "reunion" and an arrow points down the hall. As they walk past a bathroom, Bo stops.

Bo: I think I...

Bo points to the door.

Brandi: Ok, I'll follow the arrows and meet you at the end.

Bo nods and walks through the bathroom door, while Brandi walks down the halls, talking to herself as she goes.

Brandi: Man, so many memories of this place, and all of them shitty. This place was just shit, no other word for it unless you wanna put the word fucking in front of it.

Brandi continues to walk, turning right and past another row of lockers. Music can be heard in the distance as she approaches a table. Behind the table sits the familiar face of Betty Lou. She watches a man walk through the doors and in to the hall where the reunion is, before turning her head to see Brandi.

Betty Lou: Oh my Brandi, I thought you said you wasn't coming.

Brandi stops in front of the table Betty Lou is sitting behind and looks down at the rows of blank name tags.

Brandi: Yeah, well someone injun persuaded me to show up.

Betty Lou: Injun, oh, your boyfriend.

Betty Lou air quotes the word boyfriend. Brandi's jaw tightens as she looks at the blonde.

Brandi: Woman, you do those air quote things again and I'm gonna snap your fingers clean off.

Betty Lou shifts uncomfortably in her chair, moving away from Brandi as Brandi just stares a hole right through her.

Betty Lou: Is he...

Betty Lou looks around Brandi.

Betty Lou: .... here?

Brandi puts her hand on the table, knocking the rows of unspoiled name tags, randomly over the table.

Brandi: What do you think he is? Invisible? Yeah, he's here, he's just in the bathroom and he'll be here.

Brandi leans further down on the table, putting more force on to it. The table starts to creak under the pressure.

Betty Lou: I'm not sure what to expect. He hasn't come in feathers, has he?

Brandi points at Betty Lou firmly.

Brandi: Listen lady, we were never close enough to joke about these sort of things, so shut the fuck up.

Betty Lou looks taken back, leaning further back in her chair.

Betty Lou: Sorry.

Bo Dreamwolf walks down the hall, catching up with Brandi and putting his arm around that. Bo talks to Brandi.

Bo: Hi.

Brandi looks at Bo, a smile on her face.

Brandi: Howdy, didn't catch it in your zipper?

Bo shakes his head.

Brandi: I know you're not used to wearing zippers.

Betty Lou clears her throat.

Betty Lou: Oh wow! Who's this?

Both Brandi and Bo look at Betty Lou at the same time.

Brandi: Betty Lou, this is my boyfriend Bo and you might wanna see a doctor about that throat of yours.

Betty Lou: Bo?

Brandi: Yeah, what did you think his name was? Tonto? Sitting Bull?

Bo fires Brandi a sharp look but Brandi ignores it.

Betty Lou: No I just, wow!

Brandi: Close your mouth, you're drooling on your name tags.

Betty Lou shakes her head, snapping herself out of it.

Betty Lou: Name tags. Yeah, name tags.

Betty Lou picks up a pen and starts to write Brandi's name on the paper. She moves to a second one and writes Bo's name on to it. She hands them to Bo and Brandi before pointing to the door to the right.

Brandi: Yeah, it's a door.

Betty Lou: It's where the reunion is.

Brandi puts a sarcastic thumb up.

Brandi: I figured.

Betty Lou: Enjoy your night.

Brandi and Bo move towards the door, Bo moving first and putting his hand on the door, Brandi takes a deep breath as Bo opens the door. Brandi screws up the name tag and tosses it over her shoulder. The name tag lands in front of Betty Lou, who looks towards Brandi. Brandi walks in to the room with Bo holding the door open for her. Brandi looks around at some of the couples around. Instantly, a woman approaches Brandi. Bo whispers in Brandi's ear.

Bo: Who's this?

Brandi: Former cheerleader called Luanne, always had her head up her own ass, unless she was on her knees in the locker room.

Luanne approaches the duo.

Luanne: Why BRANDI! I don't believe I've ever seen YOU at one of these before!

Brandi: Yeah well I don't believe you're a blonde! I bet if you look at the carpet, it's a whole different shade.

Luanne opens her mouth widely, looking at Brandi.

Brandi: Close your mouth lady, you look like one of those sex dolls you can order off the Internet.

Luanne storms off in a huff. Brandi looks up at Bo

Brandi: If there was anyone that was always good at opening her mouth wide enough to fit something in, it would be her. More gobbles then a turkey at Thanksgiving.

Bo puts his hand on his head, slowly shaking it.

Bo: Shall we get a drink?

Brandi nods.

Brandi: Now you're playing my song.

Bo and Brandi move to a refreshments table and Bo picks up a punch glass. He takes a ladle and deeps it in to the punch bowl, scooping out a cup full of orange looking punch, he pours it in to the glass and hands it to Brandi, before filling a second glass. Brandi sips from the glass but spits it out.

Brandi: That's fucking disgusting.

Bo takes a sip of his and looks at Brandi with a raised eyebrow.

Bo: I don't see anything wrong with it.

Brandi: Are you joking? There's no alcohol in it!

Brandi puts the glass down on the table, looking towards Bo.

Brandi: Just fucking wrong.

Brandi's eyes dart around the room, looking across at a well build man.

Brandi: Oh... my.... God!

Bo takes a gulp from his drink, then looks at Brandi, her eyes fixated on this well toned man across the room.

Bo: What?

Brandi: That guy over there.

Brandi points very obviously at the man.

Brandi: His name is Darryl, he was the captain of the football team. I'm not gonna lie to you chief, I tried many times to get him under the bleachers and bang his fucking brains out but he never seemed interested.

Darryl looks across the room towards Brandi, his mouth opens wide. Darryl runs across the room and towards Brandi.

[Brandi Shotze]

 Darryl: OMG! It's you Brandi!

Darryl hugs Brandi, who looks across at Bo, a little confused.

Brandi: Did you get kicked in the nads or something? I don't remember your voice being so.... well high.

Darryl flaps his hand as he pulls himself off of Brandi.

Darryl: Oh no sweet cheeks, I've always been this way.

Darryl looks at Bo, looking him up and down.

Darryl: And who's this handsome man?

Bo chokes on his drink, looking up and offering his hand to Darryl.

Bo: I'm Bo, Brandi's boyfriend.

Darryl shakes Bo's hand.

Darryl: What soft skin you have Bo.

Darryl moves his head closer to Brandi.

Darryl: You lucky thing you, he is H-O-T-T hot.

Brandi nods in agreement.

Brandi: He is flaming.

Darryl takes a step back his hand on his heart, and a wide smile on his face.

Darryl: Reeeeally?

Brandi: Not in that way!

Darryl: Oh you tease! Let me introduce you to someone.

Darryl turns around waving his hand towards someone, beckoning them over. A blonde male walks towards the trio and stops.

Darryl: This is my other half, Terry. Wave hello Terry.

Terry raises his hand, waving at Bo and Brandi.

Darryl: Well, must mingle darlings, catch up later for a foursome?

Bo narrows his eyes, looking at Brandi as she nods.

Brandi: Sure.

Darryl: Kisses.

Darryl and Terry walk away from Brandi and Bo, Brandi looks up at Bo.

Brandi: That fucking explains a lot!

Another man moves towards the punch bowl, just picking up a cup and dipping it in to the orange liquid. He pulls the glass to his lips, before looking up at Brandi.

Brandi: Hello Luke.

Luke: Well Brandi Shotze, I never thought I'd see you here.

Luke lifts his head, looking down his nose at Brandi.

Luke: What are you doing with yourself these days?

Brandi: I kick peoples teeth down their throats for a living. It's fun really and I never get bored of it. Even on my days off, I like to keep in practice.

Luke stops drinking, but Brandi smiles sweetly at him.

Brandi: What about you?

Luke: I erm, I'm a banker in the city.

Brandi fakes an impressed look.

Brandi: I know a lot of English guys, and they use banker in rhyming slang.

Luke looks at Brandi curiously, but just walks away. Brandi grins.

Brandi: Bo, thank you for making me come to this place.

Bo puts his hand on Brandi's shoulder.

Brandi: If I knew I could have just turned up and had a little fun like this, I wouldn't have even argued it.

Brandi slaps Bo on the rear end, causing him to jump, as the camera fades out.

*******

Thank fuck this is the last narration, cause these things piss me right off. You've seen a lot of me in this here promo, the strong side, the softer side, all that shit but now we're gonna sit on down and talk a whole lot of serious talk, because now we focus before we head back to Long Beach, California for Blaze Of Glory III.

Outside the mobile home of Brandi Shotze. Brandi sits on the step in the same dress she was wearing for the reunion, but barefoot, the heels long time discarded. She looks down the camera, looking at the lens, as the moonlight shines down on the home behind her.

Brandi: Now we got ol' Bo sitting his Indian ass down in there, it's time I did this lil' thing for SCW where I sit and talk to y'all about this upcoming match and boy is it one hell of a match.

Brandi pauses for just a second, scratching the side of head her.

Brandi: It is one of the biggest occasions for SCW, Blast From The Past II Tournament finals and from last year, there's a whole lot to live up to. The team's of Roxi Johnson and Gabriel, against Odette Ryder and Jordan Williams, put on one hell of an ass kicking match, full of emotion and twists and turns, full of big ol' moves, and gave the fans something for future finalist people to live up to and shit, have you lucky folks got a match on ya hands at this Blaze Of Glory.

Brandi nods confidently.

Brandi: On one side of the ring, you have the SCW Heavyweight champion, and a little fire cracker like me, wanting to just kick a whole lotta ass, and on the other side, you have an accomplished veteran, former champion, and someone who has shocked everyone by stepping on up and getting to the finals. This match is not gonna disappoint at all, y'all can have my word on that.

Brandi lifts her hand to the top of her head, pulling away at her neat hair, and letting it drop down her back.

Brandi: Much better. Ethan Brody, that hunk of a man is in the ring opposite me, and he's not allowed to touch me? Who makes this shit up, I mean what the fuck! I know Simon's gonna work his sack off to keep his title against you, but I got a distraction or two lined up.

Brandi points to her chest, almost popping out of her dress.

Brandi: But my focus is on little Delia Darling, the rising star of the Bombshell division, the one who everyone seems to be talking about, but let's be honest sweet cheeks, you didn't exactly make it here on your own, did ya?

Brandi slowly shakes her head.

Brandi: You did it with the help of a dirty little slut and a chick with a dick. You didn't believe in your own talents enough, that you had to get those two degenerates to help.

Brandi stops shaking her head.

Brandi: For all the hype, and the glitz and the glamour, them two helping you be where you are shows you, Delia, just exactly who you are. It shows what type of person you are. It shows that you are not who you want people to believe you are. What you put across is that you're a confident person, always in the spotlight and loving that fact that you're always being watched. Someone who is confident in their abilities to win on their own and succeed on their own, without the need for help from anyone. You should be someone who can say fuck you world, I believe in me and can do it on my own, but the problem is, it's all fake, isn't it?

Brandi raises her eyebrow and looks deep in to the camera.

Brandi: it's all fake, everything about you is fake. If you was that damn good, you wouldn't need anyone's help Delia. If you was that face of confidence that you try and show people, you wouldn't have to have these idiots around you. The truth is, you're just a little girl, hiding behind all these fancy shows and people, because you don't believe you can get it done yourself. I think I'm gonna prove just that cause I made a couple of phone calls and well, your slut and chick with a dick, they might as well keep their asses backstage. It's time for you to stop hiding from them.

Brandi puts a forefinger up, sternly looking at the camera.

Brandi: FYI, knock those stupid songs and cut away fade in videos on the head, will ya? It's just filler and adds nothing, try being killer instead of filler darlin'.

Brandi puts her finger down.

Brandi: Y'all see, I am that, there is no bullshit around me, what you see is what you get, I don't need filler, when I'm all about being the killer. I don't need no gimmicks, or special entrances or flashing lights. I'm all about taking this foot and putting it up your supermodel ass. This is what I'm all about Delia, no need to be this gimmicked up little princess or fashion bitch or anything like that, I am all about what happens in that ring. Being some pampered little nobody with a funny little French accent, doesn't mean you have what it takes in a knock down drag out fight, if it did, then being French alone would make you throw your arms in the air and surrender without a fight.

Brandi pushes her hands together.

Brandi: If I were you, I'd surrender now because while you live in your own little bubble and walk around like your shit don't stink, I live in the real world, where you have to take the chances offered to you. I have this chance to become known again, this chance to be a winner on the biggest stage of them all. I go from the chick who gets the call to come fill in, or act around on the show to make someone else look better, to the chick who people look at and say damn, this woman can kick a whole lotta ass, this woman deserves better than what she's getting.

Brandi's face changes to a sincere look.

Brandi: I won't like to ya good people, it's who I was. I wasn't on SCW shows to be taken seriously, I was on SCW shows when Christian Underwood came up with some little skit for me to be a part of to make others look good, I was called up when there was a space in a match that no one else was free for. That was who I was. When I saw this tournament, it made me sit and think what the point was of me being here when I'd probably get stuck with an idiot who can't wrestle for shit, or would let me down and I'll be back to being that chick that gets a call for comedy reasons, or to sit in a match no one else can do. The more I went on in this thing, with a great partner, a champion, an all round good guy with an ass that keeps me hypnotized when I'm not in the ring.

Brandi stops for a second, just thinking.

Brandi: Went off track there. Anyway, the more I went on in this tournament, beating woman after woman, it made me open my eyes that I am now one match away from actually being taken seriously, and that is something I want. I don't wanna be the little comedy girl that does nothing that makes sense, but adds a little comic relief to the show, I don't wanna be mocked for not having a great record, I want all that bullshit to chance and this competition is gonna make that happen. I am gonna help Simon Jones keep his SCW heavyweight championship, I am gonna help him win the Blast From The Past II tournament and I am gonna be taken seriously.

Brandi stops for a second, breathing in deeply.

Brandi: This is what makes me a whole different prospect to what you've faced before Delia. This is what makes me different to what you've come up against in this competition, because I am the bar room brawl you've never been in. I am that knuckles up brawl you've never been a part of. I am that mouse to your cat.

A smile crosses Brandi's face.

Brandi: Odd thing to say really, but it's true. You've probably never lowered yourself to a watch a Tom and Jerry cartoon, have ya?

Brandi waits for a second before continuing.

Brandi: See, Tom was a cat, he was more of a city slicker compared to his mouse counterpart, Jerry, more of a country guy. Now Cat Vs Mouse, ya'll expect that kitty to rip the mouse to shreds, but every time Tom came close, Jerry always had one over on him. Tom was the favourite to walk away the victor, but Jerry, that little dog gone mouse just wouldn't lay down and take what should have been an obvious fate. Jerry came back and kicked the daylights of Tom.

Brandi nods confidently.

Brandi: Now why would ah be talking about a cartoon? Because Delia, you are Tom, the one that's spoke about because of your fast rise, the one people expect to win after seeing off Odette Ryder. I'm the mouse, the one no one expects to do jack shit again a favourite in the animal change, but I'm gonna be just like Jerry and take you down time and time again. I'm gonna show ya that this country mouse, is not to be discarded. I'ma show you that the underdog is gonna whoop your ass so damn hard, that funky little French accent of yours is gonna turn Chinese.

Brandi looks serious.

Brandi: Seriously, I'ma hit ya so hard, you're gonna turn those eyes upwards and you'll be talking with an even funnier accent. This is what you're up against Delia. This is gonna be the toughest, most brutal fight you've ever had to come across and believe me when I say, your little backup group there, not gonna mean a damn thing, because I got a plan to make those two disappear. We'll see how good you really are when you have to take on me without that little backup crew of yours.

Brandi smiles as innocently as she can.

Brandi: So SCW, what you're gonna ask yourself now, is can Simon Jones and Brandi Shotze win the Blast From The Past II Tournament, honoring two worthy legends?

Brandi stands up, looking in to the camera.

Brandi: The answer you're looking for is....

Brandi cups her hands around her mouth, yelling out.

Brandi: FUCK YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAH!

Brandi turns, walking up the steps to her home, but turns her head around.

Brandi: See y'all at Blaze Of Glory III bitches!

Brandi walks in to the home, pulling the door shut behind her as the camera fades out one last time.

[Simon Jones]

 The video opens with a blank, black screen; a familiar voice is then heard - that of Simon Jones.

Simon: '"No-one wants to be Birmingham City."'

The tone of Simon's voice then changes, with a hint of anger being detectable.

Simon: 'No-one wants to be Birmingham City? I'll show Ethan Brody exactly who wants to be Birmingham City - I'll show him which member of the SCW roster bleeds royal blue.'

The scene fades in, on Monday 26th August 2013, to show Simon Jones enjoying the summer sunshine in the backyard of his then-home, in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Simon is sat on a dark green patio chair, which he has moved from the patio, onto the grass; he is wearing royal blue shorts, and a white t-shirt that has a Gap logo printed on it in black.

At present, Simon's attention is focused on a book that he is reading; a bookmark can be see on the grass, to the side of Simon's chair. As Simon continues to read his book, Jason O'Neil walks into view, carrying another dark green patio chair; Jason, who is wearing dark blue jeans and a plain shamrock green t-shirt, puts his chair down on the grass, opposite Simon.

Jason: 'Wow, things really must be bad.'

Simon looks up from his book, towards Jason.

Simon: 'What are you on about?'

Jason: 'You. I mean, you being sat out here is unusual enough. But as well as that, you're wearing shorts! The only occasions on which you ever normally wear shorts are when you're doing some form of exercise - normally, away from the gym, regardless of how warm it gets, you only ever wear jeans.'

Jason then takes a seat.

Jason: 'I'm guessing that your current mindset has something do with your anomalous choice of attire.'

Simon: 'What do you want, Jase?'

Jason: 'I just want to have a chat with you.'

Simon reaches down to pick the bookmark up off the grass, to put it into his book, saving his place; Simon then places the book on the grass, in the spot that had been occupied by the bookmark, before looking back to Jason.

Simon: 'Okay, so tell me, what do you want to have a "chat" about?'

Jason: 'Well, it's been eight days now since Summer XXXTreme - eight days since you lost the heavyweight title - so I want to know how you're feeling, following that loss.'

Simon: 'Since when did you become so interested in how I feel?'

Jason: 'Since I found out that you had started acting unusually; this...'

With both hands, Jason gestures in Simon's direction.

Jason: '...isn't normal behaviour for you.'

Simon: 'So you've already said.'

Jason leans forward, towards Simon.

Jason: 'Look, Simon, I know in the in initial part of your wrestling career - before you had your nine year hiatus - that losing a title affected you worse than losing a regular match did, so I'm not totally surprised that you've reacted in this manner. But still, I'm worried about you, Simon - and more importantly, Jacqui is worried about you.'

Simon looks down at the ground.

Simon: 'It was the first title that I'd won since I returned to life as a wrestler - the first title that I'd held for a decade. And I lost it after only eight weeks as the champion - I couldn't even manage to successfully defend the title once.'

Simon looks back up at Jason, and holds up his right index finger, to the side of his face.

Simon: 'I failed, Jase - I failed; I let Jacqui down, I let you down, I...'

Simon is interrupted by Jason.

Jason: 'Where are you getting this from? Alright, sure, I wanted you to win, of course I did, but although you may have lost at Summer XXXTreme, you certainly didn't let me down. And as for Jacqui, she'll love you and support you no matter what happens in your career.'

Simon: 'Well, I suppose that's true - something that I have to be thankful for. I can't help wonder though, was me beating Jordan Williams a fluke? Did I even deserve to be in that match at Into The Void, when I won the title?'

Jason shakes his head, in exasperation.

Jason: 'Jacqui told me that you've been doubting yourself more and more in the past week. Do I have to remind you that to be the number one contender for the heavyweight title, you had to overcome ten other men in a gauntlet battle royal - a match that you entered first? And how can you possibly think that your win against Jordan Williams was a fluke? You deservedly won that match - you out-wrestled him.'

Simon: 'Maybe so, but since Into The Void, I've been in six matches; three in ACW, and three in SCW - the match at Summer XXXTreme being the most recent one. And of those six matches, I only won two - hardly the form of someone that deserves to be champion, is it?'

Jason: 'I'm not going to go through the details of each of those four matches that you didn't win - I get the feeling that I would be wasting my time if I did. Instead, let's focus on the future - specifically the match that you'll be competing in next Sunday at Climax Control, against Gabriel.'

Simon: 'Gabriel, an opponent that has already beaten me once - why should the match on Sunday be any different?'

Jason: 'Because it's a different set of circumstances; the match that Gabriel beat you in was a mixed tag team match, but in six days, it will be just you and him in the ring, one-on-one - with the right preparations for the match, a different set of circumstances can produce a different outcome.'

Simon: 'Yeah, well, I'm not going to Climax Control - the only place that I want to go is back home, to the UK.'

Jason: 'Really? Having lost the SCW Heavyweight Championship, you're now going to walk out on SCW and ACW? I can't believe that you're seriously contemplating that.'

Simon smirks.

Simon: 'That's the pot calling the kettle black.'

Jason: 'How so?'

Simon: 'Okay, answer me this: which former champion in Ricochet Wrestling, lost his title just under eleven years ago, and has only fought in one match since - a match that took place in January this year?'

Jason sighs.

Jason: 'That would be me.'

Simon: 'Exactly. So if I decide to call a halt to my wrestling career again, you're not in any position to criticise.'

Jason holds both of his hands up, in acknowledgement.

Jason: 'Fair enough - I can't argue with that. But is that really what you're going to do? And all because of one loss?'

Simon: 'Why not? I don't want to be in Aruba this weekend, at Hadicurari Beach, watching on while Kevin Carer is paraded as the new Heavyweight Champion; I would rather be in Cardiff, at The Great Western, with my mates - that sounds much more appealing.'

Jason frowns.

Jason: 'I thought that you had give up alcohol, until Jacqui gives birth.'

Simon: 'I have; I didn't say that I would be drinking if I was in the Western, I just said that I would be there, surrounded by my mates.'

Jason: 'Never mind.'

Jason glances around the garden, before looking back to Simon.

Jason: 'You know, if you do walk out on SCW, as a former champion, you'll be walking out on a guaranteed return match for the heavyweight title.'

Simon: 'And? I would probably blow the chance - just like I blew my defence of the title, at Summer XXXTreme. Besides, I don't want to be given a shot at the title just because I'm a former champion - before I could have the opportunity to regain the title, I would want to have to earn it first.'

Jason: 'Well, if you want to earn a match for the heavyweight title, you can make a start on that by getting a win against Gabriel, at Climax Control.'

Simon shakes his head.

Simon: 'That's not going to happen; like I said, I'm not going to Aruba.'

Jason: 'So that's it, then - you're going to forfeit the match, an be done with wrestling?'

Simon now nods his head.

Simon: 'Yep.'

Jason: 'You're not going to fight to regain the SCW Heavyweight Championship?'

Simon waves his right hand, dismissively.

Simon: 'Fuck that, and fuck wrestling.'

Jason sighs again.

Jason: 'I can tell that I'm not going to be able to talk any sense into you, so I'll leave now, before one of us says something that we'll regret later.'

Jason gets up from his chair.

Jason: 'If you change your mind, you'll know where to find me.'

Jason turns to walk away.

Jason: 'But if you do go ahead with your plan to not attend Climax Control, then please at least watch the show. Because even if you only see Climax Control from afar, I know that when you watch it, you'll come to your senses, and realise the mistake that you're making.'

Jason takes a couple of steps, but then stops.

Jason: 'I just want to leave you with three words to think about.'

Jason turns his head to look over his right shoulder, towards Simon.

Jason: 'Keep right on.'

Jason then walks off, soon disappearing from view; as Simon stares off into the distance, the scene fades away to another blank, black screen. A song then begins to play; it is "Keep Right On," the anthem of Birmingham City F.C. - as sung by the club's fans:

#As you go through life it's a long, long road
#There'll be joys and sorrows too
#As we journey on we will sing this song
#For the boys in royal blue.
#We're often partisan - la la la
#We will journey on - la la la
#Keep right on to the end of the road
#Keep right on to the end
#Though the way be long let your heart beat strong
#Keep right on to the end
#Though you're tired and weary
#Still journey on 'til you come to your happy abode
#With all our love we'll be dreaming of
#We'll be there. Where? At the end of the road.
#Birmingham, Birmingham

After the song stops, the scene fades in, now in the present day, to show Simon Jones at Cashman Field - the home of the Las Vegas 51s. Simon is stood on the pitcher's mound, facing towards the home plate, and the camera; he is wearing navy blue jeans and a white Warwickshire C.C.C. shirt, and is carrying a black gym bag, the shoulder strap of which is over his right shoulder.

Simon looks towards the ground, as he puts the bag down, by his feet; he then looks back up at the camera, and begins to speak.

Simon: 'Welcome to Cashman Field.'

Simon raises both of his arms, and stretches them wide open; he keeps his arms outstretched for a moment, before lowering them.

Simon: 'Before I explain why I've chosen this venue as the location where I give my final thoughts ahead of Blaze Of Glory III, I first want to respond to a comment that was made nine days go, by Lizzie Short. Last Wednesday, Lizzie asked, "who the hell watches cricket?" I doubt Lizzie was expecting an answer to her question - but I'm hear to give her one.'

With his right index finger, Simon prods his chest.

Simon: 'Me, Lizzie - I watch cricket. Why, just yesterday, I got up early, so that I could watch England beat Sri Lanka in the World Twenty20, before I headed off to the gym, to continue my preparations for the final of the Blast from the Past tournament. And for the record, Lizzie, I'm neither rich, nor snobby.'

Simon shakes his head.

Simon: 'I had planned to talk for longer about cricket, in response to what Lizzie Short said, but then one of my opponents for this Sunday - Ethan Brody - went ahead and made a comment about the first love of my life, resulting in a change to those plans. And anyway, I spoke about my interest in cricket back in October - prior to my match at High Stakes III - in a video that I'm sure can be accessed easily enough on the SCW website.'

Simon crouches down, to unzip his bag; Simon takes off his shirt, folds it up, and puts it into the bag. From the bag, Simon then removes a royal blue Birmingham City F.C. jersey, which he puts on.

Simon: 'There, that's better.'

Simon zips up the bag and then stands up straight.

Simon: 'Last year, on the first Sunday in July, this stadium was the venue for Climax Control - the first Climax Control after Into The Void II - and so consequently it was here that I addressed the SCW fans as their Heavyweight Champion, for the first time. But that was also to be the beginning of the end of my first reign as the SCW Heavyweight Champion. In the week following Into The Void, I experienced further success, when I defeated Steve Ramone, in a one-on-one match in ACW, and so when I arrived here, ready to make my first appearance in SCW's home turf, it seemed like things couldn't get any better - and they wouldn't. Instead, things turned from good, to bad, to worse - at Summer XXXTreme II, I lost the heavyweight title, and my win against Steve Ramone at the end of June, would be my final win in singles action, until I beat Casey Williams at December 2 Dismember II.'

Simon sighs.

Simon: 'In the days after my loss at Summer XXXTreme, I was at my lowest ebb. With the exception of my wife, I shut myself almost entirely off from the rest of the world - although with the mood that I was in, I wouldn't have made for great company. But in the following weeks, aided by some cajoling from my friends and family - and some words of motivation from Spike Staggs - I rediscovered my hunger for wrestling, and returned to the six-sided ring. The first match that I participated in after Summer XXXTreme - excluding the match that I lost to Gabriel, by forfeit - was a mixed tag team match, which pitted me against the then-champion, Goth. That match - which took place four weeks after I had lost the title - helped revitalise my desire to be the SCW Heavyweight Champion; as I prepared to compete against Goth, I remembered how I had felt when I was the champion, and I became determined to get that feeling back - it may have taken a further five months, but I managed to do it, and at Blaze Of Glory, I won't be ready to let go of that feeling.'

Simon steps forward, off the pitcher's mound.

Simon: 'As I just mentioned, when I last set foot in this stadium - with the heavyweight title over my shoulder - it seemed like things couldn't possibly get any better for me. But as I stand here again now, eight months later - as the SCW Heavyweight Champion for a second time - with Blaze Of Glory III a mere two days away, I'm on the verge of my greatest achievement yet; never before in my career I have held two titles simultaneously - but should Brandi Shotze and I be victorious on Sunday, then to the SCW heavyweight title, I will add the Blast from the Past trophy. I began the year by becoming a father for the first time. Then, last month, I regained the Heavyweight Championship. And I intend to finish March in a way that will make the first quarter of this year, even better.'

Simon nods his head.

Simon: 'For that to happen, on Sunday, while Brandi takes care of Delia, I'm going to have get the better of Ethan Brody. Now, I find myself wondering how Ethan Brody is feeling heading into the match on Sunday - how is he coping with the pressure that a match of this magnitude brings? He is definitely going to have to improve upon what he has done before. I mean, Ethan Brody's record at SCW supercards is less than stellar: two matches, and two defeats. Last month, at My Bloody Valentine, he and Landon Axel lost the tag team titles - so, with what is at stake this Sunday, what is there to say that Ethan Brody will fare any better this time? As for myself, I'm a man for the big occasion; I don't cope with pressure - I thrive on it. And at Blaze Of Glory, I'll put in another performance of the kind that has resulted in me winning four of my previous five supercard matches, with just the one defeat - well, you can't win them all.'

Simon shrugs his shoulders.

Simon: 'Except that this year, so far, I have; since losing to Kain in December - by disqualification - I've won every match that I've been in. Now, on our path to reaching the final of the Blast from the Past tournament, Brandi Shotze has been the one that has gotten the pin in each of our three matches. And while I'm sure Brandi would enjoy either pinning Delia, or making her submit, on Sunday - at the risk of sounding arrogant - it's time for me to take centre stage; with my Heavyweight Championship on the line, I'm not content to retain the title in a backhanded manner - I don't want to retain the title by virtue of being stood on the ring apron, while the match reaches its conclusion. No, with my first reign as champion having ended with my first defence of the title, I want the first defence of my second reign to have a definitive result - specifically, with me pinning Ethan Brody, to earn the win for my team.'

Simon sighs again.

Simon: 'I remember how I felt after I lost the title at Summer XXXTreme II, the dark place that I was in emotionally - and that's not a place that I'm about to return to.'

He then shakes his head again.

Simon: 'It's now time for me to explain why I have partly changed my attire during this video. I'm also probably about to confuse most of the people that will see this - but I make no apologies for the number of that will follow, to the world's most popular sport. You see, last week, during the course of using some football based analogies, Ethan Brody made the statement, "no-one wants to be Birmingham City;" whether or not Ethan meant that as a derogatory comment, being a Blues fan, he certainly got my attention.'

Simon glances towards the ground for a moment, before looking back at the camera.

Simon: 'If I was to compare the three major domestic trophies that clubs in England - and Wales - compete for each season, to the titles in SCW, then the heavyweight title would be the Premier League, the roulette title would be the FA Cup, and the tag team titles would be the League Cup. Now, Ethan, last week you equated yourself to Eastleigh - but by doing that, you really did yourself a disservice; I mean, as I've already mentioned, you have held the SCW tag titles, the SCW equivalent - in my mind, at least - of the League Cup. And who won the League Cup three years ago? It was, of course, Birmingham City.'

Simon smiles, broadly.

Simon: 'I was at Wembley, on that glorious Sunday afternoon in February 2011, and seeing my beloved Blues win the League Cup was one of the best moments of my life. I expect that winning the SCW tag team titles was one of the best moments of your career, Ethan; I know that I take more pride in holding the SCW heavyweight title, than I did in any of the other titles that I've held in my career - another reason why I can't lose possession of that title this Sunday.'

Simon puts his hands on his hips.

Simon: 'But as with the Blues, after they won the League Cup, the glow of success didn't last long for you, did it, Ethan? Six days after being triumphant at Wembley, Blues were beaten at home by West Bromwich Albion, and went onto be relegated - when you lost the tag team titles, you and Landon had only been the champions for four weeks; Blues haven't yet returned to the Premier League, and won't for at least another season - and you, Ethan, have yet to recapture the tag team titles. Now, admittedly, you haven't yet had the opportunity to do so - but what you do have, this Sunday, is the opportunity to win something else.'

Simon takes his hands off his hips.

Simon: 'To continue the comparison of accolades in SCW, with trophies in the world of football, I'd say that the equivalent of the Blast from the Past tournament, is the Europa League. A couple of years ago, I got to enjoy watching Blues play in the Europa League - and I have very much enjoyed participating in Blast from the Past. Blues were knocked out of the Europa League in the second round, but with myself and Brandi Shotze having reached the final of Blast from the Past, I plan for us to emulate Atlético Madrid - the winners of the Europa League, two years ago; Ethan, you and Delia, I see your team as being more like Athletic Bilbao.'

Simon walks forwards, until he is roughly halfway between the pitcher's mound and home plate.

Simon: 'Earlier, I mentioned a mixed tag team match that I was involved in last September. Now, prior to that match, I stated that I had a goal, which was for me to again be the SCW Heavyweight Champion - something that I have of course since accomplished. Also prior to that match, I referenced a dream of mine: to walk up the steps at Wembley, while wearing the colours of Birmingham City, to lift a trophy. The closest that I am going to come to living that dream, is by winning the Blast from the Past tournament, and getting to lift the trophy that comes with it; never before in my wrestling career have I competed to win a trophy, but I'm now just one step away from being like Stephen Carr, or Gabi - I fully intend to climb that step, and get my hands on that trophy.'

Simon raises both of his arms, as if lifting an imaginary trophy.

Simon: 'Ahead of both my quarter-final and semi-final in this tournament, I brought up omens - bad omens - that hinted at a defeat for me. And now that I'm in the final, there's more bad omens. The most obvious one is that I've never won a tournament of any sort in my career before; I've been in two tournaments in the past, with my best effort seeing me finish as runner-up - I don't want a repeat of that come Sunday. But then, having already overcome a few bad omens, just to reach the final, what difference will another one or two make? If I have my way, not a jot - that trophy will be mine.'

Simon turns around, facing away from the camera, and walks back towards the pitcher's mound; once he steps onto the mound, he turns so that he is facing the camera again.

Simon: 'Here in the US, Mother's Day is not for another six weeks. However, in the UK, Mother's Day is this Sunday, thus providing me with further incentive to win at Blaze Of Glory. There are two mothers in my life: my Mum, of course; and my wife - the mother of my daughter. And on Sunday - Mother's Day - I simply can't let either of them down; I won't let them down.'

Simon rubs his chin.

Simon: 'The time for talking is almost over. On Sunday, Ethan, you won't pull off a shock on a par with those achieved by Wimbledon and Wigan Athletic. There will be no fairy tale ending for you - Delia needs to get ready to pucker up, because her lips have a date with Erik Staggs arse. This Cinderella Story that you've been on, it won't have the conclusion that you're hoping for; you'll return to Landon Axel, without the heavyweight title - and Delia, she'll return to her ugly sisters, without the Blast from the Past trophy.'

Simon bends down to pick up his gym bag, placing the shoulder strap of the bag over his right shoulder.

Simon: 'I leave Cashman Field now, with the strap of a bag over my shoulder; on Sunday, in Long Beach, when I leave the ring, I'll do so still the SCW Heavyweight Champion - and with the title draped over my shoulder.'

As Simon begins to walk in the direction of the camera again, the scene fades to black.

[Delia Darling]

  <img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/033014Scene01_zpsa376d278.png>

”The world is my runway.  Everything I do is a statement, every step I take to every eye roll.  It is my movie, and while I cannot decide the beginning, I control the middle and the end.” –Delia, darling if you must

Nobody could believe what they had just seen.  Delia made outlandish promises of defeating Odette Ryder that everyone knew she could not deliver.  She read Odette her constitutional rights, and she played a much more sinister part than anyone could have ever imagined.  Not only was Delia strikingly beautiful.  Not only was she better with the English language than most Americans.  Not only did she have C.U.N.T. (Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve, and Talent), but she was also a Grade-A mindfuck.  The fans on Twitter were already buzzing about how cheaply her victory was over Odette Ryder and Steve Ramone… well, those who noticed that there was a match before the half hour soap opera that unfolded afterward, were anyway…

KiaLuv1987: @DeliaXxDarling @ExileEthanBrody that was bullshit.  I will not be ordering #BoGIII

TerryX636:  @DeliaXxDarling is a bitch.  She couldn’t defeat a retarded six year old to save her career.  #GetRidOfMeanGirls

JonesDoesItBest01:  I can’t believe what I just saw #SMDH @DeliaDarling fuck off outta SCW!!!!

JasonIzGawd:  That was fucking cheap.  I just feel sorry for @ExileEthanBrody because if @DeliaXxDarling and he win, and he is the new champ…

JasonIzGawd: @ExileEthanBrody @DeliaXxDarling … he will have to live with knowing that he doesn’t deserve it with that tw*t!

… just to name a few of the more flattering comments made in reference to Delia.  The truth of the matter is that Delia intentionally set Odette up.  She took great pleasure in watching the clowns scaring Odette nearly to death.  She enjoyed watching Odette frozen dead in place with dread washing over her face.  She listened to Drew Patton making his count, and she knew that this would be her most glorious victory.  Of course, the fans couldn’t see it this way.  Instead, they spit venomous hate at her.  She had done far more than win via count out.  She had outsmarted Odette Ryder.  She had planned for this.  She reached out to Gabriel because she wanted to outsmart the infallible Aussie Princess, and she had done just that.  She was most proud of this. The runner up was the fact that she carried something very few women have in the history of Sin City Wrestling… a victory over Ms.Ryder.

But all of that faded away as she stood in the ring, jumping up and down as “Zombie” continued to play in the background.  She turned around with a smile upon her face, looking at Ethan Brody, who still looks confused.  Delia walks over to him, but instead, he simply steps down from the apron.  His eyes rest firmly on Delia as he backs up the ramp.  Delia looks highly displeased as she sees climbs out of the ring.  All of the noise in the background just fades away to a high pitched buzzing sound.  She tries to follow Ethan, but he simply shakes his head.  Delia doesn’t even notice Angelica, Holly, and Tessa coming up to congratulate her.  Delia simply brushes past them, tears in her eyes.  She couldn’t explain them, but they only intensified as Ethan disappears behind the curtains.  She clinches her eyes as her tears run down her face like a streaking rainbow from the colorful paint on her face.  She breaks free from her friends and she charges up the ramp.  She wanted to be alone to sort this out.  She couldn’t possibly show vulnerability in front of the fans, or they might realize that she is a real person with a real heart and real emotions.

Delia keeps her stone-like stature in tact as she marches up the ramp and to the curtains.  She pushes them aside to see Gabriel approaching.  Delia turns her face when Gabriel is expecting some sort of a thank you.  He reaches forward to wipe away a tear, but Delia blocks his hand, motioning her head toward the curtains.  She quickly walks away…

***C’est la vie, darling…***

Falling from the sky like a light snow, silvery specks of glitter floats through the air, across the stage of what appears to be a high school theater.  The piano gently begins playing “Glitter In the Air” by Pink.  Second after this, the deep red curtains begin to rise as the spotlight comes on.  We see a backdrop painted with the Eiffel Tower behind several trees.  There is a white blanket covering the grass, and topping the trees of the park scene.  A chorus slowly works their way from each side of the stage, and down the steps.  They clutch lit candles, the flames dance as they meet up in the pulpit, humming softly to the music.  The glitter begins to form a dusting on the ground, and within a few seconds, Delia walks from upstage right.  She steps slowly, her hands in her pocket as her head is bowed.  Her long chestnut locks fall from under a black beret and down her shoulders.  She turns to face the audience, showing her mascara drawn to look like she had been crying.  She stands there, still, as her eyes rise up to a moon that is slowly beginning to dangle down over her.  Sitting firmly on the crescent is Guillaume.  He has a bag in his hand as he begins to drop the glitter down upon her.  Her eyes sparkle in a sweet sadness as she looks back to the audience.

Delia:  Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands? Close your eyes and trust it… just trust it…

Delia slowly walks over toward the bench that is being brought out by a stealthy tech team.  She stares at it slowly as the piano continues to play, and the chorus hums.  Delia runs her finger across the bench that is gathering glitter.  She soon scoops some of it up, clutching it tightly in her fist as she turns back to face the audience, allowing the contents of her hand to rain down over the chorus and into the audience.

Delia:  Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air? Have you ever looked fear in the face and said… I just don’t care?

Delia narrows her eyes in anger as she runs her tongue over her glitter-covered lips.  She slowly shakes her head in the negative as she closes her eyes, refusing to take in the masculine voice coming from above her.

Guillaume:  It’s only half past the point of no return.  The tip of the iceberg, the sun before the burn.


Delia:  The thunder before the lightning and the breath before the phrase.  Have you ever felt this way?

Guillaume slowly nods his head above her.  Delia sits down on the bench, lying across it in an almost seductive manner as her jacket falls open, showing off a red and black lace ensemble.  She kicks her heels up to show off her spiked black pumps.  She pulls off the beret to reveal a crimson red truss of curls.  The spotlight turns red, making the glitter glow in the same fashion.  The backdrop changes to a large window that shows off the skyline of New York City.  Delia pulls something out of her pocket, appearing to be a phone.  She simply looks at it as her lips part to sing once again.

Delia:  Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone? Your whole life waiting on the ring to prove you’re not alone.

The moon lowers down as Delia’s eyes close.  Guillaume’s hand touches her cheek as she sleeps.  A smile comes over her face as she makes herself comfortable.  Her chest heaves in excitement as he leans down, still close to her, and he plants a kiss on her forehead.  The moon quickly returns to its rightful spot in the sky with Guillaume as Delia jerks “awake”.  She looks around and throws her phone off into the distance as she sits back up on the bench, looking out to the audience.

Delia:  Have you ever been touched so gently that you had to cry?  Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?

Delia stands up from the bench and closes her jacket, removing any sign that she is vulnerable.  She tucks her head into her jacket as Holly enters upstage left and Angelica enters upstage right.  They each carry a thin white sheet.  Both throw the sheets with their left hands, forming a silhouette curtain around Delia.  The spotlight turns pink, and with it, the glitter also becomes pink.  Delia can be seen within the curtains, pulling off her jacket and her wig.

Delia:  It’s only half past the point of oblivion. The hourglass on the table, the walk before the run.  The breath before the kiss, and the fear before the phrase.

Holly and Angelica sway back and forth with the sheet as Delia pulls something over her head, and then quickly pulls herself into a garment.  Angelica and Holly toss the curtains up to latch onto the moon.

Delia:  Have you ever felt this way-ay-ay-ay-ay…?

The chorus begins loudly “La-La” –ing as Delia is seen in a black wedding gown, and a clown mask.  She grips onto both sheets and spins around twice, wrapping herself in them.  The moon slowly rises beyond the curtains and up into the rafters.  The moon works its way out over the audience as a blue spotlight follows them.  The glitter rains down onto the awestruck audience as they reach up for Delia’s train, just for a chance to touch her genius.  She spins around quickly, wrapping herself up in the sheet so much so that it almost suffocates her.  She fondly looks up at Guillaume as he smiles, continuing to shower the audience with glitter.  She wipes a tear from her rubber clown face. as the chorus fades back to a hum.

Delia:  There you are, sitting in the garden, clutching my coffee.  Calling me sugar… You called me sugar…Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh, no, no, no, no…

Delia leans backward and the clown mask falls off of her face to reveal a face full of tears as she spins, the spotlight catching her expression from different angles as she does so.  Her tears fall with the glitter upon the audience as she hangs there.  She looks away from Guillaume for now and instead she looks back to the stage.  The moon slowly moves back toward the stage, hanging above the choir, shaking her head.  She slowly begins to unwrap herself from the sheet.

Delia:  Have you ever wished for an endless night?

Delia continues to unwrap herself as she spins around gracefully.  Guillaume reaches down for Delia, but instead, she bats his hand away.  She sighs and looks up as she tugs on the sheet as the moon slowly lowers down.

Delia:  Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight?

Delia now dangles by one arm from the sheet.  She takes in a deep breath as she uses her free hand to clutch at her heart, wondering why it aches so bitterly.  Her cheeks are a mess of runny black mascara from her rather real tears.

Delia:  Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself, will it ever get better than tonight?

Delia’s feet dangle about ten feet from the floor as she slowly lets go of her grip on the sheet.  The audience gasps as Delia belts out one final question through song.

Delia:  Tonight?

Delia collides hard with the ground as the chorus slowly parts ways.  The audience is in awe as Delia lies there motionless, still allowing the question to linger for a moment.  Once she is finished, she pulls out a heart shaped box from under her dress.  It is glued back together in the most abstract way, looking far from a healed heart, but one that is still intact.  Red satin streams begin to flow from underneath her body as the moon lowers.  The spotlight changes back over to white as the chorus places their candles on the ground around Delia.  They wrap her up in the red satin, attaching it to the moon as Guillaume steps down from it, helping in the process.  Delia hangs lifelessly as the moon rises once again.  The moon spins around slowly as it rises… slowly disappearing as the audience claps and shouts out.  Guillaume, Holly, Angelica, and the chorus take a bow as roses fly onto the stage at their feet…

******

Delia continues walking, but this time, she is cleaned up.  Her messy clown-like look fades into a well done smoky eye, crimson lip, platinum blonde look of beauty.  Instead of the sullen look she was last seen with, she looks more determined than ever tonight as she walks through the doors of a local dance club.  She is followed closely by Tessa, and a less than theatrical Alex Jeffries (AKA Holly Wood).  Delia looks around and narrows her eyes as she sees men and woman dancing together.  This was, after all, not her scene.  She rolls her eyes as she stares at Tessa.

Delia:  I s’ought you were taking me to a trendy night club!  Z’is is disgusting!

Alex:  She’s right.  There’s zero chance I’m getting laid in here tonight…

Tessa looks at Delia with her brows furled.  She looks around as if not seeing what is wrong with this scenario, studying the classy Busch Beer neon signs, and the outdated dance music from 2012, being the newest.

Tessa:  I don’t know what ye was expecting, luv.  This place is trendy.  Besides, it’s Northridge…

Delia:  I s’ought you had what it took to hang wi’s z’e Mean Girls, but obviously I was mistaken.  We don’t hang out at straight clubs…

Tessa:  An why is that?  If yer expecting me to hang out at a club with a bunch of bum boys, yer mistaken…

Delia rears her hand back and slaps the taste out of Tessa’s mouth.  Alex snaps his fingers, applying his hand to his hips as he bobs his head from side to side.

Alex:  Awww, no she did not!

Delia:  We might not have many redeeming qualities, darling, but we do have our principles, and z’ose “bum boys” have every right to exist.  Comments like z’at make me feel z’at we do not agree on z’is point, no?  And s’ink very, VERY carefully before you speak, or else you will go back to being z’e glorified ring rat you were when Mean Girls arrived on z’e scene…

Tessa touches at her cheek, squinting her blue-green eyes at Delia for a moment.  She thinks of nothing more than tackling Delia to the ground, ripping at her fake hair and clawing at her signature face, rolling around in a sweaty heap as the men acted like wild orangutans to get a front row seat to the action.  Delia squints her eyes back, studying Tessa.

Delia:  I understand your Catholic upbringing, as we have z’is in common.  But what we do not have in common is ignorance.  Besides, you could use a gay man’s touch because your mug is beat to hell, darling…

Tessa:  Ye certainly are a cheeky bitch, aren’t ye, Ms. Darling?  I love and hate that, but trust me when I say that I am here to learn.  I want to be a star, and I’m willing to do anything to get there.

Delia:  You have a lot of work ahead of you, darling.  But, if I did not see z’e potential, z’en I would not waste my time.  Now, lesson number one is… always hang out wi’s z’e most trendy people, and z’at is gay men and drag queens.

Alex:  Damn right, honey… And, if you think you can pop off with that homophobic speech and walk out of a gay club alive, then you are mistaken.  A gay man will rip a bitches weave out.  Trust me, I know…

Tessa slowly nods her head as if soaking it in.  She takes a deep breath, ready to question it more, but she stops herself.  Delia taps her foot impatiently as if she were going to wait for Tessa to speak, but waiting is not something Delia is familiar with.

Delia:  I expect you to pull out z’e smartphone and find z’e nearest gay club.  It shouldn’t be hard since we are in Los Angeles.

Tessa:  Wait, isn’t Alex from Los Angeles?  Couldn’t he find one?

Delia looks at Tessa as “Toxic” by Britney Spears begins to play.  She gags for a moment and looks at the 40-something crowd dancing like they were in their 20’s.  She places her hands together and widens her eyes in a serious tone as she looks at Tessa.

Delia:  If you are asking me if he is capable of finding one, z’en z’e answer is yes.  He could close his eyes and point us in z’e direction of one z’at you obviously missed wi’s your fruit blindness.  But will he?  No, he won’t…

Tessa:  But why?  Obviously this isn’t me thing, and if he’s so good at finding one…

Delia:  Z’e answer is simple, darling… He won’t because I asked you to do it.

Tessa looks like she wants to argue the point, but Delia flips her hair as she turns toward the door.  Tessa looks over to Alex for assistance, but he pouts his lips out as if to rub her face in his disdain.  Tessa grunts in frustration as she pulls her phone out of her pocket.  She quickly scans over the content she’s pulled up and she runs her teeth over her tongue.

Tessa:  Club Tempo?

Alex chuckles at this and rolls his eyes, smiling now at Tessa’s poor attempts to impress Delia.  Tessa hums as she tries to find another one.  She holds the phone up for Alex to look.

Alex:  Plaza?  Bitch, please!!!  I should smack you for that one, baby gurl…

Tessa:  Oh, here’s one where you can eat too…

Alex:  Hmm nope…

Tessa:  But I didn’t even say the name.  It’s The Abbey.

Alex:  You really do suffer from fruit blindness, sweetie… Deelz, why do we have to walk around with her?  Seriously, is she some kind of St. Patrick’s Day accessory to get a free green beer with every dumb fuckin’ Irish bitch you bring up in here?  I’ll just pay for the beer my damn self…

Delia chuckles as Tessa shoots Alex the look of death.  She folds her arms as she rips him apart mentally.  Alex crosses his arms across his chest and somehow finds a way to look more girly than Tessa in the process.  Delia watches the ensuing argument with eager anticipation.

Tessa:  Make fun of me all ye want, lassie, but if yer gonna do it, then do it right ye bloody tosser.  I might be Irish blooded, but I’m English.  I was born in England, and up until a few months ago, I never left England.

Alex:  Then you need to tell me who your dentist is, because I had no fuckin’ idea, honey.  He did a great job with your overbite…

Tessa:  Let me look it up, because all those knobs in yer mouth put a gap the size of the English Channel between your teeth…

Delia’s jaw drops as she looks between the two.  She could easily stop this, but why would she want to?  Instead, she claps her hands together, finding Tessa pulling ahead in the battle.

Alex:  Then how do you keep yours so perfect?  Rumors around backstage is that you’ve had more wieners than Oscar Meyer’s, baby… No T no shade…

Tessa:  I’m not afraid to punch ye in yer fucking mouth, Ladyboy.  I did it once before, and I will do it again if you don’t cut me a little slack!

Delia:  So how is z’e club search coming?  Oh, you forgot one simple task already?  Z’at sounds like someone who wants to go back to only being relevant when getting her ass kicked by us…  Come on now darling… impress me…

Delia stands there waiting for Tessa to come up with a plan for the rest of the evening when a man walks up to her.  He is wearing a tight black shirt and even tighter jeans that leave almost nothing to the imagination.  His black hair is greased back, and he licks his finger as he studies Delia for a second, groaning at the thought of what he could do to her.

Man:  Hey baby.  If I could rearrange the alphabet, I would put…

Delia scoffs, not even giving the man the time of day.  She immediately juts her hand up an inch from his face.  He grabs onto her hand and tries to kiss it when Delia rips it away quickly.  She turns around to look at him, and gags.

Delia:  Yes… no.  Just… no.  No s’ank you…  Tess, darling?  Get us out of here quickly…

Tessa:  Why?  He’s sort of cute.

Delia and Alex exchange a look of utter shock before they each take one of her arms, dragging her off.  The man simply shrugs his shoulders and walks off, finding his next cheesy pick up line victim.  Delia shoves through the door they came in from, disappearing off in the distance as “What The Hell” by Avril Lavigne begins playing.  Delia’s gagging can be heard until the door closes completely.
[*Fade*]


<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/033014Scene02_zps38a50740.png>

”Order is an unappreciated art of black and white, where emotion has no place.  Chaos, on the other hand, is a rainbow of red bloodlust, orange optimism, yellow cowardice, green envy, blue bruises, and indigo ritualism succumbing to the purple impracticalities, and every dirty color in between.”-Delia, darling if you must

In the dark recesses of her mind, Delia saw two shadows.  They were shadows that threatened her the most as of late.  Not that it says much, because Delia fears nobody, but they were enough of a thorn in her side that they had been in the back of her mind, and there was simply no way that she could allow them to remain there.  Some might threaten those who have backed them into a corner.  Others might lash out.  What kind of example would that give the fans of a woman who is invulnerable, flawless, and fearless?  No, this simply would not do.  Not even her precious Mean Girls would have the pleasure of knowing about this meeting.  Delia has made sure that they would not be present by assigning Angelica and Holly to help make Tessa presentable for an evening on the town, a task that seemed nearly impossible.

As we look around for any sign of light in this dark place, we are suddenly overtaken by a blinding light.  There is a faint outline of a table set out on the beach.  The breeze whistles through the white tablecloth as two security guards stand watch at this private party.  Delia walks across the beach in a large white sun hat resting oddly on the side of her head, and sunglasses that make her the envy of every woman staring from fifty yards back.  The wind breezes through her black feathery arm pieces as she rests her hands on her wide hips, on a white blazer.  She claps her hands together as waiters begin to rush plates of food over to the table, buffet style.  She steps in between them, adjusting the flowers as if she had done this all on her own.  She tilts her head to the side to make sure her arrangement was appropriate.  She takes in the perfection for a moment before a hand reaches over onto her shoulder.  She practically jumps out of her skin as an ominous laugh is heard from behind her.  The high pitched, Joker-like laugh was enough to make any normal person freak out even more, but it eases Delia a bit.  She turns around to see Kraven Moorehead standing there.  She purses her white lips together tightly as Kraven seizes her hand.

Kraven:  Enchante, Delia.  Likewise, I’m sure…

Delia scoffs, and you can imagine that she has rolled her eyes behind her sunglasses.  She turns to the side, allowing Kraven to see that she is still watching him from the corner of her eye.  Kraven smiles sweetly as he puffs his chest out.  He places his hands on his hips and looks around at the spread in front of him.

Kraven:  This is such a beautiful table setting, Ms. Darling, but don’t you think the whole beach setting is a bit dramatic?

Delia:  Just because you are not dressed to match z’e class of z’is occasion, I cannot be blamed for your poor choices, Kraven…

Kraven:  Ohh, that bitchiness makes me wonder why I ever left vagina…

Delia:  Darling, z’e only vagina you’ve ever been in was your mos’er’s when she shit you out into z’is cold, cruel world…

Kraven’s eyes almost seem to glaze over as he plots her demise silently.  The sun sparkles in the light brown glints in his iris, almost as much as they do from his perfectly whitened teeth.  Delia’s lip curls into a satisfied smile as she dusts her platinum blonde locks off of her shoulder, walking over toward the table.  Kraven’s mental presence returns as Delia picks up a steak knife, gently running her fingers over the teeth of it.

Delia:  So, I assumed you would be arriving wi’s your date, Erik Staggs.  Shall we begin, or…

Kraven:  No, maybe we should wait for Erik and Ethan to arrive… I mean, you have dangled the carrot in front of Ethan’s face for weeks now, so I assumed…

Delia:  Darling, you simply must stop gagging me.  First z’e apparel, and now even mentioning z’e fact z’at I would have anys’ing to do wi’s Es’an romantically?

Delia chuckles as Kraven walks closer to her.  Within an instant, Kraven has removed the knife from Delia’s hand, gripping it tightly in his own as he narrows his eyes.  He stares into her eyes with X-Ray Vision, seeing right through her façade.  His nostrils flare as he holds the knife in the center of her chest, shaking as her lips part in shock.  He gently slides the knife over to her right where it belongs.

Kraven:  You… really… REALLY… should be careful playing with knives, Delia.  You never know what could happen…

Delia’s lips quiver as Kraven sneers at her, snatching up an empty champagne glass.  He holds it to his side, never taking his eyes off of Delia.  One of the waiters walks over with a bottle of wine, pouring the dark red moscato into his glass.  He places his nose to the rim, sniffing it before coughing, chuckling under his breath as he simply sets the glass down on the tablecloth.

Kraven:  It is so sad that you pass that off as drinkable.  Or did you spend too much money on the cast of Oz playing security guards?

Delia:  Are you going to s’row shade my way all afternoon, or are you going to get to z’e pressing questions, such as why I would invite you anywhere near my home, being as you are a psychopa’s?

Kraven:  Oh, I thought we were just having fun, darling… Oops, sorry to steal your only catchphrase…  But, I must admit that my feelings are just a bit hurt by the psychopath comment.  It’s not like I’m Norman Bates or something…

Delia raises her eyebrows, chuckling at his suggestion as if it were exactly the truth.  He looks over to her with a blank expression as if he didn’t understand her laughter.  She finally settles down as she removes her sunglasses from her face.  Kraven smiles when he sees the fear in her eyes, even if it masked with a snide expression.

Delia:  I am not known for my catchphrases, Norman, I am known for my style… my general fierceness.  But, it is cute z’at you s’ought I would be offended by your remark.

Kraven:  This stopped being entertaining about four seconds ago, Cordelia… You’re starting to sound like a broken record of Amy Marshall comebacks.  A broken record of a record in the style of broken, in case you didn’t get that.

Delia:  Oh, I got it, Kraven…  I’m not stupid…

Kraven:  Debatable… but let me concede to you for just a moment.  After our last meeting, I am curious as to why the invite?  I have a fond memory of your middle finger, so I don’t think I need to see it again…

Delia picks up Kraven’s glass of wine and takes a small sip as she leans off of the table.  This time, it is her who backs him against the table.  She simply looks into his eyes, reading them like a book as she runs her tongue across the top of her teeth.  There is a moment that almost appears as sexual tension between them, complete gender reversal as Kraven’s lips quiver.  Finally, Delia breaks the silence, and the deadlock they were in.

Delia:  I am waiting for you to make your move, Mr. Moorehead.  I cannot wait any longer.  Spike Staggs disobeyed you, and now he is in a hospital in Los Angeles.  Not only did I disobey your wishes, but I slapped you across z’e face wi’s defiance.  I am waiting for z’e ball to drop, as you say in America.  Instead of being scared of it, instead I invite you to bring your worst…

Kraven opens his mouth curiously, looking a bit surprised or confused by this assertion.  He blinks once or twice as Delia finishes speaking.  He closes his eyes, taking in her essence for a moment before… laughing in her face.  Delia looks angry by this reaction, but Kraven, after slapping his knees several times, pointing, and trying to speak only to fail, he leans off of the table, towering over Delia, however, he is not nearly as menacing.

Kraven:  Ohhhh, is that not the most precious thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth…  You actually think that I planned on taking you out?  It’s so adorable how you think that you are a step ahead of me, when really, you’re about a mile behind me, sweetheart…

Delia:  I-I don’t understand…

Kraven:  Clearly!

Kraven goes as far as to pinch at Delia’s cheeks, having her slap his hands away.  She grips onto the collar of his white dress shirt, unbuttoned to show off his lightly furry chest.  She tugs on it, but Kraven doesn’t budge an inch.  Instead, she pounds her fist on his chest, again achieving nothing as she shoves him, only to push herself back a step as if pushing on a wall.

Kraven:  I think it’s adorable.  I’m not being sarcastic either.  You aren’t even in the same intellectual realm as I am, Deelz.  I didn’t inspire every single one of the greatest moments in SCW history by walking up to people and saying “Hey, would you mind lying down for Rage?  That would be super swell, man, thanks…”  No, I went up to Rage as a “fan”, and I told him he was a big, bald fuck up that stood zero chance of ever defeating Nick Jones, even on his worst day.  I told him that he might as well save himself the heartache of fighting and just lie down.  I gave him what his own “family” never had the goddamn courtesy to give him.  I gave him something to fight for.  That’s just an example.

Kraven speaks with such conviction in his voice as Erik Staggs walks up, slowly as he listens, rolling his eyes.  He is carrying a “real” bottle of wine in his hands as he stands behind Kraven, still going on a rant.

Kraven:  Don’t even make me get into how I caused the Rebellion…

Erik: Yes, don’t, because we don’t need to be bored with your lies…

Kraven turns around, flashing a playful smile at Erik, tempting him to defend his cause.  Erik clears his throat, ready to continue when Delia holds a hand up at Erik.  She turns to look at Kraven.

Delia:  So, you mean to say z’at you played me like a fool?

Kraven:  More or less.  And, it wasn’t as hard as I had expected either.

Erik:  Yes, Delia is an idiot, and Kraven is a puppet master.  Now that we have saved ourselves an hour or two on establishing those as facts, we can sit down and have lunch, maybe?

Delia and Kraven both look over to Erik who simply grabs onto Delia’s hand, planting a soft kiss on it.  Kraven limps his wrist, extending it for Erik, who simply pats it with a sideway high five as he walks over to the table, setting the wine down next to the moscato.  He snubs his nose at the opened bottle much like Kraven had.

Erik:  I must say that I was pleased that you changed your mind about attacking Frost, Ms. Darling.  It saved me a lot of paperwork.

Delia:  I did?  Perhaps I am just saving z’e spectacle for z’e Supercard…

Erik:  Did I just hear of someone possibly getting stripped of their Blast From the Past II trophy and sub sequential Bombshell Championship title shot, thus having to kiss my ass?  Please, don’t let me stop you.  I think the paperwork sounds like it would be worth it now…

Suddenly a sneering contest breaks out, Erik mocking Delia’s sneer, and Kraven simply not wanting to be left out, sarcastically mirroring the other two, unbeknownst to them.  Delia picks up her plate and a pair of dainty tongs, picking up a roll and putting it on her plate.

Delia:  I know you haven’t s’anked me yet, but I would like to take z’e high road by saying “You’re welcome” for z’e lunch on z’is beautiful spring day…  It was my pleasure, gentlemen.  Z’at is manners, darlings…

Kraven:  Thank you, Cordelia.  It was very selfless of you to invite us here to feed your own ego, yet to fail soooo miserably with such *air quotes* grace…

Erik:  And, thank you for trying to kill us with this red rubbing alcohol you call wine… Am I right?

Kraven:  Amen, brother…

Kraven raises his arms into the air, waving them around as if he were at church on a Sunday morning before returning back to the food on his plate.  Erik takes hold of his salad plate, gingerly pulling pieces of lettuce from a bowl in front of him as he places it on the table.

Delia:  Instead, I would like to s’ank you bo’s for inspiring me to be ever fierce!  For wis’out z’e bo’s of you, I might not have defeated Odette Ryder… Okay, z’at is a stretch of my modesty… however, I would not be as determined to win z’e tournament if it was not for z’e bo’s of you.  Z’is lunch is a showing of my gratitude for z’at…

Kraven:  As long as you win that tournament and don’t make me look like a fool, then I require no thanks from you.

Erik chuckles from the opposite end of the table.  He dares not say anything until Delia and Kraven both look down at them with disdain on their faces.  He chews on his salad, clearing his mouth before speaking.

Erik:  Sadly, that won’t be happening.  We all know it, and I was hoping to not have to say it.  Brandi fights like a man, and Delia fights like a Princess.  Then, there’s the whole Simon Jones versus Ethan Brody aspect, and it’s simply laughable to think that you two could win this…

Kraven:  I’m not sure why that’s so funny to you, Erik.  Ethan Brody is as viable of a champion as Simon Jones.  And how shockingly fresh would it be for Sin City Wrestling if he won it?

Erik:  Bottom to top, top to bottom, chaos ensues… It’s your master plan slash baby fit along with breaking my nephew’s knee, isn’t it?

Delia:  Gentlemen, please… keep your dicks in your pants at z’e table.  Compare size later when I’m not trying to eat…

Kraven leans his elbows on the table, hunched over his plate as he stares through the floral arrangement on the table, taunting Erik.  Erik refuses to back down as he slowly chews on his salad.

Kraven:  Delia could easily beat the ever so rusty Brandi Shotze any day of the week.  I would kneel down right next to Delia and kiss your ass if Brandi were to pin Delia.

Erik:  Is that an official challenge, Moorehead?

Kraven nods his head as he takes a large bite of medium rare steak.  He continues to nod his head as he chews away at it.  Erik rubs his hands together as he pulls a clipboard out of his bag.  He jots a few things down on the paper and then slides the clipboard over to Kraven.  He closes one eye, carefully reading over the paper.

Delia:  Excuse me for intervening, Mr. Moorehead, but what kind of sense down it make for you to gain nos’ing WHEN I win?  You are simply wasting a good autograph on nos’ing, afterall, when you could have anys’ing you wish for…

Kraven taps the pen against the clipboard, smiling devilishly as he looks across the table at Erik.  He savors the thought for a moment before sharing it with the rest of them, licking at his lips as if he weren’t sure he had the guts to actually ask for this.

Kraven:  Since I crippled your nephew…

Erik furls his eyebrows.  As much as they did not get along, Erik didn’t particularly care for Kraven crippling him, and having the balls to make light of it with several viable weapons surrounding them.

Erik:  You sonuvabitch…

Kraven:  No, no, no… hear me out before you mentally skewer me with every piece of silverware at this table… Since I crippled your nephew, he doesn’t need Staggs Dungeon, and since you own the majority of it… maybe you could gift it to me.  After all, I could put it to better use…

Erik:  And, what part of that was not supposed to be insulting to me, you… douche?

Kraven thinks it over quickly, shrugging his shoulders as he looks to Delia.  The two of them share a hearty laugh as Erik clinches his fists, pounding them on the table, shaking everything on it.

Kraven:  I just wanted you to hear me out, Erik.  Why slap you across the face when I could slap you across the face, knee you in the stomach, AND kick you in the testicles?  I like to get more bang for my buck.

Erik:  Despite the differences my nephew and I have shared in the past, I would never take that gym away from him.  He lives for it, and I’m not as heartless as some might think…

Kraven:  It isn’t heartless if you believe in your cause.  If Delia and Ethan are the joke that you claim them to be, then what do you really have to lose?

Erik stares down at the clipboard, thinking it over carefully, looking between Kraven, Delia, and the clipboard.  He sighs as he begins jotting the amendment down on the paper.  He thinks it over for another moment before signing off on it.  He slides the clipboard over to Kraven, who reads over it just as carefully.  Delia sits in the center, looking pleased with herself as she daintily picks at her plate, using it to mask her proud smirk.  Kraven quickly jots his signature down on the sheet of paper before leaning back in his chair with a smirk as he soaks in the rays of sun.

Delia:  I expect z’at Mr. Moorehead will allow z’e woman who won him Staggs Dungeon unlimited access to z’e gym?

Kraven:  I most certainly could, Ms. Dar…

Erik:  Oh, this salad was worth a trip clear across the country and an expensive bottle of wine, but I’m afraid I’ve become nauseated by your presence… Just remember to use plenty of Chap Stick, because I’m sure dry, crusty lips wouldn’t feel very good on my asscheeks, ladies…

Erik picks up his white cloth napkin from his lap and firmly pats at his mouth for emphasis.  He places the napkin down over his half eaten plate as he scoots his chair away from the table, burying the legs in the sand a bit.  He gets up from the table and nods his head at them, looking a bit white in the face.  Kraven winks at him with a smile as he chews on another bite of steak.  Delia blows him a kiss with each hand, waving at him, to which he simply clutches at his gut as he walks across the sand.

Kraven:  Ipecac oil vinaigrette, I assume?

[Delia Darling]

 Delia:  Not z’is time, mon ami… I s’ink he realizes just how wrong he actually is in betting against me.  Z’e s’ought of humiliating his nephew furz’er must have upset his stomach…  Or, perhaps it was z’e laxative/ parmesan crusted croutons in z’e salad?

Kraven:  You are truly a treasure, Delia… a real spectacle of yourself, and I’m loving every minute of it.  You’re like Jamie Staggs with boobs and class.

Delia:  I would be offended by z’at statement if I had not peppered z’e steak wi’s z’e laxative as well.  But, don’t worry, you will have enough time to make it to z’e 7 Eleven to shit your insides out…

Kraven snickers as he looks over at Delia who looks as serious as a heart attack as she stares back at him.  She slowly chews on her roll, waiting for him to follow shortly after Erik.  He drops his fork down on the plate and blinks a few times as he hears a rumbling inside of his stomach.  His eyes widen as she winks at him.  He backs away from the table quickly as his jaw drops.  He stands up and runs across the sand.  Delia drops her roll down to her plate, quickly swallowing as she looks concerned.

Delia:  Kraven!  Send Mr. Staggs my regards as you fight over z’e sink and z’e toilet, darling!

Delia waves her arm as if she were being sincere in her request.  Kraven’s run turns to a tight-legged scamper across the sand as he reaches a black Escalade, flinging the door open and disappearing inside.   Delia smiles sweetly, picking her roll back up, tearing a small piece off and placing it between her lips, taking it into her mouth.  She slowly chews as she watches Kraven speed off, placing her sunglasses back on her face.
[*Fade*]


<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/033014Scene03_zps4006e138.png>
”Sometimes, the line between past and present can be blurred so much, it is hard to tell the difference, really.  But this is not such the bad thing if you can use it to your advantage, learning from your mistakes to become better than ever.” –Delia, darling if you must


”I cannot believe we’re actually doing z’is, darling… It is… it is… so benea’s us…”

Delia’s thick French accent seems to echo off of the walls as we fade to a long, bright white hallway.  Delia and Angelica are seen walking through the doors as if all eyes were on them, despite the fact that there is no one there.  Steam rolls out from both locker rooms as water is heard running.  Delia is wearing a pink plaid skirt that matches Angelica’s, but she is wearing white blouse where Angelica is wearing black.  Delia has her snide expression on her face as she stops in front of the Women’s locker room.  Angelica starts to walk in, carrying two duffel bags over her shoulders.  She turns to see that Delia is not following her and she widens her eyes, beckoning her inside.  Delia snubs her nose at the notion.

Delia:  Seriously, darling… it is benea’s us.  Changing wi’s z’e soccer moms is insulting to me…

Angelica:  Look, you have to build up your core a bit if you want to ever win a match on your own… Sorry, honey, but it’s the damn truth…

Delia scoffs at this notion, looking at Angelica’s smaller than average arms, bopping her head from side to side.  This time, it is Angelica who holds a hand up in Delia’s face, insulting the diva in the process.

Angelica:  When I was wrestling, I made sure I had the arms to back it up, sweetie… Suck it up and get ready to sweat for once…

Delia:  I sweat every time we hit z’e runway, because I always worry you will fuck it up…

Angelica:  Bitch please!  I am fierce, and you know it.  You’re just afraid of getting “normal people germs” or something like that.  I promise, you can’t catch ugly, and if so, there are plenty of surgeons out there who could fix you right up.  We are flaw-less, and I expect you to start taking this “wrestling thing” more serious.

Delia growls as Angelica berates her in front of… nobody… but she still doesn’t take too kindly to it.  Before she can object any further, Angelica tugs on her arm, pulling her inside of the steamy locker room.  They come over to a bench and she sets both bags down on it.  Delia looks down at it, wanting to stay put on it, but she is afraid of contracting something from it.  Angelica pulls off her black blouse and tosses it next to their bags.  She unzips the black bag and pulls out a black sports bra.  Delia averts her eyes, still not entertaining the idea of doing this.  Angelica turns around and removes her bra, quickly pulling the sports bra over it.  She stares at Delia who is still having some sort of tantrum in front of her.

Angelica:  Seriously?  Like, for real, girl?  We’re going to play this game?  You know I can annoy you until you do it, so how about we save the effort for the weight bench?

Delia:  I have a personal gym back home in Miami z’at was more z’an suitable for a work out.  We could have stayed z’ere a few more days instead of coming here.

Angelica:  You need to get out and look at some hot guys for a minute, kay?  This whole anti-sexual thing you got going on is just making you into a frigid bitch, and it’s getting real old… real quick…

Angelica reaches into the second bag and pulls out Delia’s black and white sports bra, throwing it in her face.  Delia sneers at Angelica as she begins taking her bracelets off.  She moves next to her earrings, tossing them into her bag.  She looks around to make sure no one is watching so they don’t try to steal her Tiffany’s exclusives.  She takes off her necklace, hiding it in her bag before pulling her shirt off.  The slender Bombshell turns away from Angelica to take her bra off as well, quickly slipping on the sports bra.  She reaches into the bag and pulls on a pair of matching lycra shorts before removing her skirt.

Delia:  Z’ere, are you happy, Angie?  If I get some sort of rash, my medical bills will come out of your pay…

Angelica shrugs as she places the skirt inside of her own bag.  Both ladies place them in a locker before locking them up.  Angelica smiles at Delia’s cooperation.  She leads the way out of the locker room as Delia hesitantly follows behind her.  They come into the hallway, passing by two well toned young men, one bronzed like a god, and the other with a lighter complexion, but dark hair lightly tracing down his abdomen.  Delia barely bats an eyelash as Angelica almost seems to drool.  Delia pushes Angelica along as they get to large room that smelled of body odor and lemon scented Lysol, trying to cover it up.  Delia nearly throws up until she holds onto her nose.

Delia:  Dizzzguzztin’…

Delia breathes through her mouth, smacking her lips together as if she could taste the odor now.  She waves her hand in front of her face as she walks down the center of the gym, looking at the weight benches, the treadmills, the elliptical machines, trying to decide what to do first.  She spots the Ab Loungers on the far end of the gym, completely empty.  She all but runs over to them as Angelica rolls her eyes.  Delia sits down in one as Angelica joins her to the right.  Delia slowly begins crunching.

Angelica:  At least there’s a nice view from over here.  Look at that guy over at the speed bags.  Total hawtie…

Delia looks over to the golden man boxing away at the bag.  His hair is almost as golden as his skin, but Delia simply did not have the interest.  She picked him apart in her mind, telling herself that he was too blonde, the spray tan was too orange, and that he was too short.  She continues to crunch, growing more and more intense as she angrily justifies to herself why he simply wasn’t attractive enough for her.  Angelica shrugs her shoulders as she goes with the motions of the Lounger.  She sighs and looks over to the weight bench and a smile creeps over her face.

Angelica:  Muscle hunk at twelve o’clock hunty…

Delia:  Oh, no darling…

After all, he looked like an hour glass, and his chest had to be bigger than hers.  His frosted tips made her think of a Jersey Shore reject relocated to Las Vegas.  She shakes her head as she continues on with the Lounger.  This had turned into something far different than she had expected, and somehow the smell of body odor, rancid feet, and Lysol was more appealing than being grilled about her sexual interests.

Angelica:  Okay, well there’s an old fatty on the treadmill if that’s your sort of thing…

Delia’s eyes had wandered over in that direction out of pure curiosity as she sees the lime green tank top, white headband, and red short shorts, covered in sweat as if he had been the victim of a water dumping prank.  She shakes her head, confusing Delia even moreso.  She scoffs and then looks over toward the water fountain where a young brunette woman is leaning over to get a drink of water.

Angelica:  Well, she’s got a Nicki Minaj ass… and if that doesn’t do it for you, then I just give up Ice Queen…

Delia scoffs as she reverses the crunch, leaning back to crunch her legs up.  It is at this angle that she really sees what Angelica is talking about, and she licks at her lips, finding it hard to stifle the pleasured moan with the work out.  Angelica’s jaw drops as she seems completely and utterly surprised.

Angelica:  No wonder you are LGBTQ friendly… I… I had no idea, honey, but why wouldn’t you tell me, knowing I’m bisexual?  Not that I want to, um…

Delia:  I am not, darling… I wasn’t talking about her.  Look at z’e hunk squatting about five feet to her right…

Angelica looks over to the side to see a man, shirtless, but in black gym shorts.  His rippling muscles seem almost fluid as he squats down slowly.  She curiously inspects his backside, giving Delia her full approval.  She looks up at his head, noticing something that seems to sour her stomach on the topic.  She looks over to Delia to inform her of the discovery, only to notice that Delia was already half way across the room.  She works her slender legs to her advantage as she prepares herself to put it on thick for this guy.  Angelica gets up from the Lounger and quickly walks in Delia’s direction, but she is too late as Delia leans against the wall, refusing to look the man in the face.

Delia:  It appears z’at you could use a spot, no?  I would be more z’an happy to…

”Double D?”

Delia looks as if she had just seen a ghost as the British accent tickles her eardrums.  She takes in a shallow breath as Angelica comes over to stop her, but she takes notice of the expression and instead runs her fingers through her ponytail, turning away as if she only wanted to wait for the water fountain.  Delia looks dumbfounded, and then it slowly fades to sickened as her jaw drops down.  Ethan Brody brings the barbell just over his head and back to the slots on the wall.  He reaches to one of the rungs for his towel, wiping away at his sweaty face.  Delia shoots Angelica a glare as if she had done this on purpose.  She forces the seductive tone from her voice as she decides to play it off.

Delia:  I’m just not used to seeing you carry anys’ing on your back, because it is usually me who does z’is…  I s’ought it might be too heavy for you…

Ethan:  I was handling it quite fine on my own, but, um, thanks for your concern.  It would be a first, yeah?

Delia rolls her eyes as she looks over to Angelica to come in for the save.  Instead, Angelica buries her head in the water fountain, lapping it up as if she hadn’t had a drink in days.  Ethan laughs as Delia avoids eye contact with him.

Ethan:  Sorry if your friends can’t make the save for you this time.  You must deal with me all on your own, I guess…

Delia:  I do just fine on my own, s’ank you, Es’an!

Ethan:  Let’s hope you can pull it off this week, because I heard someone’s planning to fight fire with fire.

Delia shrugs her shoulders as she preens at her fingernails, playing it off as if she couldn’t care less.  She blows at her French Manicured nails before looking over to Angelica who might as well be trying to drown herself to avoid the embarrassment.

Delia:  I have made z’e conscious decision to win z’is s’ing fairly.  It is about time z’at z’e rumors stop flying anyway.  I can fight fairly.  I have a pretty badass trainer and everys’ing!

Ethan:  Impressive.  Can I expect to see some of those moves in the ring at Blaze of Glory then?  It’s getting to be pretty annoying hearing everyone saying that we never win fairly, so it would be nice to blow ‘em all away by doing this by the book for the finals.

Delia:  Totally by z’e book!  I even read z’e rule book so I would know z’e difference.  Did you know it is against z’e rules to punch a man in z’e testicles?

Ethan stares at her for a moment as if he is confused by her awkward conversation attempts, and then by her pronunciation of (or even just the fact that the word) testicles coming from her mouth.  He chuckles awkwardly, throwing the towel around his neck as Delia leans against the wall casually.

Ethan:  Yeah, the cobblers are sacred in wrestling I suppose.

Delia:  Like treasures, I would assume…

Angelica chokes on water, coughing as she lifts her head, staring at Delia in shock.  She attempts to drag Delia away from Ethan subtly, but Delia pulls her arm away, giving Angelica a quick shove while trying to play it cool.

Ethan:  Gives the saying “family jewels” a real meaning… Hey, I got to, um…

Delia:  It must be awfully embarrassing to know z’at I do not want you, no?  I mean, you should not take it personal because, well… look at me.  I am Delia, darling if you must, and…

Ethan nearly drops his jaw at Delia’s sudden comment, a low toned yet uncomfortable chuckle coming from his lips as he leans against the wall so that she has no choice but to look deep into his eyes.

Ethan:  I thought we already went through this on Twitter, yeah?  You’re too good for me, and I couldn’t care less because I’m not interested in birds who are, what, half my age?  Model types with nasty attitudes.  Like I’ve said before, we’re like chalk and cheese, and it works.  We’re an effective team, but…

Angelica steps up to them, clearing her throat.  She tries to draw Ethan’s attention to her instead of Delia.  Ethan sneers at her as if to tell her to get lost as his eyes fall back on Delia.

Ethan:  … but that’s it.  You’re not going to hurt my feelings with your overcompensation, sweets.  So, unless you would like to speak about our match, I got better things to be doing here, and you got your pick of stupid young studs to do here, so…

Delia:  What did you just say?  WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!  How dare you speak of me in z’is way!

Angelica:  Yeah!  I tried pointing all of them out to her, but instead, she walked up to you of all people!

Delia harshly nudges Angelica in the side, not once, but twice to assert her anger with Angelica’s involvement.  Ethan looks over to Angelica who nods her head, looking just as surprised as he is.  Delia shakes her head, as if a tantrum were brewing from deep within her.  She places a hand in Ethan’s face, but her red cheeks suggest that what she is about to say is far from genuine.

Delia:  You had better hope you can stay away from our corner, because I will knock z’at disgusting cow down on z’e mat, and I will pin her just to spite you.  Or, or… I might just lie down and let z’e heifer crush me for z’e s’ree count.  You are no Heavyweight Champion, and you never will be.  I am done carrying you, Es’an Brody.  I don’t care whose ass I have to kiss, because it will be better z’an staring at yours!

Ethan looks a bit hurt by these words as Angelica tries to calm her down, placing a hand on her shoulder.  She violently shrugs it off, sneering at both Angelica and Ethan in response.  She starts to storm off as Angelica offers Ethan an uncomfortable smile, trying to talk sense into Delia as she walks away.

Angelica:  Are you shitting me, girl?  There is, heh, noooooooo way I’m going to let you shit on your own career like that.  Just because you got rejected by a guy?  Losing to Brandi Shotze is super embarrassing.  Believe me, I know…  You will never forgive yourself.

Ethan overhears part of this conversation as his expression seems to soften ever so slightly.  Delia continues to mutter under her breath in French, cursing Ethan out as she walks away.  Ethan puffs his chest out as he almost seems to bellow out something to Delia.

Ethan:  Well, if you change your mind, sweets… How about a drink at my bar sometime?

Delia turns around and sticks her tongue out at him while throwing up both of her middle fingers.  Ethan smirks in response, seeming to enjoy the attitude now.  Angelica pulls her away as Ethan chuckles out loud, shaking his head.  While he still has her attention, he blow her a mocking kiss, winking at her to keep her going for his own entertainment.

Ethan:  The offer still stands, Double D.  Maybe I’ll even let you dance on my bar for tips.

Delia growls in response as Angelica continues to back her up toward the exit.  Ethan shakes his head as he walks over to the weigh bench, pulling off his weight belt.  He sits down at the bench as Delia stares over at him.  Her eyes stay on him as he pumps the barbell, until finally she can’t stand it anymore.  She turns and walks out of the weight room, much to Angelica’s pleasure.  Angelica bows her head in embarrassment as she follows after Delia.
[*Fade*]


<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/033014Scene04_zps49ca16ea.png>

”People like to think that you are remembered as they wish to be remembered, but you are only remembered as others remember you.  Before you think this takes power out of your hands, it only puts it more in your control.” –Delia, darling if you must

Suddenly, Delia has decided that she is a psychiatrist, at least she wants to play one on television… If you look back far enough in Sin City Wrestling’s archives, you will run across a clip of Angelica rolling around on the ground with a chair wrapped around her knee, writhing in pain.  It was this day that a star went out.  One of SCW’s most talented Bombshells had her career ended abruptly due to an injury.  It was a travesty of the utmost epic proportions.  Instead of confronting the situation, Angelica simply faded into the night sky, allowing herself to be outshined once again.

If you roll back a little closer to present day, you will see other clips of SCW stars and Bombshells being antagonized in similar fashion, all done via an anonymous attacker who stayed hidden as they tormented Misty, Rage, “Hot Stuff” Mark Ward, and a few others.  It came to be known that Angelica’s attacker was a more recent name in the SCW Universe… Roxanne, the red-headed Amazonian Bombshell who recently allowed her own career to fade just as dramatically.  She justified her actions as nothing more than Karma repaying those who had done her ex, Spike Staggs, wrong.

What had happened to Angelica was far beyond Karma, and it was down-right vicious.  This was something that tormented Angelica for the better part of a year, as she tried several times to make a comeback to the ring.  She had many in-ring promos, dancing in cages, flashing some T&A, but she just couldn’t…  She still can’t.  Delia might have helped her to mask the fear, but it has never truly gone away.  Today, this was going to stop…

Delia walks up the stone walkway to the front porch, feeling confident in her mint blazer and skirt combo.  Her hair is pushed over to the right and back, revealing one ear.  She straightens out her blazer as she looks back to Angelica who is simply standing at the edge of the walkway.  She stares up at the worn in white structure that looks as if it had been a leftover from Edward Scissorhands.  She puts on a stone-like expression, refusing to allow Delia to see her shaken.  Delia stands on the porch, but she looks out to Angelica, casually motioning for her to approach the porch.  Angelica nods her head, but she doesn’t seem to move.  Delia growls under her breath as she storms over to Angelica, practically dragging her across the walkway and to the porch.

Delia:  If you do not confront her, you can never get past z’is.  You will be stuck in z’e past, and z’is is not good for es’er of us, darling…

Angelica:  I… I’m just not ready, Delia.  Can we come back later?

Delia:  No… No, we cannot.  We go on tour after Blaze of Glory, and we simply mustn’t allow z’is to continue to eat at you.

Angelica takes in a deep breath as all of the confidence in the world seems to melt away from her face.  She looks down at the ground as she nods her head, stepping up onto the porch next to Delia.  Delia waits for a moment to allow Angelica the opportunity to knock.  Instead, Angelica clutches onto her clutch, bringing it tightly against her body as she tries to moderate her shaking.  Delia knocks on the door and steps back, right behind Angelica.  She places her hand on Angelica’s shoulder to comfort her.

Angelica:  I really, really… really just wanna go, Deelz… I’m not ready…

Delia:  You will be fine, darling… trust me.

A moment passes as Angelica looks down at the novelty door mat, reading “Intruders Will Be SPANKED!”.  She remembers Roxanne cornering her in the VIP locker room she shared with “Hot Stuff” and the other few important enough to have access.  She remembers Roxanne choking her with the whip, bending her over and lashing her backside with the whip.  Each time she tried to escape, that voice…

Roxanne:  When will the Avon ladies realize that I’m not interested?  Take your door-to-door makeovers elsewhere, thanks…

Angelica seizes up instantly, her mouth going completely dry as her internal alarms go into hyper drive.  She can’t seem to mutter a single word, but Delia seems to be able to recover for her quickly enough.

Delia:  Alz’ough you would benefit greatly from our help, z’is is not why we are hear.  May we come in?

Delia doesn’t wait for an answer as she brushes past Roxanne, dragging Angelica behind her.  The ice in Roxanne’s eyes glistens as she looks down at Angelica, seeming to think this might be the best thing that has happened to her all week.  Her crimson lips curl into the smallest of smiles as she closes the door behind herself.  Delia looks around, taking in the dark red walls, and the black wrought iron décor, gagging at the poor Edgar Allan Poe style.

Delia:  Tell me, does z’e telltale heart beat under z’is loose floorboard, or are you just too inept to call someone to fix it?

Roxanne:  Pleased to meet you too, bitch… Can I get you anything?  An attitude adjustment?  A cola?

Roxanne crinkles her nose in a sarcastic sweet manner.  Delia holds her hand up at Roxanne, letting her talk to the hand instead of clogging her earholes with bullshit.  Delia’s eyes continue to wander as she snaps back.

Delia:  Sorry, darling… some of us are watching our figure.  Why don’t we find somewhere not covered in spunk, and have a seat?

Roxanne:  Fun… Now I see why nobody likes you.  Even the harshest personalities of SCW find you utterly repulsive…

Roxanne’s slight southern drawl carries her final word long enough for Delia to take the hint.  She runs the tips of her fingers up her cheek as if to present her self as “none other than…”  She looks around, deciding to take it upon herself to find a seat.  She finds a Chaise Lounge chair just inside of the living room.  She sprawls out across it while maintaining her poise.  Roxanne sneers at her, but soon finds something much more interesting.  She circles around Angelica like a shark, circling it’s bloody prey.  Angelica clears her throat nervously as she soon follows behind Delia to the living room.

Roxanne:  No, it’s fine… make yourselves right at home.  It isn’t like I was entertaining guests or anything.

Delia:  No guests as important as us, I assure you.

Roxanne stands in the doorway for a moment, taking in Angelica’s nervous movements as she sits down in a chair.  Roxanne sways her hips seductively as she walks over to a black and red throne near the fireplace, sitting right across from Angelica.  She reaches her hands into the air, clapping them together with authority as Electra Blaze, a brazen brunette pyromaniac of a beauty, walks into the room in a fire print crop top and tight black pants.  Following close behind her is a young, half naked man wearing a gimp mask.  Both of them come to Roxanne’s feet, curling up before her as Delia simply scoffs.

Delia:  I am not one to criticize someone for being decadent and self-indulgent, but is z’is really necessary?

Roxanne:  I fail to realize where that is any of your FUCKIN’ business, princess… This is my house, and you are a guest within it.  Now, I assume you have your reasons for being here, so how about we get to it?

Roxanne sticks her left hand down toward the man who places a cigarette between her fingers.  She places it gingerly between her lips, leaning over to her right for Electra to eagerly light with her Zippo lighter.  Roxanne takes the smoke in deeply as Delia decides to join the party.  She pulls out a cigarette of her own, lighting it on her own as she leans back, smoking it more seductively.

Delia:  If z’is meeting were for me, we would have already made it to z’e point, darling, but it is not for me.  It is for her…

Delia points over to Angelica who tightens back up again.  Her eyes dance across the room, purposely avoiding acknowledging Roxanne’s presence officially.  Delia clears her throat, signaling for Angelica to speak up, eliciting a bit of a squeak from her fellow Mean Girl.

Angelica:  I, um… Well….

Roxanne:  Spuh-spuh-spit it out, doll!  It isn’t like I’ve got al fuckin’ day.  Clients and all.

Delia:  Shut your dirty *air quotes* fuckin’ mouth, bitch.  Go ahead, Angie…

Roxanne looks almost offended at Delia’s casual use of the term on her.  Electra and the gimp perk up like dogs, ready to pounce on her, but Roxanne places her hands on their heads, rubbing them tenderly as she eyeballs Delia with her icy eyes.

Angelica:  What you did to me was wrong, Roxie…

Roxane:  Well boo-fuckin-hoo, precious.  Let me pull out the world’s smallest violin to play the saddest song at your little pity party.  It isn’t like you were some innocent bystander, Angelica.

Delia:  Give her z’e chance to…

Roxanne:  I’ve heard enough out of you, Pepe Le Pew!  Shut your trap if you are so goddamned concerned about what she has to say.

[Delia Darling]

 Roxanne shoots venom at Delia who quickly stands up from her seat, pulling off her black gloves before going to her earrings.  Angelica holds a hand up toward her, stopping her from going any further.  Delia tries her hardest not to walk over to Roxanne and slap her, regardless of who is surrounding her.  Electra rubs her hands together in anticipation, laughing.  But ultimately, Roxanne looks over to Angelica, waiting for some sort of rebuttal, and everyone else seems to fade out of the room.

Angelica:  I’m a bitch.  I admit it, loud and proud.  But, was that really called for?

Roxanne:  About as called for as smashing girl’s faces into mirrors, and taking it upon yourself to judge them as whores, sluts, ugly, or some form of farm animal, I suppose.

Angelica:  I am not a nice person, but at least I have the lady balls to admit it, Roxie… I’m a Mean Girl, and I REFUSE to keep that a secret, or casually hide behind some religion’s sacred laws of the universe to justify what I do.  I’m a sassy, nasty, conceited, cunty, superficial, fierce, Mean Girl!  What are you?

Angelica seems to come back from her rant, realizing what she’s just done, and she immediately withdraws.  She clams up a bit, but the fire inside of her hasn’t been extinguished by her anxiety just yet.  She breathes heavily as her eyes rest firmly on Roxanne.  Roxanne stares right back at her, not wavering for a second, even if she remains silent for a spell.

Delia:  Well said, darling.

Angelica:  Please do me a favor and shut up, Deelz… The only voice I want to hear right now is Roxanne trying to justify herself for what she did to me.  I want to hear her give me one reason why I shouldn’t shove the heel of my boot through her eye socket…

Roxanne winks as she puckers her lips at Angelica.  She tries to pull it together enough to give a proper reason, but she keeps coming back to nothing.  She adjusts herself on her throne as Angelica gains a bit of her poise back, crossing her legs like a lady.

Roxanne:  I wanted to win back a guy.  I wanted to do what he couldn’t do, and show certain mouthy little girls such as Misty and yourself that doing so is dangerous.

Angelica:  I talked some shit on Spike, but I never attacked him.  I watched Mark attack him, but Mark was my man, and I stand by my man. Any real woman does.  You took me out because you knew I was a threat.  You took Misty out for the same reason.  And for what?  What exactly did you accomplish by coming back?

Roxanne:  A Match of the Year for 2012?

Angelica:  Yeah, you did good, but what became of you?  You were lost in the shuffle.  You dwindled down to nothing.  You took my career away from me, you bitch, and for what?  You were so good at one point, but now?  You couldn’t even tame Amy Marshall, and then you ran away because of it… You’re pathetic…

Angelica adjusts herself in her seat, the fire inside growing by the moment.  Delia claps her hands together as a show of support for Angelica, all while sneering at Roxanne who seems to be at a complete loss for words.

Angelica:  Delia forced me to come here to confront you, but it’s clear that you are nothing to be afraid of.  You are a hypocrite, and you are weak.  I wasted a lot of fear on you, but that ends… today!

Angelica shakes her head, laughing at Roxanne.  She stands up from her seat, staring at Roxanne for a moment longer as Roxanne simply shrugs her shoulders in shame.  She turns around, ready to walk out of the living room.  Delia flips her hair with a sweet smile as she walks over to the doorway, ready to exit.

Delia:  I s’ought you would at least try to defend yourself, Roxie… You really are pas’etic, aren’t you?

Delia chuckles as she rounds the corner.  Roxanne grits her teeth as she charges toward the doorway to confront Delia for that comment.  However, as soon as she does, Angelica crashes a mirror against her head.  She quickly leans down and scribbles the word “Bitch” across her forehead.  Delia tugs at her, laughing loudly as she tries to hurry her up.  Electra and Boy come around the corner just in time to see them fling the door open, flying outside in a fit of laughter, high fiving as they rush to their car.  They quickly speed off, honking their horns loudly as they go.

However, before the scene fades out, we get to see Delia wearing a black and white striped blazer with a matching hat, throwing up a pistol sign to her black lips in a mug shot as “Bad Girls” by M.I.A.  It switches to another picture of Angelica, flipping her hair into the air, holding her name plate down at her stomach with her long sleeved, black and white striped belly shirt.  Another one comes up of her winking as she blows a kiss.  One last photo appears with Angelica kneeling down with her most badass expression on her face, leaning against Delia’s legs as she leans back, throwing up a faux gang sign as she uses her other hand to hold out a gold gun pendant. Freeze frame to…
[*Fade*]


<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/000BurnBook_zps09700b09.png>


”Read between the lines, darling.  You will get the whole story if you do.” –Delia, Darling if you must


The Burn Book is like a private gossip magazine that only the Mean Girls have full access to.  Many are featured within it with their deepest, darkest secrets and insecurities revealed.  It is more than just an outlet for Delia, Angelica, Holly, and Tessa to let out their feelings.  Some call it mystical and revealing, as it is said to possess the power of ultimate truth.  Anyone who opens this book and presents a token or amulet that represents someone, may turn to a blank page, and see the story of said person from their past, into the present, and through to the future, in just a momentary glimpse.  As the beholder’s mind tries to return to reality, they are left to scavenge through the details for the one that most boldly sticks out.  It is said that this… this… magic… is passed down from the Egyptian mages for millennia, and its wisdom is often sought out by practitioners of the other worldly arts.  The idea behind the book is not for harm, not for self gain, but to see into a person’s soul.

However, with great magic, there comes a great responsibility.  Those who trample on the ancient secret will be dealt with in the most gruesome and terrifying fashion imaginable.  As many believe, with every act of magic, there is a consequence.  Some say you lose a little bit of yourself.  Others say that you will get what you give, sevenfold.  If you are imagining a very loud doumbek drum being pounded louder and louder as this story goes on, rattling the ear drums as the intensity of this story goes on, setting off your most basic instincts, so loud that it threatens to tear through your throat in a primal scream!  … please stop…  It is getting rather annoying, and disrupting my train of thought here.  I swear I had a point to all of this, now what was it…?  Look what you did, asshole…

Oh yeah, I was making it all up.  Do you see these girls?  They’re perfect, and damn near untouchable.  They are Mean Girls, and they refuse to bow down to anyone, even Karma!  Plus, they kind of just wrapped a fancy journal in pink duct tape and modeled it after a movie by drawing lame sayings and symbols around it…

We fade inside of the Platinum Hotel off of the Vegas Strip, through the lobby and into the indoor pool area.  Though it is small, the earth tone walls give a serene look as Delia is sprawled out on one of the few sun chairs near the window to the outside.  She is wearing a one piece black bikini and an opened robe to match.  Her hair and make up is done like a goddess, with sunglasses on her face.  She holds up the Burn Book with one hand, reading it as if it were one of the paperback romance novels that the older women surrounding her are reading.  She gingerly turns the page as if hanging on a word.  Her cherry red lips part and curl into a proud smile as she offers the lowest chuckle she can.

Meanwhile, inside of the pool, Alex, Angelica, and Tessa are all splashing each other, causing a scene in the otherwise quiet area.  Alex climbs out of the pool to show off a pink and white polka dot thong bikini that causes many people to gawk or avert their eyes.  He jumps back in, causing a wave to come over the other two.  Delia lowers her glasses, revealing violet contacts in her eyes as she stares at them like they were her embarrassing children.

Delia:  Children… please stop.  You’re making mama’s make up run by putting even more moisture into z’e air.

Her dry, emotionless, and still very French vocals cause the three of them to pause for a moment.  Delia tilts her glasses back over her eyes as she finds herself on a blank page.  As soon as she is back to focusing on the book, the three other Mean Girls go back to their antics, not even building it back up slowly.  Delia reaches into her bag and pulls out a pink sharpie marker, rolling it between her fingers as she starts an inner monologue…

”It was but a mere s’ree weeks ago z’at I found myself in z’e Blast From z’e Past tournament, wi’s a partner z’at…”

Delia rips her glasses from her face in an angry fashion and stares right into the camera.  She purses her lips as she stares dagger into the viewers.  She slowly raises up her right index finger, clinching the pen in between her other fingers as she leans forward.

Delia:  You are lucky to be presented wi’s z’e opportunity to hear me speak in front of z’e camera, but I will be damned if I will let you read my s’oughts!  Who do you s’ink I am, Misty?  Some deep inward s’inker who allows every stupid s’ought z’at has ever entered my mind to be broadcast?  I don’t sink so!

Delia waves her finger around for emphasis.  She places her glasses on top of her purse as she props the Burn Book up on her lap.  She glares up through her eyelashes at the intrusive mind-reading camera man, making sure he isn’t up to any funny business.  She bites the cap off of the marker before pulling out a picture of Brandi Shotze.  Instead of placing it in the book, she stares at it, inspecting it.  She just stares at it, not angrily, not deviously.  She just… stares, in silence.

Angelica:  Oh my gawd… are you gonna write “fat moo moo cow”?  Or “Rocky Mountains’ and Scott Oliver’s retarded looking lovechild”?

Delia simply responds by slowly shaking her head from side to side.  She continues this for a moment before stopping, but her eyes never leave the picture, like a creepy porcelain doll.  Angelica places her hand on her wet hip, just under the high rise white tied straps.

Angelica:  Um… hello?  Earth to Delia.  Make with the insults already, honey… That way you can stop being such a sour bitch, and have some fun with us…

Delia:  Mmm hmm…

<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/BrandiBurnBooksm_zps7001a009.png>

Delia’s vacant response causes Angelica to rip the photo from Delia’s hand, reaching down into her purse, with wet hands and all, to pull out the purple glue stick.  She runs it over the back of the partially soggy photo and slaps it onto the empty page.  Delia stares at her in anger, but doesn’t say a word.

Angelica:  It’s in the book.  You have to write something about her now or else you can’t hang with us anymore…

Delia:  Bitch, I make z’e Mean Girls!  Don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do.

Angelica:  Rules are rules, and you have to abide by them.  No T, no shade, mama…

Angelica gives a playful wink to Delia who simply rolls her eyes in response.  Delia’s stare goes back to the picture of Brandi resting on the blank page, studying it closer than ever now.  Angelica looks down at the picture to try seeing what Delia sees in it when she looks horrified.

Angelica:  Oh my gawd!  You… you think she’s pretty?

Delia:  Well… in her own unique way…

Angelica scoffs as her jaw drops open.  She flips her wet, stringy locks over her shoulder, splashing an elderly woman who tries to object until Angelica holds a hand up in her direction.  Delia looks up to Angelica with a devious smile on her face.

Delia: … so, no.  She is clearly a fat moo cow, Angelica.  Z’at would just be too obvious to point out.  Z’is is z’e finals of z’e tournament.  I cannot waste z’e opportunity to say somes’ing like z’is about Brandi Shotze.  It is a completely different level after all, darling…

Angelica places her hand on her chest to show her relief as she takes in a deep breath.  Delia runs the back end of the pen against the paper as if still plotting her personally tailored quip in her head.

Delia:  Brandi Shotze would be z’e last woman in Sin City Wrestling I would ever ask to join Mean Girls.  Z’at says a lot considering z’e likes of Amy Marshall and Karina Koji…

Angelica:  Trust, bitch… Her mug is like so busted, I don’t even think a paper bag would save it.

Delia:  Definitely not, darling.  Consuming more alcohol z’an Mickey Carroll will do z’at to a woman’s face.  Z’e least she could do is beat z’at mug to cover z’e pocks marks.

Angelica waves her hand in the air, offering Delia several snaps in response to this, meanwhile waving water on the elderly woman who finally decides to get up and move to a different chair.

Angelica:  She makes it too easy with the Snooki spray tan, the Shrek nose, and the wonky left eye, am I right?

Delia:  Yes.  Commenting on her obviously lacking beauty is like shooting fish in z’e bucket, which is exactly why I cannot use it as a Burn Book Entry.  I must dig deep to find z’e perfect words to read z’is bitch z’e constitutional rights…

Angelica thinks for a moment, tapping her chin so that Delia might know she is trying her best to be helpful.

Angelica:  She sucks so much ass that when her even fatter friend took off, she was left with no choice but to disappear until the desperates in the office begged any former Bombshell to come back.  You could use that.

Delia:  No, I already used “Attention Whore” for Odette Ryder.  Let us please strive for originality here darling.

Angelica:  Well, her boyfriend is a recovering dope fiend.  You know, the Indian guy… the ah wah wah type, not the dotted ones…

Delia takes her turn dropping her jaw as she looks over to the almost whispering Angelica, furling her brows at Angelica’s off color comment.  Angelica simply shrugs her shoulders.

Angelica:  What?  It’s not like it is the worst thing in that book…  But, if you think you can come up with something better, then have at it, sister.

Delia rolls her eyes as Angelica walks over to the edge of the pool, catching Alex and Tessa by surprise with a cannonball that covers them, causing a commotion from all three as they go back to splashing one another.

Delia:  Brandi, darling… what can I say about you z’at has not been said already?  Weak catch phrase z’at sounds as if it was conceived by a disabled cartoon character for toddlers?  Horrendous fashion sensibilities of a truck stop hooker?  No, no, no… z’ere simply is nos’ing of interest about you.  Z’ere is nos’ing about you z’at compels me to speak of you.

Delia turns the pink sharpie pen around to write on the page, scribbling “*Yawn* Boring” on her page.  She even goes as far as to raise her hand up to her mouth, waving it as she forces a sarcastic yawn from her lips.

Delia:  You would never have crossed my mind, even if you had never left.  Z’e only reason you are here is because you rode on z’e success, no z’e luck of your partner.  His luck will run out at Blaze of Glory s’ree.  We will talk about z’at in just a moment, because z’is is z’e only s’ing z’at will make you relevant, Brandi.  Z’is moment where I pay attention to you, and let your name fall from my lips is z’e only s’ing z’at will make you a passing s’ought on z’e fan’s minds.

Delia radiates pride as she looks at the picture of Brandi.

Delia:  If anys’ing, you should really s’ank me darling.  People will be paying attention to you simply because I am selling my time to come to z’e ring and kick your ugly ass from one end of z’e ring to z’e os’er.  I am your paycheck z’at will fund your next bender, or your boyfriend’s next drug binge, I mean… *air quotes* spirit journey…  God, I am such a bitch…

Delia mutters under her breath as she tilts her head back to chuckle at her remark.  She stretches out her arms before running her fingers over her face to wipe away the smile.  She flashes a devious eye to the camera as she continues.

Delia:  Of course, you will have to settle for z’e consolation prize of a check for z’is event, darling.  You might have an upper hand wi’s your bar room brawling experience, but I’ve got runway experience, and z’at is z’e most brutal invention of mankind.  It is where women are most fierce, most devious, and most brutal to one anos’er, and you will be z’e next addition to my collection of women who s’ought I was nos’ing but a brainless, talentless model who would be an easy win.  But, z’e final s’ing I will add to my collection is z’e Blast From z’z Past II Trophy…

Delia seems as if she has gone off for a moment to imagine how the trophy would look placed on her mantle at home, the polished gold with hers and Ethan’s names emblazoned on them.  Once the idea is solidified in her mind, she comes back to reality to stare coldly into the camera.

Delia:  Ah, yes… z’e trophy.  S’irty two men and women dreamt of it when z’ey signed up to compete in z’is tournament.  Twenty eight of z’em were sent home wi’s z’ere dreams crushed.  I suppose I should s’ink more highly of you for making it z’is far, no?  I know from personal experience z’at z’is is no easy task to get to where we are.  Of course, I took out Odette Ryder, where your most impressive elimination was Amy Marshall, so I should be just a little bit more grateful to be here, considering z’is lack of experience I keep hearing about.  But, who am I to split hairs, especially when you have plenty in z’at nappy mess on your head, darling…

Delia winks at her own quip to add insult to injury for Brandi, passing it along under the assumption that her drunken counterpart might not have gotten it otherwise.  She reaches over to the table near her chair as she grabs a glistening bottle of water, taking a sip before returning the cap.

Delia:  Now, let us not forget z’at you are probably s’inking z’at I cannot win wis’out z’e help of my Mean Girls.  After all, any win I have secured on my own had just a little bit to do wi’s z’em being in my corner, no?  And z’ere are rumors backstage z’at you plan to have some back up of your own.  I encourage you to do so.  I welcome z’e challenge, and so do my girls.  Bring z’at tub of lard, Cookie S’Mores to ringside.  Surely she weighs as much as Angelica, Holly, and Tessa combined.  Bring Odette Ryder, too, if you like.  As a matter of fact, please, darling… PLEASE round up every single Bombshell from z’e past and z’e present.  I want z’em to see me kick your ass all over z’e ring.  Maybe wi’s a front row view, z’ey will finally stop calling me wors’less and see z’at I am z’e most talented, most beautiful, most creative, and most competitive Bombshell on z’e roster…  Bring it, baby…

Delia sits up in her lounge chair, resting the Burn Book on her lap and waving her arms forward to let Brandi know how serious she is.  She flips her hair off of her shoulder, flinging it behind her as she purses her lips before they curl into a smile.

Delia:  Bring every broken, busted, basic bitch Sin City Wrestling has employed over z’e years.  It is no secret z’at I enjoy an audience, so z’e bigger, z’e better.  I even ask any and all Bombshells who have a problem wi’s z’e way I conduct my business to please accompany Brandi to z’e ring.  Show some fucking guts, ladies.  It would be z’e first time since I have been here z’at any of you have done so, and quite frankly, it would make me feel as if I weren’t wasting my time here.  Plus, it might be helpful for Brandi to s’ink z’at she has friends, even if no true friend would let her walk s’rough z’e front door looking z’e way she does, but let’s pretend anyway!

Delia folds her hands over her lap gently as she smiles almost sadistically at the camera, pausing to only blink slowly.  She runs her tongue slowly over her bottom lip, back and forth before a chuckle escapes her throat once more.

Delia:  But, it is no worry.  We all know z’at SCW has a habit of hiring women wi’s no back bone.  It is z’e reason why z’ey hired me.  Pardon my French, but z’ey needed a true CUNT, Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve, and Talent of course…  Z’is is me, and no one can deny z’is.  However, I am forced to elevate z’e level of competition because of women like Brandi Shotze.  And z’e more I feed on z’e weak, z’e more powerful I will become.  I have turned SCW on its head since I have come here.  I keep bitches on z’ere toes.  But, I suspect z’at you will try to fool yourself into believing z’at I am no competition.  Z’e greatest offender of z’is was Odette Ryder, and we see where she is.  If she is a good friend to you, z’en I expect she has told you z’at I don’t play nice in z’e ring, and z’at s’inking z’is way will only leave you on z’e losing end.  And just as I told her, I want you to bring your best, because I don’t want to beat a basic bitch at her worst.  It is just no fun z’at way…  Just get ready for what I am serving at Blaze of Glory, because I promise… you… will.. GAG DARLING!

Delia places her index finger on her bottom lip, sliding it back into her mouth as if ready to gag herself.  She stops as she sticks her tongue out to playfully tease Brandi, and any other woman who might take offense to her words.

<img src=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v674/GXWSpikeStaggs/SimonBurnBooksm_zpsb888c6d4.png>

Delia pulls the next photo from the back of the Burn Book.  She gently glides the purple glue stick across the edges of the picture generously before dotting the inside.  She presses the picture onto the blank page.  She pulls the cap off of the pink marker pen and writes next to it “Placeholder Champion #SorryBoutIt”

Delia:  Oh, Simon… you might have s’ought I forgot about you.  While you are easy to forget about, darling… I have not.  It would be hard to, considering you will be z’e man z’at Es’an will be pinning at Blaze of Glory to become z’e next SCW Heavyweight Champion… It has such a nice ring to it, no?  Es’an Brody… your Champion.  Z’e man z’at everyone looks up to, so z’at he might lead z’e flock of mindless sheep z’e way Giani Di Luca did for s’ree months before you.  He failed to inspire, and he was z’e most charismatic person in SCW.  You are… well, you’re boring, darling.  What makes you s’ink z’at you could do better?

Delia shrugs her shoulders as if she were waiting on a response from Simon himself.  She shakes her head from side to side slowly before looking down at a non-existent watch, tapping at it before sighing.

Delia:  Your time is running out, Simon.  But, at least you have already beaten your previous reign by about a week?  *Chuckle*  Es’an will at least carry z’e belt wi’s a sense of honor and pride.

Alex comes flying over toward Delia, practically crashing into the nearby vacant lounger, flinging a bit of water on Delia.  Delia breaks as she glares out of the corner of her eyes at Alex who rolls over as if listening to a fairy tale story.

Delia:  Do you mind?  I am trying to cut a promo here, girl…

Alex:  Oh, is that what you were doing?  Because, it sounded a lot like you were speaking a romantic sonnet to your boyfriend, Ethan Montague…  No, it’s okay.  I’m a real romantic, so I just had to come over and listen.

Delia:  Boyfriend?  Bitch, please!  I just want poor Simon to know z’at he will be losing to Es’an on Sunday.  I’m being nice.

Alex:  *Scoff*  Nice?  Well, that’s got to be a first, gurrrl… But, get back to defending Ethan’s honor… it’s cute, hunty…

Delia rolls her eyes at Alex before raising her hand slowly, extending it out toward Alex for him to speak to it.  Instead, Alex kicks his leg up in the air behind him as he reaches his hand out to lightly tap hers before resting back into the chair, leg still in the air.

Delia:  Anyway… as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted… You are no champion.  You were a placeholder z’e first time around, and z’is time will be no different.  Let anos’er fresh face who recently lost z’e Tag Team Titles come in and revitalize z’e belt.  It is a hot trend in z’e SCW title world, and Es’an stands as good of a chance as anybody to work z’at belt.

Alex:  Awww… and I bet that oversized belt would make his cute little bubble butt look that much better…  Girl, now you’re gonna make me cry…

Delia:  AHEM!  …  Your time is up again, Simon.  Eis’er you will lose your belt to Es’an, or I will give z’at bitch Brandi a mercy pin, and let you walk away wi’s your belt.  But, z’e fact is z’at you will not walk out of z’is match wi’s z’e trophy.  It is not even a possibility, darling.  One way or anoz’er, Es’an will come after you for the belt, and he will get it from you.  Just as I will use my opportunity to take z’e Bombshell title for myself.  You and Brandi are just a stepping stone for us.  Z’e match is nos’ing more z’an a formality which we will happily oblige to by kicking your asses and humiliating you, “Champ”…

Alex kicks his legs up in rapid succession as he hugs onto the back of the lounger, resting his head against the chair.  He playfully wipes at his eyes, flinging his fake tears over at Delia.  It almost appears as if Delia has had enough.  She slams the book closed and glares back at Alex.

Delia:  Blaze of Glory will be for Es’an and I.  Get z’e fairy tale ending out of your heads, because z’e only happy ending is for Es’an and I…

Alex:  Damn girl…. That shit is steamy.  Not Safe For Work, y’all!

Delia:  Sickening… just sickening!  Can you allow me to have one, just one, serious moment wis’out turning it into somes’ing sexual?  I do not wish to have sex wi’s my tag team partner.  End of story!

Alex:  No, no… it’s good.  Keep it up.  I love it when you talk dirty to me mama…  Plus, the way you keep denying… makes me think you really do want it.  I get the daddy thing and all, but…

Delia slowly brings her legs over the side of the lounger, gently placing her feet on the concrete flooring. She stands up, dropping her robe on the chair before surprising everyone by dragging Alex’s chair over to the side of the pool, dumping him into it suddenly as he kicks and screams.  She turns around and flings her hair over her shoulder.  As she celebrates her own small victory, Alex pushes himself up, grabbing Delia around the waist, and pulling her into the pool with him.  Her loud, girly shriek echoes through the room, followed by the splash that sends us out.
[*Fade*]