[Christian Underwood]

Please post all roleplays here! Have fun and good luck!

[Peter Vaughn]

Twenty-Five Years Ago

Darkness reigns.

It surrounds him, ready to envelop him in its inky blackness.

In other words, the power is out. Again.

~This doesn’t bother little Petey Vaughn, though. He’s used to power outages taking place in the abysmal apartment building where he and his family live. This is why the young kid has a small flashlight, glowing up into the air, and shining off the grimy ceiling above. He’s currently improvising a mighty battle, using a He-Man action figure with only one arm and a Magneto action figure with the helmet long since lost.~

Petey Vaughn: Your days of being a no good bad guy are over, Magneto! By the power of Greyskull!

~The He-Man figure ‘charges forward’, only for Vaughn to then cause a metal mug to slide in front of him. Clearly, Petey was gifted with a strong imagination, making use of these second-hand toys to find some joy in life. He makes the Magneto figure laugh.~

Petey Vaughn: Ha! I am Magneto! I beat the X-Men! You cannot fight me with one arm!

~Petey has He-Man pick the mug up and ‘toss’ it away.~

Petey Vaughn: One arm will not stop me, because I am He-Man! You will pay for what you have done!

~The He-Man figure does an ‘epic leap’ at Magneto, and the two ‘brawl’. In other words, Vaughn has them smacking away at each other. If there were some special effects and extra camera angles, it might be more impressive. Either way, Petey has He-Man knock Magneto down and stand over him.~

Petey Vaughn: Ha ha! I have the power!

~Just then, the lights in the apartment suddenly come on, as the power is restored. Petey looks around in astonishment before staring at He-Man with an awed expression.~

Petey Vaughn: Cool…

~Suddenly, we hear a loud banging noise, as a door slams nearby. Petey looks up, confused, as he hears pounding feet approaching. His bedroom door flings open, and his father stops in the doorway. He’s wearing his usual custodial coveralls, and appears extremely agitated. He’s also holding a crumpled letter in one hand.~

Petey Vaughn: Daddy?

~Mr. Vaughn stares at Petey for a few long seconds before diving forward, pulling him into a hug. Petey, very bewildered, returns the hug, still holding He-Man in one hand.~

Mr. Vaughn: Oh, thank God. Thank God you’re still here, Petey… thank God…

~He holds Petey close, not letting him go, as Petey looks towards the side, wide-eyed, with no idea what’s going on. He hears his father beginning to cry, something he never expected to hear.~

Petey Vaughn: D-daddy? Where’s… where’s Mommy? Daddy?

~Mr. Vaughn keeps tightly grasping his son, as Petey begins to tear up, just because of his inability to understand what’s happening. The crumpled letter floats to the floor, showing scrawled handwriting that can only be a Dear John letter. The father and son continue to stay together, gripping each other tightly, as the picture slowly fades out.~


Today

~As the shot comes back up, we see the sun rising up in the East. In front of us, we can see a grassy landscape, with fencing set up all around. The reason for that is soon evident, as a cow’s head slowly rises up into our view, giving a loud Mooo before she walks forward. The camera slowly turns, showing where the cow is going: an area nearby, where a sled has been brought out, covered in hay. Peter Vaughn steps around the side, wearing his work coveralls. He gets a large pitchfork, although it appears to have been modified, because as he puts it under a hay bale, a mechanical noise is heard, and the pitchfork shifts the hay upwards. Vaughn is able to easily toss the hay over into the feeding area, as the cows begin digging in. He raises up the pitchfork, a small smile crossing his face.~

Peter Vaughn: … I have the power…

~Shaking his head at his foolishness, Vaughn gets another scoop of hay to toss in, before he powers off his pitchfork and presses another button on his remote. The sled rolls away on its own, apparently powered, and heads back towards the storage shed nearby. Vaughn grins, pleased with how well it’s working… until he realizes it’s not going completely straight in.~

Peter Vaughn: Oh, damn, wait, WAIT…

~Vaughn tries to stop the sled with his remote, but it’s too late, as the sled crashes into the edge of the storage shed, cracking it. The sled backs up, finally acknowledging the order to stop, as Vaughn hurries over to survey the damage. He leans over, beginning to tinker on the side of the automated sled, as we see a figure approaching from the side. It’s our friendly cameraman, who gives a long yawn before seeing Vaughn. He lifts the camera up onto his shoulder, and our view immediately shifts to his perspective… which sadly shows Vaughn working from behind.~

Cameraman: Hello, Mr. Vaughn. Hard at work? Or hardly working? He he…

~Vaughn straightens up, looking back at the cameraman with a raised eyebrow.~

Peter Vaughn: Working hard as always, boyo. It’s the only way a ranch keeps running. Although if I can tweak a few more systems, we’ll have the majority of this place automated…

Cameraman: Well, you’re definitely persistent. So why did you want me to come out this early? We already taped your comments about HB Carter, didn’t we?

Peter Vaughn: We did… but now I want to talk about something else. I want to talk about Sean Parker… and I want to talk about Finn Whelan.

~The camera suddenly shakes for a second before stabilizing.~

Cameraman: Wait… are you… are you cashing in??

Peter Vaughn: Not so loud!

~The cameraman quiets down and looks around, but there’s nobody but livestock anywhere nearby. He nods.~

Cameraman: That’s why you wanted to meet so early, so no one else would be around…

Peter Vaughn: And because you wouldn’t be able to help yourself in shouting it out. Seriously, dude…

Cameraman: I’m sorry! But it’s big news if you are… doing what you’re thinking about doing…

~Vaughn nods to himself, crossing his arms as he thinks about what potentially is to come.~

Peter Vaughn: Honestly, if Sean and Finn don’t see this coming, they’ve been actively ignoring all of the signs. I’ve told both of them multiple times now that they need to be ready for me. So if they’re unprepared, well, that’s their problem, not mine. I’m not going to be hanging onto a golden ticket again without using it. I’m not going to wait.

Cameraman: But… at the cruise? With you already fighting in another match earlier in the night? Some would say you’re throwing your advantage away.

Peter Vaughn: Maybe so. Maybe it’d be more fitting for me to rush out on a Climax Control, hit Finn in the back of the head with a sledgehammer, and THEN cash in. But you know, I’ve been in that position before. I beat a guy who wasn’t near 100 percent, won the biggest title in the fed… and not one person respected me for it. So at the very least, I’m giving these guys a shot. But I still plan on being victorious and hoisting up two championships at the end of the night.

Cameraman: Wow…

Peter Vaughn: Here’s the thing. Sean Parker has done some good things in Sin City. I won’t take that away from him. He won the Blast From The Past Tournament, albeit not on his own, and he got this title shot. But he’s a man on the edge right now, and one good push will send him toppling over. Meanwhile, Finn’s been a man without a true opponent for months now. He’s been more focused on the tag-team ranks, where he only has to do half the work, and he’s been ignoring the World Title. That needs to stop, and I’m the man to stop it.

~Vaughn steps over the sled, looking out over the horizon. He smiles to himself.~

Peter Vaughn: I have won a dozen World Championships all over the world. At one point, I was the most dangerous wrestler on the planet, fighting anyone, anywhere. I dominated like few have done before. And I’m ready to get back to the top. I’m ready to crush the competition and add lucky #13 to my resume. It’s time for me to ascend to the top of Sin City. And I’m going to make sure no one can deny me my success, when I’ve defended my Internet Championship and won the SCW World Heavyweight Title. It will be a night that Sin City fans never forget.

~With that, Vaughn grins, turning back to the cameraman. At that moment, a blast of sparks comes out from the side of the sled. Some hay begins to burn. Vaughn immediately rushes forward, stomping on the hay, putting it out, as the cameraman watches. Vaughn shakes his head.~

Peter Vaughn: I’m going to get this right…

~Vaughn turns back to the cameraman once more.~

Peter Vaughn: In any case, I wanted to let you know what’s going on. But keep it under your hat, okay?

Cameraman: They won’t hear about it from me.

Peter Vaughn: Good. Now I’ve got some work to do. Nice seeing you again, friend.

~Vaughn leans over the sled again, tinkering where the sparks came from. The cameraman shrugs and stops recording, with our shot once again jumping to an “off-camera” look. He turns to walk away, passing by a ranch hand who is jogging up. He surveys the damage to the sled and to the storage shed, smirking before commenting.~

Mason Hendrix: Hey, boss. Another problem with the sled, huh?

Peter Vaughn: Yeah, I think something blocked the sensor and overheated the circuitry. It should have been more accurate. Eh, I’ll work on it, we’ll get it operating like it should be.

Mason Hendrix: Well, right now, boss, you’ve got visitors at the house. I thought you’d want to know.

Peter Vaughn: Visitors? This early? … They didn’t look like tax collectors, did they?

Mason Hendrix: Nope. Although I could see your brother passing as one if he wanted to.

Peter Vaughn: Brother? Wait, Thomas is here? Huh. I wonder why he didn’t call. Okay, I’ll go see what he wants. Would you clean up this mess? I’d appreciate it.

~Vaughn turns and quickly begins walking away, as Mason looks around at the mess of hay laying around. He shakes his head, then turns towards Vaughn.~

Mason Hendrix: Hey, uh, it’s not just your… brother…

~But Vaughn has already moved out of earshot, as he keeps moving away. Mason sighs and goes to get himself a shovel to start cleaning up the hay. Nearby, at the fence, a cow looks over at him and gives another long Mooo. Mason glances at her.~

Mason Hendrix: Shut up…

~As Mason goes to work, we instead follow Vaughn. After all, he IS the main protagonist of our story. He makes his way to the main homestead, cleaning his hands along the way. He then dries them on his coveralls as he goes to the porch. There, he sees his half-brother, Thomas Hill, sitting in his wheelchair, talking with someone. He also sees the cameraman’s car driving away, as the man gives a quick honk towards Vaughn. He waves back, just out of reflex, before walking over to take the ramp up onto the porch.~

Peter Vaughn: Thomas! Good to see you, brother…

Thomas Hill: Hi, Peter.

~They shake hands, with neither of them really being the hugging type.~

Peter Vaughn: What brings you out here? Something to do with the financials? If you’re here about that backhoe someone, uh, ordered, we are going to return it after we use it a few times, so…

Thomas Hill: No, Peter, it’s not about… wait, backhoe? *ahem* I mean, I’m not here in that sort of capacity. I’m here for… her…

~Surprised, Vaughn looks off to the side, finally noticing the woman there. She steps forward, her older features still showing some resemblance to Vaughn, although he still resembles his father more. She tries a weak smile.~

Angela Hill: Hello, Peter. It’s… it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

~As Vaughn’s expression melts away, we can see the flashes behind his eyes. His vision shifts slightly…~


~We see the younger version of Petey Vaughn, crying himself to sleep at night, wondering what he ever did to make his mother hate him…~


~Vaughn shakes it off, removing the memory. He covers up his reaction as best as he can, though, before finally focusing again on Angela.~

Peter Vaughn: Hi… Mom…

~As Vaughn and Angela stare at each other, with Thomas uncomfortably sitting between them, we end up cutting away.~


Surprises. Rarely do they turn out to be a good thing, do they?

Something tells me that neither Finn nor Sean are going to take too kindly to me sticking my nose into their business. They’re not going to appreciate the surprise of the golden briefcase interfering with their classic one-on-one contest, one that’s been talked about as such a major event.

Except it… really hasn’t been. It’s not even the main event of the show.

I’m not sure why. I mean, you have Sean Parker, the outsider, the XWF Anarchy champion, coming in and winning Blast From The Past to earn this title shot. You have Finn Whelan, the winner of the prestigious tournament back in February to become the new SCW World Heavyweight Champion, and also the co-holder of the SCW World Tag-Team Titles. This should be one of the most talked-about matches in SCW history, with people wondering if a non-signed wrestler might become the World Champion! They should be fighting over whether Finn is set to become one of the greatest champions of all time!

But lately… they haven’t been. Because Sean hasn’t wrestled a match for SCW since Luna Pasilno carried him to the tournament victory. Because Finn hasn’t talked once on Climax Control about facing Sean. Not once. Because Finn has cared more about the tag-team titles than that singles championship he carries around.

It’s really disturbing, when you think about it.

I have worked my ass off the last month since falling in the tournament. I had my war with Miles Kasey, successfully retaining my Internet Championship. I fought like hell to win the Golden Briefcase, surviving a six-man gauntlet for the honor of holding it. I took down Rodrigo Afonso. Okay, that last one isn't as impressive, but still, I did it. I showed up, I fought, and I won.

I’ve represented Sin City with the best competition I can give it.

Now, let’s face facts, Sean. You aren’t a long-term competitor here in SCW. You never intended to be. While you DID show some skill in the Blast From The Past, you know in your heart that it was because of Luna that you got this title opportunity. That being said, I’ve seen you elsewhere, Sean, and you HAVE been impressive. But the pressure of being on top in some many places can be very daunting to deal with. It can begin to crush you if you don’t watch out for yourself.

I know. I’ve been there.

I once held three World Titles at the same time. I was the XWF Universal Champion, the PW Valor Heavyweight Champion, and the TPW International Champion. It was a heavy responsibility, trying to stay at the top of all of them at the same time, and quite frankly, I wasn’t ready for it. I ended up losing two of the belts and barely hung onto the third, because it was intense. So I feel for you, Sean. I’ve found myself in that position, trying to compete everywhere and being incredibly stressed out. It was a new feeling, one I wasn’t ready for.

Nowadays? I’d probably enjoy it more.

Sadly, Sean, you seem to be on the downslope of your rollercoaster. I’m afraid I’m going to have to help with that slide, because there’s no way in hell you’re winning the SCW World Heavyweight Title, a belt that’s already been tarnished enough in the past year. I want someone there who’s going to show up every day, someone who’s going to show the Sin City audience how intense things can really be when their World Champion is on fire.

I want the crowd to lose their minds each and every time the World Champion comes out to the ring.

I’m the one who can do that. They’ll be booing, of course, but it’ll still be loud as hell.

Now, we’ve fought before, Sean. We faced off in the Denzel Porter Games, and you were 110%. You were able to take me down. But don’t lie to yourself, Sean. You aren’t near that range anymore. You’re desperately trying to hang on, but your grip is beginning to weaken. This is my time, Sean. This is my chance to get my revenge and kick you free, sending you plummeting out of Sin City. You can bet that I’m not going to let this chance slide.

It’s time to show you what a motivated Mechanic can do, when facing a struggling Sky Assassin.

I’ll be the one airborne. You’ll be the one taking the Plunge.


~An uncomfortable silence has settled onto the homestead porch, with Angela feeling obligated to try and fill it.~

Angela Hill: It’s… good to see you again, Peter. You look like you’re keeping yourself in shape.

Peter Vaughn: Well… it’s kind fo my job, so…

~Vaughn shrugs, still stone-faced. He and his mother have come to a mutual understanding of their past, but Vaughn still doesn’t react well when she’s around. He’s been able to put the past behind him… but he’s never really forgiven her for what she did, all those years ago.~

Thomas Hill: So, uh, Pete, you’ve been working? I see hay on your shoulder…

~Vaughn reaches up without a word, brushing his shoulder off, as Thomas clears his throat again. Thankfully, at the moment, the door opens, and Sadie Anderson Vaughn steps out, with a tray full of iced tea.~

Sadie A. Vaughn: Here we go! It’s never too early for iced tea! Oh, hi, Peter. The cows get fed alright?

Peter Vaughn: They’re good.

~Sadie sets down the tray, clearly recognizing the tension in the air. She turns towards Angela, putting on her best smile.~

Sadie A. Vaughn: So how was the trip down?

Angela Hill: It wasn’t too bad. We had to travel in a cab part of the way, but it all worked out.

Sadie A. Vaughn: I’m glad you guys made it! Peter, could you help me with the food tray I just put together?

~Thrown off, Vaughn nods, and the two of them head inside to the kitchen. Vaughn looks around, noting how pristine everything is. Sadie has a vegetable tray already put together, raising Vaughn's suspicions.~

Peter Vaughn: … Did you… know she was coming, Sadie?

Sadie A. Vaughn: I received a call from Thomas late last night. You were already asleep.

Peter Vaughn: And you didn’t think to warn me?

Sadie A. Vaughn: Look, Peter… we already met with my parents, and I know that didn’t go that well… but I still want to spend time with your family as well, so I was happy to hear they were coming.

Peter Vaughn: You remember that she abandoned us, right? My father and I? She went and raised another family, bringing up Thomas…

Sadie A. Vaughn: I remember all of that, Peter. But she’s still family. You’ve come to accept Thomas. Now you need to talk to her. For me. Okay?

~Vaughn grumbles for a moment before picking up the vegetable tray. He looks it over.~

Peter Vaughn: Olives? Really? They’re awful…

Sadie A. Vaughn: Oh, just take the tray out, picky…

~Vaughn walks away, heading back outside and putting the tray down. Thomas looks it over, smiling, and then grabs a few olives. Vaughn shakes his head, even as he sees Angela doing the same thing.~

Thomas Hill: What? They’re delicious!

Angela Hill: I don’t know where you got that from. It surely wasn’t from me.

~This gets a small chuckle from Vaughn, as he finally pulls up one of the patio chairs to take a seat.~

Peter Vaughn: So… what brings you guys here so early? I assume it had to be something important…

~Thomas coughs, choking slightly on an olive, but he manages to get it down. Sadie, meanwhile, has come back out, silently getting a glass of iced tea. Angela looks down, composing herself. Vaughn, popping a carrot into his mouth, glances around the porch.~

Peter Vaughn: Look, if this is about the wedding… I get it. We had it without you, Mom. But it wasn’t by choice. Well, I mean, it WAS, but it was kind of… a spontaneous decision, you know? We’re still going to have a full wedding, believe me, I know Sadie’s family wants that…

~Angela reaches out, waving her hand.~

Angela Hill: It’s not that, Peter. I’m extremely happy that you and Sadie have found each other. I’m excited that there’s going to be a new generation running around this ranch soon enough. I just wish…

~Angela comes to a stop, her voice cracking slightly. Even Vaughn, who normally can’t notice emotional shifts, catches this one.~

Peter Vaughn: Angela… mother… what is it?

~After a moment, Angela looks up at him, tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes.~

Angela Hill: I… I’m dying, Peter.

Peter Vaughn: … What?

~After a few moments, Angela hands over a folder to Vaughn, who opens it up… to see the medical documents inside. As he looks over them, we cut away again.~


So let’s talk about Finney for a second.

When I lost to you in the World Title Tournament, Finn, I gotta admit, it put me at one of my lowest points in my time here in Sin City. I basically started to doubt myself. I began to wonder, could I still take over the company like I have so many times in the past few years? But then, after this recent run with the Internet Title, I’ve gotten my confidence back. I’ve gotten my power back. I’m feeling like I’m reaching the pinnacle once again.

I have to say, looking at you has helped as well.

I mean, you took me down, you took Goth down, and I thought well, this guy is actually a powerhouse. I can respect that. He’s going to rebuild the championship back to its former glory. And well.. I’ve waited for that ever since. I mean, I did watch you beat Goth again, when he was nearing retirement, making the match at least a bit special. I waited for you to call out to the top male wrestlers, challenging them to come take your championship. I waited… and watched as you just set up a non-title match with Rodrigo Afonso. You basically forced Christian Underwood to step out there and set up that Gold Rush Battle Royal just to get you an opponent, because you hadn’t challenged anyone.

And that’s how you end up with Jamie Dean as the #1 contender.

C’mon, Finn. Nobody took that match seriously. Nobody thought that you would have trouble with a former tag champ who got lucky during a battle royal. Seriously, Dean’s not even on the Summer XXXtreme card!! How bad is it to go from #1 contender to sayonara?

But hey, Finn, you had a built-in challenger the next time, good ol’ Sean Parker. Have you talked about destroying Sean and making him wish he’d never come to SCW? Have you bragged about your amazing title run, talking about it going on as long as you want it to? Have you spoken about making Sean a Blast From The Past himself?

No. At least, not that I’ve seen. You’ve just been hanging back, getting in some tag-team title defenses. Which, okay, I get it, you’ve got to defend both… eventually. But c’mon, man! I want some trash talking going on between you and Sean! I wanted to see you two coming nose-to-nose, face-to-face, cursing each other out as you spit in each other’s faces! I mean, hell, how can I get excited about a match where you guys haven’t even thrown a punch at the other?

If I’m honest, Finn, THAT’S why I’m really cashing in. I can’t stand the thought of this continuing anymore. I want the fans talking about the World Heavyweight Title. It’s time for that belt to main event a show again. And if I win that gold from you, Finn, I guarantee I’m going to make everyone stand up and respect that championship once more. It’ll be the most talked about title in Sin City.

Especially after I take it from you.

Whether I pin you, Finn, or I pin Sean, it’s all the same to me. Sure, by pinning you I’d avoid the cries of “I didn’t actually lose the belt, waaahhh!”, but I’ll accept victory in any fashion. If I run down to the ring, cash in, and immediately school boy Sean into oblivion, I’ll still be damn proud of the fact that I’m a World Champion once again. Either way, you’re going to have to deal with the fact, Finn, that we’ll now be 1-1 against each other. I suppose that would mean the rubber match at the next show, and damn, Finn, maybe we’ll see you fired up and energized. Maybe we’ll get the fans talking about our incredible war, as we battle at the top of Sin City, leaving destruction everywhere we go.

Maybe it’ll end up that way, Finn. Or maybe I break you so badly that I have to find my own #1 contender. But if that happens… there will be no Gold Rush Battle Royal. I will choose the most worthy, and they will get me that main event.

But I want to respect you, Finn. I want to find that warrior inside that will fight to the end, no matter what. I mean, those are the ones that are the most fun to defeat. So I know you’re going to be surprised when I show up. I know you’re going to have to change up your gameplan and be scrambling for a clue. But give it your all, Finn… so that when I defeat you and Sean, it’s damn worth it to me, as well as the fans.

Make the Plunge memorable, Finn. I’ll see you kiddos soon.


~All is quiet on the porch, after Angela’s news. Vaughn takes a moment to look at the folder information in front of him, noting the diagnosis.~

Peter Vaughn: So it’s stage 4? Incurable?

Angela Hill: That’s what they’ve told me.

Sadie A. Vaughn: Oh, Angela, I’m so sorry…

Angela Hill: That’s life. You never know what to expect.

~Vaughn shakes a bit from that comment, then shuts the folder again, handing it back over.~

Peter Vaughn: Well. I’m sorry to hear this, Angela. But thank you for coming and telling us, so that we know what might be in my future. A melanoma. Wonderful. I guess I should be glad it’s not Huntington’s.

Thomas Hill: Hold on, Peter, it’s not just about telling you…

Peter Vaughn: But you have, and I appreciate it. But I don’t think there’s much I can do, considering what your doctors have already told you.

Angela Hill: Maybe not medically, Peter, but… I have some unresolved business that I would like to take care of, and one of those is… trying to make things right with you.

Peter Vaughn: Ha. Ha, ha. You lost that chance when you went out the door, leaving your notes to us behind.

Angela Hill: So… you did get my note then? I thought maybe John had kept it.

Peter Vaughn: Oh, I got it… I just never read it.


~We cut quickly to a shot of Petey Vaughn, angrily ripping up a letter to shreds and letting them float away in the wind, refusing to read any of it…~


~And then we’re back, as Angela reaches out to her son.~

Angela Hill: I always wondered if you did that. But Peter, there are things you need to know… things about your father…

Peter Vaughn: My father was a saint. He worked desperately for years after you left, keeping a roof over my head and food in my stomach. He died young because of all that work… because you left us.

Angela Hill: But your father… he… he tried to be a good man. But he… had needs… and when I caught him that third time with the woman from 10B… I couldn’t take it anymore…

~Vaughn gets to his feet, staring down at Angela, whose hand is shaking now.~

Peter Vaughn: You’re saying my dad slept around?

Angela Hill: … I know it’s a lot to take, but I thought you needed to know…

~Calmly, Vaughn reaches to the side, getting the pitcher of iced tea and pouring himself a drink. One second later, he launches the pitcher into the side of the house, shattering it and sending pieces everywhere. Vaughn then leans down, right into Angela’s face.~

Peter Vaughn: LIAR.

~Vaughn then turns and starts walking away at a fast pace, as Sadie gets up to try and grab him, only missing by a few inches.~

Sadie A. Vaughn: Peter!

~But Vaughn doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking, heading back onto the ranch. In Angela’s eyes, she can’t help but see Petey Vaughn departing, glancing back at her with hurt in his eyes. But there’s nothing she can say, as Vaughn doesn’t stop. We fade out.~

[finnwhelan]

PARADIGM SHIFT XXIII // BLACK LUNGS
YOU WANT TO MAKE YOUR HELL A REALITY? BLACK LUNGS FOR THE YOUNG IF THEY DARE TO BREATHE…SURE SOUNDS LIKE HEAVEN TO ME. YOU’VE GOTTA CUT THE ROOTS TO KILL THE WEEDS, NO PLACE TO GO IF WE DON’T BELIEVE. GOOD LORD, IT’S ENOUGH TO PLAGUE A SAINT.
ARCHITECTS .


••••••




Motivation.

There comes a day where everything and everyone stops. Maybe it’s a cataclysmic event that shatters a rise, or it’s maybe a moment where the ground seems a good place to lay down and crash. You never know when it’s going to hit, you don’t have an indicator blinking in front of you. It just hits. And then you question yourself…what do I do now?

What do I do now?

I bring up the thought of motivation simply because I know what it’s like to have everything fall out from beneath you. I grew up in a checkered kind of home with a father that I’d rather not claim as my own and a mother who never did her best to try and shelter her own child. Too many times I was shipped off and shipped out just so I didn’t have to be their problem…or maybe it was just his, I don’t know. I spent summers with my British aunt who honestly didn’t give a fuck what I did and when I was home, I was a constant disappointment.

My father runs a pub up in Seattle, built essentially from the ground up. It has its Irish fare, and there’s a cute little band that plays on Fridays and Saturdays. I was supposed to inherit it, but I refused my kingdom. Why? When I was younger, it was in rebellion of my father, of everything he stood for and I thought it was the right thing to do. But now, when I look back on it, I recognized in myself the fear of success, the fear of doing something right that I inwardly fucked up and outwardly pushed everyone and everything that I should have loved and that loved me away.

My lack of motivation in my endeavors as a child landed me outside of a bar, outside of a gas station, outside of everything that had created me to be who I was. I fell into the wrong cycles, fighting with people because I was drunk, high or so blazed out of my mind that I couldn’t even tell what was the front or the back of my life. All I knew was the drugs, and that was all I was motivated for.

I found in a fucking gutter and raised to prominence. If it weren’t for the people around me, I don’t think I would have ever made it. But somewhere between nearly ten years ago and now…my life changed. I stopped relying on the people around me for my self-worth. I stopped relying on accolades and everything else to tell me how fucking good I was at my job. My motivation slipped from never there to completely invested in myself, in everything I did.

I don’t just want to be good at my job. I was to be the best fucking wrestler that this company has ever seen. I’ve built records to be held. The first dual champion to exist in this company where a wrestler can hold two championships at once, to everyone’s chagrin. My record as a Mixed Tag Team Champion has surpassed everyone else’s, and that…that is difficult. We’ve had six title defenses. Six opportunities for people to topple us, and it hasn’t happened. In fact, it wasn’t Kayla that got that last win…it was me.

Since January, this championship has been a focal point of my career as well. I don’t fuck off and join other companies as powerhungry dickbag like a lot of the wrestlers out here. I build a home, I settle in, and I make it so fucking difficult to get me out of that house of accolades that people just fuckoff to nowhere and try to get a little bit more latitude in somewhere…less prolific. Let’s face it, there are a thousand companies that are a dime a dozen who act like they’re the greatest thing in the whole face of wrestling, but anyone with a brain would never step foot into their ranks. They pass out championships like a raver with ecstasy in a goth club on Saturday night. People don’t have to fight for it.

Or they circle jerk each other in shitholes with the dredges of the underground wrestling scene. The rejects, the ones pushed away from the circuit. The ones that you’ll fuck around with, but you don’t want it known.

I didn’t come in hot to SCW. Twenty-twenty was a rough year, and I won the Roulette Championship…which I ultimately didn’t give a fuck about and lost it on this very same show. I hold the same sentiments as Kayla in that I hate that championship, I hate the rules, and I hate its existence, but I understand the legitimacy that it holds for this company. I’ve never held the Internet Championship, and that will eventually change.

But this?

This championship?

The one that elevates me above the rest, the one that puts me above everyone else? The one that was contested and I originally beat Peter Vaughn in the tournament for it – soundly, might I add? The one that I didn’t have to be a fuckin’ snake and try to slide in as a surprise like a bitch? Yeah. Been there. Fuckin’ done that. I beat Vaughn, Carter, and Goth to obtain this championship. I fought like hell against a man who had nothing left but his own legacy to lose and won, retaining my championship. I fought against an idiot to retain it, as all the legitimate caliber competitors were a little too busy fucking around in an archaic tournament to bring me to…this moment.

The moment where I question why in the fuck are we wasting my time?

Motivation.

What motivation should I have if my opponent for this has one foot out the door? You cannot tell me that I am meant to look at the dirt sheets, see that someone has decided they want to fuck off because of…what, they couldn’t handle a loss? That they turned in everything because they put their best out there and this time, it just wasn’t enough? And at first, I thought that. But…

Au contraire, Sky Assassin.

My main motivation in all of this is to remind every-fucking-individual who thinks they’re on my level that they’re not, that they never will be, and when push comes to shove, I will annihilate your very conviction to wrestle ever again.

This is my home. This is my championship. And neither you, nor anyone else, is going to have the opportunity to take it from me.

••••••



“I don’t particularly like that they have weapons.” Christian Underwood crossed his arms as he stood at the end of the hallway of the higher level suites provided to the champions. At least, this year, he didn’t have to spend extra money on the Bombshells and the World Champion suites since they were combined. However, judging by the disdain on his face, he disliked this more.

“Can’t really change anything about it, Christian.” Finn stood next to him, arms crossed, staring at the same set of men who stood in cruise-bellhop gear, a gun attached at their hip. Dickie insisted that they would be present for Finn and Kayla, especially after all of the events lately with the Romani. However, it wasn’t really discussed with upper staff.

“You could jettison them off on a helicopter.”

“Look, we’ve got some stuff going on in our personal liv–”

“Personal lives, hm?” Christian tilted his head, indicating he knew some form of what was actually going on. He knew his bosses were probably tracking illegal activity that could affect the company, but they weren’t going to put words to it. “Just make sure none of this affects any of the other staff. Or put them inside the room.”

“They’re not going to want to be inside the room.” Finn scoffed.

“Why not?”

“I mean, no one wants to view Kayla getting di–”

“And I’m out.” Christian threw up his hands and turned on his heel, immediately walking out of the scene. Finn smirked as he watched his boss walk away from him, and then headed down to the room. There was a reason for the high security, he just couldn’t admit it. After all, threatening the Romani never went without a price.

Of places that they could have made their compound, Finn hadn’t expected a carnival. But perhaps it was possibly the best disguise for a bunch of men and women who had a history of making their lives in circuses across Europe. The tent they stood in was a little off the beaten path, away from the carnival rides and carousels, away from the large tent in which shows played daily with lions and tigers and bears (Oh my!). But it fit in all as well, with a “do not enter – attraction closed” at the front of it.

Dickie’s hands shook slightly at the beginning of the engagement, and it was almost as if the Romani could smell it in the air. The man standing across from Dickie wasn’t the leader of the group, but honestly, they weren’t going to push it. Jace Pleasant stood off to the side, arms crossed, looking on with interest as he watched his man go through a list of the items that Kei used to help them peddle. High end drugs, cut with fentanyl in some bits. Finn remembered there being weapons at play, but he didn’t see any present.

But it wasn’t just the man that Jace looked at. Every so often, Finn could feel Jace’s eyes settle on him and a hint of mirth rise up on his features. In response, Finn did what he was known for doing best: ignoring him. He kept his arms crossed as he stood just behind Dickie, a hand slipped beneath his vest on the inside holster of his hidden gun. If anything went south, Jace’s face was getting blown off first. The peons never quite seemed to know how to deal with assailants when their bosses got shot.

“How much?” Dickie requested a price, crossing his arms too. He was getting annoyed. The Romani were being cagey with their responses. They thought because Kei wasn’t present, they could likely fuck over Dickie and he wouldn’t know the difference. The difference was that Dickie wasn’t exactly an idiot. Well.

Mostly.

He’d made Aiden tag along, and the Australian was barely holding it together – though he was making a remarkable progress in this world. Like he’d been in it before…

“Ten, per push.”

Dickie scoffed. “Ерунда́ (Bullshit)! We get caught with it, it’s a bigger jail sentence than that. Not to mention, a push of this shit is at least worth forty.”

Jace adjusted slightly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Dickie. A surprise that he hadn’t seen coming. Dickie speaking Russian wasn’t on his bingo card. “Fifty-fifty?” He interjected.
“At least.” Dickie confirmed. “I’d be willing for sixty-forty since you’ve all procured it. But nothing less.”

The Romani man conducting the deal looked back at Jace, who paused for a moment, and then nodded. “Deal. We will get our…paperwork…to you. To finalize our deal.”

“Good.” Dickie narrowed his eyes. “We’ll be making sure that it’s accurate before there are any signatures. You understand.”

The man nodded, and then disappeared from the fray. Dickie paused for a second, unsure if he should ultimately walk away, but took a couple of steps back. He nodded to Aiden, Finn and the two others that he’d brought with him, and then began making an exit. Finn kept his arms crossed as he looked at Jace, eyes narrowed, before he took a step backwards and then turned on his heel.

“He’s learned well.” Jace said, just as Finn almost made it to the door.

They were alone now, both sides out of the fray. It was just Jace and it was just Finn, and that made the Seattle Saint turn his head and look at him. This was what he’d come for. To size up Jace, to tell him he was a piece of shit, and to threaten him within an inch of his life for coming anywhere near Kayla. He dropped his arms and then took a few steps towards Jace, who merely smirked with his scruffy beard covering the sides of his lips. He was a big man, taller than Finn, but somehow stockier. Bulkier. Not that Finn really particularly cared. He’d dropped twice his size in the past.

“Almost as if he’s had help.” Jace questioned. “Could that be your influence?”

“I didn’t guide him, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” Finn replied.

“I didn’t say you did.” Jace dropped his arms and took a quarter step to the left, giving Finn a diagonal perspective. “It just seems that he's been learning fast since his dear old…what is it you call them? Oya-bun? Since Kei dropped off the face of the planet. Do tell – how did that happen?”

“Luck of the draw.” Finn replied dryly. “I’m curious…what is it that you want, particularly? I mean, you insisted that I show up here, and all I am is a…sidekick.”

“A sidekick, hm?” Jace chuckled. “I know that you’re a bit more than that, Callien O’Hanlon.”

The skin on the back of Finn’s neck slid upwards, and he narrowed his eyes a bit more.

“That’s right, you don’t like being called by your actual name. Easy to get under your skin,” Jace smirked again, “but I suppose anything is. What with everyone thinking you’re less of the man you are. The only reason that I wanted to see you…to size you up and see if everything everyone says about you is accurate. See what kind of man Kayla chose.”

“I assume everything less than what you wanted to see.”

“Pretty much,” Jace confirmed. “You know, if we’re being honest, I’m not sure what she sees in you. That’s fine…makes it easier to get her back eventually.”

And there it was. What Finn had confirmed inside his head out in the open. This wasn’t about some crime lord war…it was about Kayla, and the ownership in which the Romani placed on the women they took for their own. Finn stood a bit taller then and smiled slightly, inhaling as he did so and looking Jace in the face. There were moments where Finn didn’t give anyone his full attention, and oftentimes, he looked like he didn’t give a shit, but in this moment? At this time? It was clear.

“Let me make this clear, Jace.” Finn nodded slightly, crossing his arms as he leaned in. “If you ever come within a hundred yards of Kayla again–”

“What, you’ll kill me?” Jace snorted.

Finn smiled. “No. No, I won’t kill you. That would be too easy.” He slid his hand into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out the picture Kayla had given him. He looked at it. “No. See, it’s funny…I remember being at your old compound a few years back…you know, when I worked for the Ol’ Oyabun. And a few years back, I remember distinctly that your brother’s girlfriend-wife, whatever you call them…you know, Kayla’s sister…she was very, very pregnant. So I know the little shit is around here, somewhere.”

Jace’s face paled, but only by a bit. The smirk was gone.

He leaned in. “I will find him, and every single person that is blood relative to you, and one…by…one…they’ll go missing. There won’t be a pattern. There won’t be a sign. It’ll just happen, and when you’re crying for your family, you’ll know…that it was because of me. I wasn’t Kei’s right hand for just any reason. There will be no trail left. So if you love your…property…you’ll stay away from whom I care about. Do you understand?”

Jace narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he took a step forward. In anger, the Romani man lost himself, and he went to swing at Finn, who was entirely prepared for it. Finn deflected the arm inwards, used his knee to bash upwards into Jace’s stomach, and then wrapped his arms around Jace’s neck, leaning him over and locking him into position, an arm wrapped beneath his other so that he couldn’t utilize it. “Do you understand?!” Finn yelled.

“Fine!” Jace yelled back, and Finn released him instantly. Jace stumbled backwards, coughing, and then exited with his eyes narrowed, pissed that he’d lost this one. He’d be angry, and he would retaliate, but this time, Finn would be ready. The war started today in his mind, and he was prepared. He grit his teeth, walked backwards towards the entrance and turned only when he got to the door.

“Fucking cac madra,” he muttered, stepping out of the door.

Slipping inside their suite, Finn slid off the vest he was wearing and headed towards the balcony. The rolling waves crashed against sides of the cruiseliner and Kayla was seated in her bikini, clearly getting ready to join Kallie out on the starboard deck where the the pool was. She was rubbing sunscreen on her arms, absolutely not about to get her tattoos destroyed by the sun.

“There you are,” she cooed, looking at him. Her hair was pulled up off her neck into a bouncy ponytail and she had her sunglasses on already. “Could you?” She gestured to the sunscreen tube.

“Sure,” he replied, heading for the doorway and sitting down next to her. The wind ruffled both of their hair, but neither seemed to mind. She turned her back to him and he grabbed the sunscreen, starting at the back of her neck and down to her shoulders. The bikini, as opposed to typical Kayla fashion, covered her fairly decently. But that was only because Kallie would have panicked if it did anything else.

“What were you talking to Christian about?” She questioned.

“The guards,” he replied, applying a bit more to her back. “He doesn’t really like their presence.”

She scoffed slightly, and turned to look at him. “I don’t really either, I mean…” she leaned forward, “I can’t speak Japanese.”

“They’re not your slaves.”

“But who am I going to ask to go get food for me from the gallery?” She snorted and scoffed. Finn smiled and shook his head. Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. Instantly, she curled into him, leaning backwards and setting her head on his shoulder. He pressed his lips to her cheek.

“I’m not going to take any chances,” he murmured.

She sighed, knowing there was no way for her to win this. “Do I have to bring them to the pool?”

He laughed. “No. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

And that, he truly meant.

••••••


Let’s talk about you, Sean. You came into SCW as one of those cute little Mixed Tag Teams for Blast From the Past that no one with a brain cell actually really, truly wants to participate in. You got paired with Luna Paslino, who you seem to have known from…oh, that’s right, the Triad deal that existed for a good, solid time with a mostly solid roster for their three major trials. Good for you, that you knew your partner a bit, because unlike every single one of those other unlucky sods, you didn’t have to learn how to fight with someone you didn’t really not know.

I think you and every other wrestler in this company can understand that I do pay attention. I watch, I glance through material, and while I don’t always give credit where credit might be due, I am nothing if not a researcher. I didn’t have to research, though, Sean. In trying to raise your worth to this company, you told us everything about yourself in your first promotional video. When you rattled off every single company that you’ve been a part of, the only thing that really stuck out in my mind is that you have no loyalty to any company.

You go where the wind takes you, where you can get another accolade, where you can sucker some people into believing that you’re worth a damn. The more you build yourself up with the people around you, the more you circle jerk and get people on your side, the better your existence becomes. Almost as if you believe that your ineptitude doesn’t exist and you truly are a strong competitor.

Luna won your first rounds. You won against Artie, who is a hack of a human being who got shoved into a place he didn’t belong, and when your round came to Alexander Raven and Alexandra Callway, you got the win over a man who put in very little because he clearly wanted his wife to come out as the champion and also screw over his partner in the process. Don’t think that the rest of us didn’t see that shit coming when the match was announced. The Broken Messiah chokes when it is critical, but that doesn’t make him any less of an effective wrestler. Except…well, except against you.

Raven should have dismantled you like he’s dismantled Aiden Reynolds, and will dismantle Eddie Lyons and every other person in front of him. But he spared you so that you could rise to greatness, and so that Luna could go on to face Kayla.

Except you took on too much, didn’t you?

XWF, Zion, SCW, and whatever two-bit company you were in to pad your record, you flounced around to gain notoriety that you thought you might find in defeating Sebastian Everett-Bryce. You and he would go toe to toe on Twitter, flowery about respect but rising above. Hell, you did that shit with me and you know what? It bored the fuck out of me because why in the fuck do I need to sell you as anything but my opponent? I suppose in my younger years, sitting and talking shit on social media was great – I got fourth in a tournament that was clearly shitting on other people via Twitter, only lost out to people who do nothing but – but…after a bit, it just becomes the same, empty words over and over again.

Over and over and over and…

You get the point, right?

Fighting for Zion, fighting for Fight! Championship Wrestling, fighting for Valor, fighting for XWF and SCW? It’s a wonder that you even made it for any of your fit-in matches here. We’re the last leg in your schedule and it’s been pretty evident. While I’ve been showing up for my bookings, continuing a trail of dominance in the Mixed Tag Division, you’ve been absent. And I get it.

A World Championship at a company that’s so much more deserving of your time because of…well, probably because it’s a bunch of people you know, but I digress…that’s absolutely where your time should have been spent. Chasing Sebastian for a championship with another person involved in the match…you pushed and you pulled and you…lost. But you lost in the worst kind of way right? You didn’t get pinned, but you didn’t get the pin. Triple Threats are shit for that reason, and I hate when they exist, but you know…it is what it is.

But you know the worst part of all of this, Parker? It isn’t a loss, and it isn’t the fact that you haven’t said shit…it’s because you gave up. You relinquished your championships because you failed in your endeavor, and after this match, you’re sailing off into the sunset for an undisclosed amount of time to, what, get your head straight? So tell me, what the hell would have happened if you happened to defeat me? If you won this championship, if you sat on the precipice of this company?

Would you have immediately relinquished it just as you have everything else? Or would you have relinquished your vacation and attempted to hang on for a show before disappearing? Either option would be a disaster for this company, and you would honestly be spitting in the face of the people that you won an opportunity from. You would be spitting in the face of Mark Ward and Christian Underwood, and you would be spitting on every fucking member of this roster.

Is that what you want to be known for? Is that the Sean Parker, the Sky Assassin you want to be?

I’m not going to powder your ass and make you feel good about your steps in this world. I’m not going to build you up to be some fantastic wrestler because I’m not sold on you, Parker. I don’t think anyone else on this roster is sold on you, and if you thought that you had an opportunity to capitalize on someone who lives and breathes this company…you’re out of your fucking mind.

This is my motivation, Parker. The motivation to slaughter you, the motivation to send you packing on your ass the way you chose to abandon this sport – abruptly, licking your wounds and trying to feel garner pity for yourself. I can have the hounds or mechanics or messiahs nipping at my heels, and I will still rise above and be the best competitor in this business because that is what I do. I didn’t get through ten years of this career just to end up being nothing in the end.

I was disgruntled in the last bout because I was pissed I didn’t have a viable contender. And now look at me…you’ve won a tournament, and you have zero interest in this business now. It’s the same thing over and over again.

I want an opponent. I want someone to fight. Not someone who is halfway out the door.

So Parker, I bid thee fucking farewell.

And a warning to anyone else – I’m motivated to take you out too. No one is getting this championship. I have a little date with J2H next year, and I believe me when I say this: I will face him as the Champion. And I will do what none of you fuck’s can do…beat him.

Get on my level.

Or die trying.


••••••



He could see them down at the pool as he leaned on the balcony. Kallie waved happily from their spot when she realized he was there. He waved slightly, his sunglasses on his face. But his eyes were Kayla, as they always were. As they always would be. He would do anything for her, that much was clear, and now…she realized that. They were a team, not only on the battlefield of the ring, but also in their personal lives. If they had one another, then they could accomplish anything.

It was a silly notion, love and the like. Fairy tales all had their true love endings, but they always seemed so trite and boring. He much preferred real life, and he much preferred the family that he was building. The family he’d been somewhat accepted into. Not only did Kayla love him, but he was slowly winning Tasmin and Amber over too.

Amber…

He needed to run slightly to catch up to Dickie and Aiden. He could see their figures up ahead, and while he knew they wouldn’t leave without him, the thought of being in the camp by himself right now was a little bit overbearing. He had, after all, threatened their leader – quite politely, he thought.

But something paused his step as he glanced around.

A boy, black hair, no older than eight, stood with his eyes peeking around the corner. As soon as he saw Finn, and their eyes met, he rushed towards him. He knew the eyes that stared up at him.

“Please,” he muttered, grabbing onto Finn’s arm, “I know who you are. You have to get me out of here, I…I need to see my mom.”

“Kid…”

“Please!”

Finn frowned as he looked out across the ocean, and then reached for his cell phone. He dialed a number, and then waited for a second. His younger brother’s voice echoed into his ear drums, annoyed because it was late in the day in New York. “The fuck you want?”

“Do something for me, will you?” Finn replied. “My dresser, there’s a picture and a note inside the drawer.”

“I’m not rooting around in your fucking underwear.”

“It’s in the sock drawer, you numbskull.” Finn rolled his eyes. “Regardless, you’ll see a picture of a kid. Call The Colonel, get details on the kid…”

“You think he’s a threat?”

“No,” Finn shook his head. He frowned as he spoke, and he would have never initially thought to do such a thing, but the way the kid pleaded, as if he had no other choice. “He’s a victim. We need to get him out of Romani hands. Whoever you use, get them to take him to The Colonel and get his buy in on this. Do you understand?”

“Aye-fuckin-eye cap’in!” Dickie replied cheerfully, and then clicked off the phone.

Finn knew he was about to bring the ire of the entire Romani clan down on his  head, but at the end of the day…

“Fuck em.”