Post by BRADDOCK on Oct 21, 2023 19:48:18 GMT -5
When he opens his eyes he finds himself on the floor of his kitchen. Dust bunnies have gathered in a small group under the stove and a wayward elbow macaroni lies on the floor, under the edge of the cupboard, out of sight… unless you’re laying on the floor. He pushes himself into a seated position, trying to gather his wits, and the sound of the television helps bring him out of the haze he is in. Too much Jameson and Pabst and not enough food the night before, apparently.
He reaches out and uses the counter to pull himself up to a standing position. His head pounds and a wave of nausea laced with lightheadedness washes over him. He looks down and when he sees his bare chest is when he realizes he is only wearing a pair of boxers.
”Man, I thought you were dead when I got here! What the fuck are you doin passing out on the kitchen floor?! You forget you have a bed, dumbass?”
BRADDOCK turned slowly to find Tyler sitting on the love seat in the living room. He is looking to his right at his brother swaying in place in the kitchen. Dried blood crusts the left side of his mouth, apparently having leaked from his nose when he hit the floor. BRADDOCK answers his brother with a middle finger standing alone.
”Seriously, bro, you look like shit…” he says before taking a sip from a cup of coffee. Tyler watches as his brother opens the fridge and grabs the last Pabst tallboy in the house. He shakes his head watching his brother shuffle out to the living area and plop into the Lay-Z-Boy. ”Seriously, what’s up? You getting all fucked up like this to deal with getting the shit beat out of you over in Singapore if so, you need to quit. How many stitches you got in your head?”
Tyler is referring to the brawl his brother had in Singapore for E.H.W.F. In that “match,” his brother faced the Showtime Champion, an muscle bound brute Name Arcus D'Rocco. He and Arcus have been at each other’s throats since BRADDOCK arrived in the company. On the seventeen, they went to war in Singapore in a match that ultimately say two others run in and attack the then Champion. The interference didn’t directly lead to the pin; that came after multiple Mansfield’s Curses as well as a Carpet Bombing. In the end, and the record books, BRADDOCK won after wrapping his arm in barbed wire before delivering one final Mansfield Curse.
”Seven stitches along the hairline of my forehead, 2 on the back of my head, and I superglue nine spots on my arm from the barbed wire. I’m fine. I got hammered because I like to get hammered.” he says before guzzling half of the tallboy in two swallows. Tyler shakes his head and sighs.
”I am not even joking, bro; you need to slow down on your drinking. You got a problem…” Tyler is stunned when BRADDOCK starts laughing.
”No shit! I have ‘DRUNK’ tattooed on my stomach. You ain’t tellin me nothin I don’t already know. What the fuck is your problem, anyhow? You need to change your tampon?” he says with a chuckle before finishing the tallboy.
Tyler turns his attention back to the Television with a sigh. He knows there is no point in talking to his brother about his drinking. He has tilted his head at that windmill many times and it never ends well.
”When is your next match?” he asks, attempting to change the subject.
”The twenty-eighth in Georgia for U.W.L. and then the thirtieth in Texas where I defend my World Championship I’m a ‘Buried Alive’ match.”
Tyler again shakes his head. ”Buried Alive? You can sit there with a straight face and say you are in a match where you have to bury your opponent, alive?” he asks, exasperated. BRADDOCK chuckles and nods in agreement. ”You’re fuckin nuts.”
”How are things at the shop? Sorry things are so busy for me. I didn’t expect to be on the road this much.” he says while crushing the beer can in his hand.
Tyler waves it off. ”Don’t worry about it. We hired that chick, Bayley, and she’s picking up the slack. We’re going to be adding a piercer soon, too. You keep kicking ass and come sling some ink when you got the time. Just, take it easy, please? I don’t want you fucking yourself up so bad you can’t tattoo.”
BRADDOCK returns to the kitchen and pitches the can in the trash. He pulls a bottle of Stoli out of the freezer and takes a nip from it. Tyler again just shakes his head. Both men's attention is drawn down the hall when a bedroom door opens and a woman wrapped in a sheet stumbles to the bathroom. Both men look at each other in confusion.
”You had a girl over?”
BRADDOCK shrugs. ”So, she didn’t come with you?” Tyler’s face scrunched up and he shakes his head.
”Why would some chick I brought over be wearing only a sheet and leaving your room?” BRADDOCK’s mouth opens as he starts to reply but he is stuck. Now that he thinks about it, Tyler’s scenario doesn’t make any sense.
”How bout I meet you later at the shop? I think I’m gonna go get another workout in…” he says with a wink before heading down the hall. When he opens the bathroom door, she laughs, whoever she is…
Sometime this week…[/u]
When the scene opens, BRADDOCK is sitting on a balcony patio in Buffalo ahead of Anarchy. He is wearing a black hoodie with “Dirtbag" written across the chest as well as some baggy jeans and a pair Jordans. A curl of smoke trickles up from the tip of a Blunt in an ashtray on the table next to him along with an open can of Pabst. The skies are cloudy and a soft breeze dances through the scene now and then but leaves as quickly as it arrived.
”We are less than two weeks away from Texas Chainsaw Massacre where I will defend my World Heavyweight Championship against Donnie Harris. Yes, that Donnie Harris. The same Donnie Harris I beat to win my World Heavyweight Championship at ‘And Justice for… Brawl.’ He is hangin around like a case of jock itch, ya know?!” he chuckles and takes a hit from the Blunt.
”How long have you been chasin it, Donnie? I know that under the last regime you fought, and failed, to achieve your dream. Then the company closed,” he slaps his hand against the table top, making everything jump and shift a quart of an inch to the right. ”and you were left with nothing. But a ray of light came into your gloomy World when Brit reopened Outcast Wrestling.
You thought, ‘Now's my chance! Now I can finally win the World Championship!’ only to have Synn latch onto it. And you couldn’t get the job done then. Much like you won’t be able to get it done now. Sorry, Donnie, it ain’t in the cards for ya, Slim.” he says, holding his hands palm up and shrugging his shoulders.
”Donnie is f(bleep)king crazy if he thinks he can beat you!” says a familiar female voice. The camera swivels to the left to reveal Outcast Championship Wrestling’s very own Mary Jane sitting on the edge of the bed in the hotel room, rolling joints. ”He is smokin better sh(bleep!)t than us is he really thinks he can beat you, ya know?” she continues as the camera pans back to BRADDOCK.
”It must really burn your ass, Donnie. How long you been doin this? In less than six months, I have accomplished what you have been yearning for, for what, a year? More?” he chuckles before tipping his head back and let’s the beer pour down his gullet. He mugs for the camera and let’s out a belch before continuing.
”You might have all of the training, the experience, the knowledge… but I have the f(bleep!)kin belt and you ain’t gettin it away from me! And, while I never got in this business to win hardware, having won this belt, I gotta admit that I dig the added benefits. The extra money on the checks. How I am treated with respect by other companies just because I am the Champ.
And some pissant scrub like you ain’t takin that from me. While I have never been in a ‘Buried Alive’ match, the stipulation just makes things easier; when all is said and done you, and your career, will be buried. Just one more piece of sh(bleep!)t in Texas, nobody will notice and nobody is goin to miss you.”
Mary enters the shot carrying a can of Pabst for BRADDOCK. She slides onto his lap and wraps an arm around his neck while he takes a long pull from the blunt. FTB
He reaches out and uses the counter to pull himself up to a standing position. His head pounds and a wave of nausea laced with lightheadedness washes over him. He looks down and when he sees his bare chest is when he realizes he is only wearing a pair of boxers.
”Man, I thought you were dead when I got here! What the fuck are you doin passing out on the kitchen floor?! You forget you have a bed, dumbass?”
BRADDOCK turned slowly to find Tyler sitting on the love seat in the living room. He is looking to his right at his brother swaying in place in the kitchen. Dried blood crusts the left side of his mouth, apparently having leaked from his nose when he hit the floor. BRADDOCK answers his brother with a middle finger standing alone.
”Seriously, bro, you look like shit…” he says before taking a sip from a cup of coffee. Tyler watches as his brother opens the fridge and grabs the last Pabst tallboy in the house. He shakes his head watching his brother shuffle out to the living area and plop into the Lay-Z-Boy. ”Seriously, what’s up? You getting all fucked up like this to deal with getting the shit beat out of you over in Singapore if so, you need to quit. How many stitches you got in your head?”
Tyler is referring to the brawl his brother had in Singapore for E.H.W.F. In that “match,” his brother faced the Showtime Champion, an muscle bound brute Name Arcus D'Rocco. He and Arcus have been at each other’s throats since BRADDOCK arrived in the company. On the seventeen, they went to war in Singapore in a match that ultimately say two others run in and attack the then Champion. The interference didn’t directly lead to the pin; that came after multiple Mansfield’s Curses as well as a Carpet Bombing. In the end, and the record books, BRADDOCK won after wrapping his arm in barbed wire before delivering one final Mansfield Curse.
”Seven stitches along the hairline of my forehead, 2 on the back of my head, and I superglue nine spots on my arm from the barbed wire. I’m fine. I got hammered because I like to get hammered.” he says before guzzling half of the tallboy in two swallows. Tyler shakes his head and sighs.
”I am not even joking, bro; you need to slow down on your drinking. You got a problem…” Tyler is stunned when BRADDOCK starts laughing.
”No shit! I have ‘DRUNK’ tattooed on my stomach. You ain’t tellin me nothin I don’t already know. What the fuck is your problem, anyhow? You need to change your tampon?” he says with a chuckle before finishing the tallboy.
Tyler turns his attention back to the Television with a sigh. He knows there is no point in talking to his brother about his drinking. He has tilted his head at that windmill many times and it never ends well.
”When is your next match?” he asks, attempting to change the subject.
”The twenty-eighth in Georgia for U.W.L. and then the thirtieth in Texas where I defend my World Championship I’m a ‘Buried Alive’ match.”
Tyler again shakes his head. ”Buried Alive? You can sit there with a straight face and say you are in a match where you have to bury your opponent, alive?” he asks, exasperated. BRADDOCK chuckles and nods in agreement. ”You’re fuckin nuts.”
”How are things at the shop? Sorry things are so busy for me. I didn’t expect to be on the road this much.” he says while crushing the beer can in his hand.
Tyler waves it off. ”Don’t worry about it. We hired that chick, Bayley, and she’s picking up the slack. We’re going to be adding a piercer soon, too. You keep kicking ass and come sling some ink when you got the time. Just, take it easy, please? I don’t want you fucking yourself up so bad you can’t tattoo.”
BRADDOCK returns to the kitchen and pitches the can in the trash. He pulls a bottle of Stoli out of the freezer and takes a nip from it. Tyler again just shakes his head. Both men's attention is drawn down the hall when a bedroom door opens and a woman wrapped in a sheet stumbles to the bathroom. Both men look at each other in confusion.
”You had a girl over?”
BRADDOCK shrugs. ”So, she didn’t come with you?” Tyler’s face scrunched up and he shakes his head.
”Why would some chick I brought over be wearing only a sheet and leaving your room?” BRADDOCK’s mouth opens as he starts to reply but he is stuck. Now that he thinks about it, Tyler’s scenario doesn’t make any sense.
”How bout I meet you later at the shop? I think I’m gonna go get another workout in…” he says with a wink before heading down the hall. When he opens the bathroom door, she laughs, whoever she is…
Sometime this week…[/u]
When the scene opens, BRADDOCK is sitting on a balcony patio in Buffalo ahead of Anarchy. He is wearing a black hoodie with “Dirtbag" written across the chest as well as some baggy jeans and a pair Jordans. A curl of smoke trickles up from the tip of a Blunt in an ashtray on the table next to him along with an open can of Pabst. The skies are cloudy and a soft breeze dances through the scene now and then but leaves as quickly as it arrived.
”We are less than two weeks away from Texas Chainsaw Massacre where I will defend my World Heavyweight Championship against Donnie Harris. Yes, that Donnie Harris. The same Donnie Harris I beat to win my World Heavyweight Championship at ‘And Justice for… Brawl.’ He is hangin around like a case of jock itch, ya know?!” he chuckles and takes a hit from the Blunt.
”How long have you been chasin it, Donnie? I know that under the last regime you fought, and failed, to achieve your dream. Then the company closed,” he slaps his hand against the table top, making everything jump and shift a quart of an inch to the right. ”and you were left with nothing. But a ray of light came into your gloomy World when Brit reopened Outcast Wrestling.
You thought, ‘Now's my chance! Now I can finally win the World Championship!’ only to have Synn latch onto it. And you couldn’t get the job done then. Much like you won’t be able to get it done now. Sorry, Donnie, it ain’t in the cards for ya, Slim.” he says, holding his hands palm up and shrugging his shoulders.
”Donnie is f(bleep)king crazy if he thinks he can beat you!” says a familiar female voice. The camera swivels to the left to reveal Outcast Championship Wrestling’s very own Mary Jane sitting on the edge of the bed in the hotel room, rolling joints. ”He is smokin better sh(bleep!)t than us is he really thinks he can beat you, ya know?” she continues as the camera pans back to BRADDOCK.
”It must really burn your ass, Donnie. How long you been doin this? In less than six months, I have accomplished what you have been yearning for, for what, a year? More?” he chuckles before tipping his head back and let’s the beer pour down his gullet. He mugs for the camera and let’s out a belch before continuing.
”You might have all of the training, the experience, the knowledge… but I have the f(bleep!)kin belt and you ain’t gettin it away from me! And, while I never got in this business to win hardware, having won this belt, I gotta admit that I dig the added benefits. The extra money on the checks. How I am treated with respect by other companies just because I am the Champ.
And some pissant scrub like you ain’t takin that from me. While I have never been in a ‘Buried Alive’ match, the stipulation just makes things easier; when all is said and done you, and your career, will be buried. Just one more piece of sh(bleep!)t in Texas, nobody will notice and nobody is goin to miss you.”
Mary enters the shot carrying a can of Pabst for BRADDOCK. She slides onto his lap and wraps an arm around his neck while he takes a long pull from the blunt. FTB