AWC Fresh!
"Why ya think somethin' went wrong?" - Radder
Fresh! 2 July 2010
Pete Maravich Assembly Center (capacity 13,472) -- Baton Rouge, LA
Left Hanging
AUTHOR: Hyde
“Pearl?”
It’s Butch Radder, longtime AWC security man, bomber jacket over his huge chest. He finds David Harber engaged in conversation with Sarah Kennedy Lavelle, but doesn’t hesitate to drag the Entertainment Manager away. Sarah dares a glance at Radder, and gulps. Even among a company of wrestlers, the security man is of frankly scary proportions. Sarah is fairly sure one of Radder’s hands could probably choke her to death by accident.
Pearl: What’s wrong, Butch?
Radder: Why ya think somethin’ went wrong?
Pearl: When things work out, Butch, you don’t tend to talk to me.
He turns to the camera and winks.
Pearl: (aside) And he definitely doesn’t get screen time.
Radder grunts, Sarah looking away so as not to be caught smiling.
Radder: Two knuckleheads want in at the back door.
Pearl looks pointedly at Radder.
Pearl: Two knuckleheads, Butch?
Radder: Uh. Yeah.
Pearl: What did I brief you about earlier, Butch? The two guys who might be coming down? Former Alliance Champions, and Legends of AWC?
Radder: Not these guys.
Pearl: What are they wearing?
Radder: Sweats. White tees. Shades.
Harber buries his head in his hands, exaggerating for Sarah’s benefit.
Pearl: Sarah, would you mind telling Butch who these “knuckleheads” might be?
The Head Interviewer smiles somewhat nervously as Radder stares down at her.
Sarah: Erm, I think they probably are Tim and Liam Martin. The, erm, Furious Fists of God.
Pearl: The Fists, Butch. You just tried to turn away the Fists.
Radder shrugs, and slopes away without a word to let the Legends in.
Sarah: An honest mistake...
Pearl splutters with laughter.
Pearl: I ask you, Sarah. What’ve I gotta do to get a guy with sense to stand on the door and look mean?
Sarah: Well, I’d give you Pierce, but I heard the pay isn’t great.
Harber smiles.
Pearl: You two good?
Sarah’s eyes shine.
Sarah: Better than good.
Pearl: That’s great. That’s really great.
He looks away.
Pearl: Hey, we’re about to start the show, so—
Sarah: How about you, David?
Pearl: Sorry?
Sarah: I mean, is there... anyone? I don’t mean to pry, I just—
Pearl: I’ve been busy, Sarah. I haven’t exactly had time.
He gives her a steely look.
Pearl: Anything else you need from me?
Sarah shakes her head.
Sarah: No, I don’t—
Pearl: Good. I’ll be in my office. Good luck tonight.
Harber strides up the spiral staircase to the upper offices, leaving Sarah Kennedy Lavelle to consider what she’s heard. She purses her lips, eyebrows raised.
Sarah: David Harber, lonely? Well, I never.
Introduction
AUTHOR: Hyde
The repeated piano line of “All My Friends” by LCD Soundsystem underlies a montage of some of the most famous AWC moments, pay-per-view by pay-per-view.
That’s how it starts
Pierce Lavelle taps out to the Life Support, trapped uselessly in Alexander Strider’s arms, and the bell is rung to declare Strider winner of the original Zero To Hero.
We go back to your house
Paddy O’Shea and Crimson O’Malec mounting opposite turnbuckles either side of the ladder they just mounted to become the inaugural Alliance Champions at Solarized.
You check the charts
The red-painted head of Hate at the wheel of a double-decker London bus, smashing full on into the outer wall of Earl’s Court to conclude The Battle of Britain.
And start to figure it out
The Illustrious Face-Eater pulls off his mask at Testimony. And when no one really knows who Adam Dick is, he begins to yell, and stamp his feet, and then gathers up his mask and cape and leaves.
And if it’s crowded, all the better
The first Triangles match, with nine competitors crammed into the unique triangular structure. We see Jack Murphy’s Bull Charge on Alcaeus, while Adam Dick and Tim Martin team up on Pierce Lavelle.
Because we know we’re gonna be up late
Mike Wade slashes desperately at Chainz’s chest with a jagged shard of glass, but Chainz pulls out a tazer and sends Wade into unstoppable convulsions in the sick Cup of Blood match that stole the show at Winter Warfare.
But if you’re worried about the weather
Red Rock shuts Captain Suleimon in the Iron Maiden to win the Ottoman Torture Chamber match at Bloodlust, burning Suleimon’s desperate hand with a red-hot poker to clinch victory.
Then you picked the wrong place to stay
“I’m sorry,” Chainz mutters to Tracy Stanton, “I’ll always love you.” And he hurls himself off the hotel room balcony, hitting the concrete with a slap, the rain pouring down in the shocking finale to Twilight of the Gods.
That’s how it starts
Mike Wade rips the crown off Adam Dick’s head, clocks him in the face with it at the Zero 2 Hero Fan Festival, marking the end to the reign of the Unfuckables.
And so it starts
Garbage Bag Johnny’s Tragically Hipbuster on Kip Brown, securing him Hero status for 2006 and a Transatlantic title shot for Coast To Coast.
You switch the engine on
Adam Dick hits Mike Wade with the Finger Poke of Doom and Wade drops for the three, signalling one last Unfuckable swerve before Wade’s retirement and induction as a Legend at Divide & Conquer.
We set controls for the heart of the sun
Paddy O’Shea with a giant spin barrelling Ellis Nash into the swimming pool. Gabriel Afeaki bearing down on Johnny Lexicon. Nash with her own springboard frog splash off the diving board to catch Colby Korver. Josh Marquez with the Full House off the top of the climbing wall, crashing right through the deck of the Jewel of the Seas.
One of the ways that we show our age
Adam Dick, Garbage Bag Johnny and Pierce Lavelle drinking in a bar. Dick and Lavelle on scooters, charging down the Segway-bound GBJ. Lavelle and GBJ in a pool of marinara sauce, Dick arriving wearing only his boxers. The madness of Coast To Coast.
And if the sun comes up, if the sun comes up
If the sun comes up and we still don’t wanna stagger home
Aimz with the Darcinator on Darcy Crisis in the main event of Untouchable, right before Crisis proposes to her, to receive a kick in the groin that in their twisted world meant “yes”.
Then it’s the memory of our betters
That are keeping us on our feet
Triangles 2006: elevated Decree off the cage wall by Ellis Nash on Seymour Almasy; AgentDash with a huge bulldog on Johnny Lexicon; Jack Murphy’s Fall From Grace driving Darcy Crisis headfirst onto Pierce Lavelle’s body; Garbage Bag Johnny with the ENORMOUS Tragically Hipbuster off the top of the structure and driving Crisis through the announcers’ table... and then Juggernaut Kintu dismantling the cage bracket by bracket, with the competitors still fighting inside... and then Smiley is held firm by half the roster for Mike Wade to TFW him one last time... and then Dr. Kasidy Drake:
“I want to KILL this pathetic little promotion... As of now, AWC is CLOSED!”
You spent the first five years trying to get with the plan
And the next five years trying to be with your friends again
Shots of the reunion show, to this day untelevised, AgentDash winning two belts from Jack Murphy, GBJ regaining the Transatlantic Championship from Darcy Crisis.
But then where are your friends tonight?
Where are your friends tonight?
Where are your friends tonight?
And now shots from backstage, before the show tonight, on the orange couches and leather seats, roster and staff alike, sharing drinks, listening to music, telling jokes, hugging old friends.
If I could see all my friends tonight...
If I could see all my friends tonight...
If I could see all my friends tonight...
If I could see all my friends tonight.
Cut in to the Fresh! logo. And then out to the arena. People jumping, shouting, moving. People already loving every second of it.
Waters: WELCOME TO AWC FRESH!
Face-Eater: HOME OF CLOWN SHOES AND KING PRAWNS AND J4TPACKS AND COMPLETE TOTAL FUCKING AWESOME!
Waters: We're coming live from Baton Rouge, Louisiana!
The cameras focus on several signs in the crowd, but on the television broadcast each has a square black box over the top, censoring its content for fear of overloading Twitter with complaints again.
Waters: I’m Truth Waters and sitting alongside me is “The Illustrious Face-Eater” Adam Dick! Last week AWC returned to the world with the third instalment of Zero To Hero, at which Diego F—
Face-Eater: SHHHH! SPOILER ALERT!
Waters: I think people might just know by now—
SLAP
Waters: Did you just smack your thigh to make it sound like you slapped me?
Face-Eater: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Waters: We have a great looking card tonight, with debuts for some new signings, matches featuring Zero To Hero competitors T.A. Giles and Oliver Ranken, and the in-ring returns of Ellis Nash and Garbage Bag Johnny!
Face-Eater: Though fortunately not together. You get those two in a room, maybe with a bit of mustard – anything can happen.
Waters: Ellis will be contesting the main event against T.A. Giles, the Zero To Hero runner-up, and before that GBJ is one quarter of a special Oil Spill Clean-up Fundraiser also featuring Peyote Jones, Aaron Nothings, and Frank Dylan James.
Face-Eater: Yeah, get your plastic ready because you’re gonna have to make quickfire donations if you want a say in the match stips.
Waters: Oliver Ranken is going to face the debuting Bone – no relation to Mikey O’Reilly – and before that we’ll see Jason Natas, who made a brief appearance at Zero To Hero –
Face-Eater: He shat all over our legacy, Truth. ALL OVER IT.
Waters: He’ll be taking on Alexander Redding. We also expect to hear from the Zero To Hero winner Diego F—
Face-Eater: SPOILER ALERT!
Waters: Dick, you’re intolerable.
Face-Eater: That’s what she said!
Do the Right Thing
AUTHOR: Steve
We cut to the ring, where we see ring announcer James Brunt getting ready to do his job.
Brunt: Please allow me to introduce your Zero to Hero tournament champion.....DIIIIIIIEGO FOOOOOOOOSTEEEEEEEEER!!!
Waters: Spoiler alert?
Face-Eater: Oh, fuck off.
The lights in the arena fade to black, red and green spotlights raking the Baton Rouge crowd as the keyboard opening of In Flames “Colony” plays itself out. When the heavy guitars kick in, a blast of pyro engulfs the top of the ramp, and as they dissipate, we can see Diego Foster coming down to the ring, a serious expression on his face. The crowd's reaction is decidedly mixed, some cheering madly, some booing, others just politely clapping, unsure yet what to make of the emerging talent.
Face-Eater: June 25th, 2010. Remember that date, Waters, because it's the day Diego Foster officially arrived at the pinnacle of our sport.
Waters: One of the favorites going in, Foster certainly did not disappoint. He put away a very game contender in Van Isaac Pryce before moving on to defeat T.A. Giles in a match many feel crossed the line.
Face-Eater: Crossed the line? What line? Listen, when you step into that ring, you've got to be ready for anything. You've got to know the guy standing across the ring from you is going to do everything in his power to hurt you. This isn't a sport for pussies. This isn't ice dancing. It's professional fucking wrestling.
Waters: Nevertheless, in that match, Foster deliberately dropped Giles on his head with the Diamond Flash piledriver. He nearly broke the man's neck, Dick. We're talking about a man with children.
Face-Eater: If Giles really cared about his family, he would never have gotten in the ring with Diego Foster in the first place. Nothing you or anyone else can say will change the fact that Diego was the best man in the draw that night, and nothing will take that win away from him.
Waters: Doubtless you are correct. Foster's now in the ring, and it looks as if we're going to get our first glimpse into the mind of our Zero to Hero following his big win.
Diego takes the microphone from James Brunt, who applauds Foster along with the crowd, before ducking back and bowing out of the ring. Diego doesn't say anything for the moment, looking out into the crowd, turning around as if wanting to take in the face of each one of the 13,000 plus fans assembled here, savoring the moment, wanting to soak it all in. It's true, he has indeed arrived.
And then, finally, he speaks.
Foster: Wow.
WOOOOOOOO!
Foster: I can't even begin to tell you how great this feeling is. Knowing that you put in the work, waking up early, hitting the gym, drilling the moves, ten times, a hundred times, a thousand times, running until you feel like throwing up, training on the mat until you actually do, falling asleep exhausted, and waking up the next day to do it all again. For all that to pay off, it's almost unbelievable.
The crowd rises up in applause again, causing Diego to break into a smile. Luckily, he probably can't hear the fan who screams “You suck!” caught by a ringside microphone.
Foster: But I'm not here tonight to pat myself on the back and sing my own praise.
He pauses to shake his head.
Foster: And I'm not here tonight to call out Garbage Bag Johnny...
He has to pause as the cheers of the crowd rise up to drown out his voice. He nods his head respectfully while the fans demonstrate their love for the AWC Transatlantic Champion.
Face-Eater: I can't believe that glorified hobo gets this kind of reaction from a fucking name drop.
Waters: Shhh.
Foster: No, I'm here tonight... to offer an apology.
Face-Eater: What?!
Foster: This is a sport where it's easy to get caught up in the moment, and I did just that. Last week I was willing to do anything...anything to win that tournament. So when I caught T.A. Giles coming off the top rope, when I had him up on my shoulders, I dropped him on his head without thinking about anything besides winning the match. So greedy and blinded by opportunity was I that I was willing to endanger a man's career for a single tick in my win column. It was a completely reckless move. And that was wrong.
The crowd has been hushed into a stunned silence.
Foster: So T.A. Giles, let me tell you, I'm sorry for what I did. I know nothing I can say will take back that move and the damage it did, but I want you to know that I respect you as a competitor and I am really, truly sorry. You deserved better than that. Next time...next time will be different.
Diego stops for a second, looking somewhat overcome by the words he's saying. Looking down, he shakes his head again, suddenly unsure of himself.
Foster: That's it. I just wanted to say I was sorry.
And with that he drops the mic and rolls out of the ring, heading up the ramp. Around the arena some people are applauding respectfully, but for the most part the fans still don't know what to make of what they've witnessed.
Face-Eater: I think I may have pegged this guy completely wrong.
Waters: How so?
Face-Eater: I thought he was killer, but in actuality he's a complete....fucking....pussy!
Waters: It takes a lot of courage to come out here and admit you were in the wrong, something not many in this sport are capable of doing, present company included.
Face-Eater: Hey, if I ever did anything wrong, I would admit it. I've just never done anything wrong.
Waters: Riiiiight. Well, I think Diego Foster presented himself admirably tonight. This kid is going to have a bright future in our sport. We'll be back shortly with our first match of the evening.
Jason Natas vs Alexander Redding
CHAMPIONSHIP: None
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Don Porter
AUTHOR: Jonny D
For a match of this caliber to open up a show just shows you the amount AWC brings to the table. The fans are rabid as they watch Jason Natas and Alexander Redding stare holes through each other’s skulls. And we are off and as expected the two come out swinging for the fences, the two avid brawlers showing no sign of ring rust or letting up. Back and forth the punches fly, but Redding ducks a punch and follows it up with a stiff looking clothesline, Natas flips in the air and lands hard on the ground.
Redding follows it up with a knee drop and then begins laying in more punches to the back of Natas's head. He drags Natas up but it is REVERSED, Natas grabs Redding's arm and arm drags him to the ground but holds on. He begins laying in knees to the spine, Redding's eyes bulge out in obvious pain. Natas smiles and picks Redding back by the hair he throws him to the ropes and follows him, he goes for a knee to the stomach but Redding somehow gets his knee up to block it and they both spill to the mat. This match has been nothing but a brawl these two don't seem the least bit interested in putting a wrestling hold on someone tonight.
Redding is his first to his feet and he begins limping as he picks Jason up. He goes to suplex Natas but his knee does not have the strength so he gets creative and gives Natas a swinging neck breaker. Natas is holding his neck and Redding seems to think it is over as he gives the thumbs down to the crowd. The crowd pops as their desire to see Natas lose is overwhelming right now.
Redding picks up the woozy Natas and it looks like he is going for the running STO, the crowd jumps to their feet in anticipation at Natas being unconscious but at the last second Natas side steps Redding and throws a wild looking punch at Redding. It CONNECTS, and Redding goes down to one knee. This was all the time Natas needs though and he grabs Reddings head, rears back, and hits The New York Minute!
Natas flips off the downed Redding and then goes for the pin and this match is all over as Don Porter counts to three. What a crazy painful match that was to begin our program.
Don’t Cry Over Spilled Milk
AUTHOR: Trent
Waters: Well, folks, we’ve got Chase Harvey standing by with T.A. Giles. It’ll be interesting to hear what Giles has to say after Diego Foster almost broke his neck in the Zero to Hero final, don’t you think, Facey?
Face-Eater: Who said you could call me that? No one, that’s who.
Waters: Well ..
Face-Eater: It’s neither here nor there. And quite frankly, I don’t give a damn what Gilesy has to say. How many spots did I take when I was running this joint? A lot, that’s how many. I never had to wear a neck brace.
Waters: … Did you just call him Gilesy?
Face-Eater: Yeah, so? It’s catchy.
Backstage, Chase Harvey is standing around, trying to look as calm and cool as possible. He’s still a bit green – only metaphorically – but excited for his next interview. Beside him is T.A. Giles, who isn’t in his wrestling attire but still wearing a pair of black gym shorts and white t-shirt.
Harvey: I’m here with T.A. Giles, runner-up for this year’s Zero to Hero tournament. Now, Giles, I’m sure you know the question that’s on everybody’s mind and I’m going to go ahead and ask: how do you feel about your loss to Diego Foster, and secondly, is your injury serious enough to be a disadvantage in tonight’s main event?
Giles: Nobody likes losing, Chase. Including me. I might not be like a lot of these assclowns running around with their two-bit gimmicks and clever one-liners, but if there’s one thing we have in common, it’s that a loss hurts. Diego Foster may have got the best of me last week, but I have very little respect for him as a wrestler or as a person. And I certainly don't accept his apology.
Harvey: You won't accept it?
Giles: That's right. I take this here sport as serious as the next guy, but I’m not here to end careers. I’d rather take a loss and keep my integrity than that.
Harvey: Well, Giles, don’t you think that’s a little harsh? I mean, pardon my praise, but Foster is going to be a star and he looks good in the ring – very natural. Maybe it was just an accident?
Giles: He’s just a chump, Harvey, and that’s all there is to it. It was a decent fight, I’ll give him that. Nice and clean, up until the end.
Harvey: Some commentators have said that you may have damaged your own chances with a risky finisher, and I might be inclined to agree. My co-worker …
Giles: I didn’t drop myself on my head, did I?
Harvey: Well, no …
Giles: There’s a certain amount of risk involved in wrestling, and I know that, Harvey. But it’s not just a goddamn spectator sport where people can run around doing whatever their heart desires. Wrestling is already a leper colony and we’re making it even worse by setting up these ridiculous stipulations and dangerous moves. How are we supposed to attract young talent when every week someone is almost breaking a leg or a neck? Diego Foster proved to me last week that he embraces that style of fighting, and I want nothing to do with it. What I do want, however, is a grudge match. When, where, or what for, I don’t care.
And Giles turns from the camera to walk down the hall.
Harvey: Well, there you have it, everyone. Giles is clearly unhappy about his loss.
Face-Eater: Is he on his period or what?
Waters: I’m inclined to agree, Adam. I think that there’s much more to Giles’s rant than what he seems to think. Maybe he’s just pissed that he lost?
Face-Eater: (mocking) “But integrity! Honour! Respect!” Wah, wah, freakin’ wah. Let’s get on with it. What do we have next?
No Respect
Author: Jonny D
Peck…
Peck…
Peck…
“I am coming, dammit.”
The door to a locker room opens up and standing there in a suit is Steve Harrison. An agitated look covers his face as he does not enjoy being bothered. He looks around and does not see anyone. He shakes his head angrily, and then moves his head farther out the doorway. He suddenly falls backwards his eyes opening large in surprise.
Harrison: Is this a joke?
Steve composes himself finally as he stares eye to eye with a Parrot.
Harrison: Polly wants some poisoned crackers?
Parrot: AAAAK, STEVE IS A JOBBER, AAAAAK.
Harrison: What did you say?
Parrot: LOSER, AAAAK.
Harrison balls his fists up angrily, his face becoming beat red from being humiliated by a bird.
Harrison: Now look here, everyone knows that Steve Harrison is the future of this business. That is why the man continues to hold me down by forcing me into matches I am not prepared for. You remember in JUST when the fans assaulted me leading the way for The Back Alley Brawler to beat me and then go on to win the title, right? I am always screwed and last week was no different. There I was dominating TA Giles and out of nowhere he pulled my tights…
Parrot: KICKED, AAAAK.
Harrison: Look you say he kicked me and I say he poked me in my eye and then kicked me with studded boots and then used my tights to pin me. I swear. Have his boots checked he was packing metal in those things. This is how it goes for me though. I am constantly bombarded by people trying to keep me from succeeding in this business.
The Parrot flies in the air and then lands on Harrison’s shoulder and then eerily turns its head to look at Steve.
Parrot: DEFECATION…AAAAAK---AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK.
Harrison: Huh? What…oh….motherfucker.
The Parrot hops off Steve’s shoulder leaving bird poop on Steve’s expensive suit. Steve reaches out trying to grab the parrot but the parrot flies higher out of his reach.
Harrison: Who the hell taught a parrot the word defecation anyway? But this is what I am talking about, I gets no respect (Rodney Dangerfield impression activated) I work my hardest and nobody ever gives me a break, I get shit on by a parrot, I have to talk to a drugged out lunatic in Peyote and the smell coming from Garbage Bag Johnny’s locker room…I can tell you I don’t think it is from this world. I promise you one thing; next week whoever I face will be facing someone completely new, a brand new Steve Harrison!
Parrot: HEARD…AAAAK…THAT…BEFORE.
The Parrot flies off leaving Harrison fuming, bird poop moving down his shoulder.
Harrison: AWC needs some class.
Bone vs Oliver Ranken
CHAMPIONSHIP: None
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Lars Larsson
AUTHOR: Andy
"Cat Gotcha Tongue" hits and Oliver Ranken emerges looking even more bitter and angry than ever. His failure at Zero To Hero has clearly raised the Englishman's ire, evident by the fact that he snatches at a fan that tries to touch him as he passes. "Triggernometry" hits soon enough and the fans get their first look of the 6'1", 200lbs Bone, who springs down to the ring light-footed.
The bell rings and Ranken, being the more grapple-centric wrestler, looks for a tie-up. Bone's smart enough to goad Ranken towards him, before ducking behind the grapple attempt and kicking the back of Ranken's legs. He immobilises Ranken with more strikes before monkey flipping him towards a corner and landing a standing senton. The first pinfall attempt yields a one count.
Ranken, the stronger man, powers to his feet. He throws his weight around and gets a few shots in, but Bone weasels out of his headlock and forces Ranken to his knees. Bone continues to go to work with stiff striking, but his attempted springboard dropkick is sidestep. Ranken takes Bone up and drills him with an overhead belly-to-belly for a two count.
Unfortunately for The Bully from Britain, this would be the last significant offence that he had in the match. Bone and his nimble feet soon took control of the match and his lightening quick throws and strikes became too much for the Englishman. Bone quickly recovered from the suplex, using his martial arts expertise to throw the heavier man with relative ease. Soon he was leaping and springing from the ropes with grace, much to the appreciation of the crowd.
Ranken's frustration grew as Bone's "Bone Buzzsaw" 540 Kick earned him another two count; so much so that Oliver resorted to a blatant low blow. His inevitable admonishment from the referee provided the platform for his downfall. Bone came out of nowhere; free running across the top rope to take Ranken out with a spectacular flying headscissor takedown. With his opponent down, Bone took to the top rope and flew off with the 187.
One, two, three, and its over: victory for Bone in his first AWC contest, but the bitter taste of defeat again fills Oliver Ranken's mouth.
Dinner Agenda
AUTHOR: Hyde
Sweats. White tees. Shades.
“This the place?” Tim Martin questions dubiously, peering through the door of the Legends’ Lounge, which appears to be empty.
A distant roar from the crowd, so they know they’re on air.
L. Martin: There’s nobody here. Heard they’re grilling steaks out back, let’s go.
T. Martin: Wait.
The older of the Furious Fists of God cautiously pushes the door open, his brother obediently following. The only noise inside is the creak of a door coming from the flat-screen TV. Liam Martin pushes past his brother and bends to stare at the screen, realising he’s looking at a live feed of the back of himself.
L. Martin: Neat.
Tim Martin notices a figure sitting out in the skybox portion of the lounge, and slides open the adjoining door. Jack Murphy turns in his seat, and smiles.
Murphy: Tim Martin. It’s been a while. And your brother?
Murphy peers past to catch a glimpse of Tim’s tag team partner, who gives him a goofy wave.
T. Martin: Good to see you, Jack.
Murphy: Have a seat.
The older Martin descends to the front row of the box, and his silhouette is faintly visible against the tinted glass at the front of the box, which causes thousands of fans in the arena below to stand up out of their seats and yell, trying to catch the former wrestlers’ attention.
T. Martin: Well, Pearl wasn’t kidding.
Murphy: (smiling) Not bad, is it. You can slide this open, too, if you want a bit more atmosphere—
Murphy stands and shunts the window across, opening the box to the noise and bluster of the Pete Maravich Assembly Center. He gives the cheering fans an uncertain wave before sitting back down. Liam Martin enters, and takes a seat behind them.
L. Martin: Hey, Jack.
Murphy: (nodding) Liam.
L. Martin: I’m gonna go get some food, they’re grilling meat outside and—
Murphy: No need, I’m having the girls bring some up.
Liam stares.
L. Martin: Nice.
Murphy grins, a little embarrassed.
Murphy: Usually I’d rather eat with the rest of ‘em, but I heard you boys were coming down tonight, and I figured we could have a little discussion over some dinner.
L. Martin: Oh yeah? What kind of a discussion?
Murphy swings his head to face Liam.
Murphy: Ever heard of UPW?
Liam shakes his head, at which his brother shoots him an annoyed look.
T. Martin: The union, sure. But we got no need for a union, Jack, I think you got us wrong, we’re just visiting.
Murphy: So maybe you got no need for the union. But maybe the union got a need for you?
Liam frowns, confused. Tim furrows his own brow in thought. Before either can reply, a bell chimes in the inside portion of the box, causing Jack Murphy to leap to his feet.
Murphy: That’ll be dinner. Come, eat a steak or two, have a beer or two. Let’s catch up.
Tim Martin nods.
T. Martin: For sure.
His brother’s already gone, drawn straight to the aroma of cooked meat. Murphy grins wryly, and pulls the skybox window shut.
Waters: The Fists are visiting, Dick! And Jack Murphy is encouraging them to make full use of the Legends’ Lounge facilities!
Face-Eater: The Fists are tough motherfuckers, Truth, you gotta respect the hell outta them. To be fair, most all of the Legends are good people, Lavelle aside.
Waters: And maybe we’ll be seeing more of them, Tim Martin certainly seems to be showing some interest in whatever it is the Bull is proposing!
Face-Eater: He’s proposing free dinner, Truth. For a man who likes his food it don’t go no further.
Delicate Delicacies
AUTHORS: Peyote and Jonny D.
Steve Harrison stands in front of the catering tables full of food provided for the wrestlers thanks to David Harber. There are platters of various sandwiches, decadently arranged. There is an entire salad bar, with all kinds of options available. There are heated trays offering grilled steak, chicken, and shrimp. There are various sides offered, from many stylings of potatoes to coleslaw, vegetable medley, rice, beans, warmed tortillas and fresh salsa. The last table includes an assortment of delicious deserts, including cobbler, cheesecake, and even crepes. Harrison picks up a sandwich slice, twisting it around in his hand as he examines it with a disgusted look on his face.
Harrison: Turkey and cheddar? What a cheapass Pearlman is. Where's the lobster? Where's the caviar? No Foie gras?
He looks down the table seeing none of this.
Harrison: So much for AWC "sparing no expense" on its talent.
Voice: Meh...MEH....MEEEEEEEEEEEEEH.
Groans of agony. The painful screams sound like the twisted metal of a car crash. Reminiscent of a child breaking his arm after falling out of a tree. The howls force everyone within a five-hallway-radius in the backstage area of the Pete Maravich Assembly Center to cover their ears, close their eyes, and grit their teeth. Everyone, except Steve Harrison, who just looked pissed off.
Harrison: What the hell is that?
The only response he was able to receive was more of this continuous crying. Harrison huffed and puffed.
Harrison: Hey! Whoever that is...SHUT THE HELL UP!!!
His shout echoed through the hallways, but most already had their ears covered anyway. The whining did not stop, so Harrison let out a sigh himself and threw the sandwich back on the platter to do some investigating. He left the luncheon room and turned the right corner, picking up a louder whine the further he went. After traversing three hallways, he found the target of the noise.
Harrison: Oh God...
Laying there on the floor, writhing in pain, was a monster.
Harrison: What, are you having a seizure?
Peyote Jones stopped his shaking, and crawled up into a ball, tightly clutching his abdomen. He was still covered in blood and oil, he had a look on his face like someone was carving into his stomach with a knife.
Harrison: What the hell man, did Nothings kick your ass?
Jones: MEH.
Harrison: Is that even a yes or a no?
Jones: ...no.
Harrison lowered his head in shame.
Harrison: Well, quiet down. I'm busy right now and I don't care who hurt you.
Jones: no...wait...not hurt...
The beast looked up at Harrison, like a puppy who wanted outside really badly so it could chase after cars.
Jones: ...please help..
Harrison: UGH! Did you take too many drugs?
Jones: MEH.
Harrison: No? Did you not take enough?
Jones: MEH.
Harrison: Then...WHAT DO YOU WANT?!!
Jones: ...hungry...
Harrison throws his arms up in the air.
Harrison: You're bitching because you need something to eat? Idiot! They have tables of food for us in the break room!!!
Peyote looks up with bright, beaming eyes.
Jones: ...Show me...please...
Harrison: Hurry the hell up if you want to follow me.
Harrison sighs and begins to walk back towards his meal, while Peyote remains crawled up in a ball and begins to follow down the hallway after him like a rolly-polly. Within seconds Harrison arrives back at the table with his platter full of sandwiches, and right behind him is the beast. Smelling the scent of various delicacies, the once unmovable and near-dead Jones hops up to his feet like nothing ever happened. He rushes over to the closest table and begins digging in with both hands covered in dried-up oil.
Harrison: Jesus, aren't you going to wash your hands first?
Peyote snaps his head back with an innocent look on his face, cheeks stretched out and crammed with so much food that a green-bean from the casserole hangs out of his lips. He looks at Harrison confused, like he has no idea what that means.
Jones: WMUSH RHAWBS? (“Wash what?”)
Harrison: Ugh, nevermind.
With that Peyote immediately goes back to destroying the tables of food. Eventually he gives up using his hands and shoves his entire face into the pot of mashed potatoes, sucking all of them out and licking the bowl clean, and then drinking the cup of salsa.
Harrison: What the fuck? It's like I'm babysitting kids, but not getting paid for it. Well, I'm not going to volunteer my damn time to help this waste of space anymore.
Harrison begins to turn and walk away, when his brain triggers himself to stop.
Harrison: Wait...volunteer...volunteer my time...community service...
In the background, Peyote opens up the trays to discover the meats. Now, it looks like when a pride of lions feast upon the captured gazelle.
Harrison: If I hang out with this idiot, it'll be like volunteering my time to fulfill my hours of community service!
Peyote lets out a LOUD, 10-second long belch. He then dives back into the food.
Harrison: Jesus, no judge in the world could argue that watching over this buffoon wouldn't be a service to the community. Ugh, he's so damn annoying though. Well, at least it wouldn't take up my free time since I work with him, and it'll be better than having to do labor, or help poor people. This dumbass can't be worse than having to change old man diapers. Now, time to celebrate my genius with some food...
Harrison turns around to see Peyote at the final table, finishing off the last piece of cheesecake. He has to blink his eyes to make sure that they are not messing with him, that he is not seeing things wrong. He scans them back and forth, from table to table, to see that everything is a wreck. All three trays of meat have been emptied, all sides except the vegetables and salad have been devoured. The plastic platters that used to hold sandwiches are now on the ground, empty.
Harrison: YOU ATE EVERYTHING?!?!
Peyote, looking like he is about to puke, drops back to the ground and tries to crawl back up into a ball.
Jones: ...so...full....MEEEEEEEEEEEEEH.
Harrison: Fuck this...sushi it is.
Harrison kicks the table over in frustration and, with that, storms out of the room.
Jones: meeeeeeeeeeeh. meeeh. meh.
Peyote falls asleep. Scene cuts back to the desk.
Waters: BAH-GAWD! That man should be in an eating contest!
Face-Eater: That bastard took it all?! He better have fucking saved me something.
Waters: Doesn't the Legends' Lounge have its own dining area?
Face-Eater: Oh yeah... damn right it does!!
Garbage Bag Johnny and Peyote Jones
vs Aaron Nothings and Frank Dylan James
CHAMPIONSHIP: None
STIPULATION: Oil Spill Clean-up Fundraiser
REFEREE: Richie Travis
AUTHOR: Hyde
Waters: Now ladies and gentlemen I am delighted to announce the triumphant return to AWC... of matches with crazy stipulations.
Face-Eater: You said it, Truth. After a history of Streets of London, Beneath the Boardwalk, Jewel of the Seas, Ruby’s Diner – not to mention my ridiculous match with GBJ and Lavelle spread across the many islands of Bermuda – this next match is gonna feel like a homecoming.
Waters: But this time, with a good cause. See, since BP—
Face-Eater: That’s British Petroleum.
Waters: Yeah, well since they messed up in the Gulf, the inhabitants here in Louisiana have been, shall we say, less than happy with their lot.
Face-Eater: Katrina in 2005, now the Gulf spill. I think these guys are entitled to feel a little screwed over by environmental justice.
Waters: Now, for those of you tuning in at home, this part of the show is your chance to make a difference. Our call-in number just for tonight is 1-800-SIGNGATE – I’m not sure why – but call in and pledge toward the drive to clean up the Gulf of Mexico. It’s for a great cause—
Face-Eater: And it means YOU get to pick what happens in the match. Yeah. Wanna see GBJ fight naked? THAT’S YOUR PREROGATIVE.
Waters: Uh. I don’t think it quite works like that, Dick. Instead the big screen is gonna show us the next stip that could be added to the match, and the dollar amount required. In fact, look, it’s lit up now with the first one.
The screen bears the message NO COUNT-OUTS – $100.
Waters: Now when that hundred-dollar total is reached, the stip will be added to the match, and a new one will come up on screen for you to pledge towards.
James Brunt takes to the ring, resplendent in purple.
Brunt: The following contest is the Oil Spill Clean-up Fundraiser Match!
Atmosphere’s “Funny Colours in My Mushroom Trails” begins to play, but with Garbage Bag Johnny’s warbling exposition of his own name, Garrrrbage Baaaaaaag Johnnnnnnyyyyyyy, repeated over the top.
Brunt: Introducing first! At a combined weight of 452 pounds... the team of PEEEEEYYYOOOOTEEE JOOOOONESSSS... and GAAARRRRBAAAAAGE BAAAAAAAAAAGGGG JOHNNNNNNNNNYYYYYY!!!
There is a huge pop for the returning Transatlantic Champion. Though his beard is now neatly trimmed and his hair looks suspiciously like someone might have washed it, GBJ retains the old goofy gap-toothed grin that kept him the underdog vote the whole way through an unmatched win-loss record. His partner tonight, Peyote Jones, emerges behind him, but appears to be coated in a dark resinous substance.
Waters: Peyote Jones is debuting tonight and, Dick, I’m not sure if that’s regular ring attire for him.
Face-Eater: FAIL, Truth. He’s covered himself in CRUDE OIL! As a tribute to those affected by the spill! That’s great!
A couple of stagehands watch nervously after Jones as he drips the sticky substance all over the stage and ramp area. Garbage Bag Johnny steps up onto the apron and holds the top rope down for Jones with an exaggerated bow. Peyote nods his appreciation and slips over the top, treading black mucus into the mat.
Face-Eater: (delighted) That’s gonna be a BITCH to get out of the canvas.
Brunt: And their opponents...
The ring announcer steps sharply away from Peyote Jones as two bedraggled looking men step through the curtain without any music.
Waters: I’m told that neither Aaron Nothings nor Frank Dylan James has agreed any music with the production people yet.
Face-Eater: I would hereby like to propose “Barbie Girl”. Or we could get someone to embed a string of like a hundred YouTube videos. I know a dude in SCCW.
Brunt: At a combined weight of 509 pounds... the team of FRANK! DYLAN! JAAAAAAAAAAAAMES... and AAAAAROOOOON NOTHINNNNGGSSSSSSSS!!!
Without any music to shield it, the lack of any reaction to James and Nothings is palpable.
Face-Eater: Looks like not a great deal know these guys, but both were in the independent promotion Just Wrestling that I ran for a little while. Tim Shipley’s place. Peyote Jones has been there, too.
Waters: Yeah, you lost to Nothings, right Dick?
Face-Eater: I HAVE NEVER ONCE LOST TO THAT FUCKHEAD.
Waters: ...Twice?
It was indeed twice, but we don’t get any on-air confirmation as The Illustrious Face-Eater seems to lose interest and starts to eyeball young females in the crowd. Meanwhile in the ring, Nothings and James are openly staring at Peyote, who also appears to have a smear of blood across his chest that is mixing in with the oil. But neither seems disgusted. In fact, FDJ has a gawky smile across his face, while Nothings seems too strung-out to care.
Before the bell can even ring, the sound of a cash register:
CHING CHING CHING!
Taking this as the cue to begin, Frank Dylan James begins screaming and running at Garbage Bag Johnny looking for a big clothesline, while Jones and Nothings step out to the apron. GBJ calmly ducks the arm and then points to the referee, Richie Travis, who shrugs and calls for the bell.
DING DING DING!
Waters: That sound we heard a moment ago was in fact the sound of our fundraising total being reached. We got to the $100 mark before the match even began—
Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen... the match is now a NO COUNT-OUT match!
Waters: And that is the result.
Face-Eater: The Hillbilly Jesus got prematurely excited there but now the match is underway.
Nodding his understanding, Frank Dylan James eyeballs Garbage Bag, and promptly repeats his attempt at offense, running at the champion with eyes wide and a scream coming from his mouth. Telegraphing the attack a mile off, Garbage Bag steps out of the way and sending the Hillbilly Jesus on his merry way out to the floor.
Waters: James looking to use his superior strength to the other competitors in this match, but unable to channel it effectively.
The big screen now suggests a new fundraising target – GUEST STAR – $250. A representation of an egg-timer filling up on the side suggests that the money is rolling quickly towards that total. At ringside, Frank Dylan James gets up and slaps his hands on the security rail, barking something out at the fans, who try to shield their faces from the spittle flecking all over them. GBJ comes up from behind and clobbers James in the back of the head, causing FDJ to spin around in surprise. But at the same time, Johnny scoots behind the Hillbilly Jesus, and then reaches in with the widely feared Gooch Rake!
Face-Eater: OH JESUS THE GOOCH RAKE! I thought Johnny might’ve retired that move by now!
Waters: GBJ raking at that sensitive area, and Frank Dylan James is down in pain!
Face-Eater: Johnny got ribbed a LOT in the locker room for that one, but personally, I was always more afraid of the Legendary Depants Combo 2.
Waters: I don’t remember that one.
Face-Eater: Yeah, best to block that shit out.
CHING CHING CHING!
Aaron Nothings hops down to ringside and throws a right hand at Garbage Bag Johnny, who elects not to block and just takes the blow to the face, causing Nothings some bemusement. As such, the two-time Just Wrestling Champion is slow to follow up. Johnny’s grin grows wider, and wider...
Waters: THAT’S WENDELL PIERCE!
Added to the match as a new stipulation by the fundraising passing $250, the actor steams in behind Nothings and brains him with a trombone!
Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen... your guest star, WENDELL PIERCE!
Face-Eater: HAHA! EAT SHIT, NOTHINGS!
Pierce raises the trombone up to the crowd, who cheer, being particularly familiar with the actor in this state thanks to his appearance in HBO’s hit show about New Orleans, Treme. Pierce then raises the trombone to his lips and plays a victory march, though he doesn’t really, he just mimes it while a recording is played over the sound system.
Face-Eater: If I was a cynical little fucker, I’d call Pearl out on this for clear product placement.
Waters: But it’s Wendell f’n Pierce, Dick... damn!
Face-Eater: Exactly.
As Pierce disappears through the crowd amid lots of cheering and backslapping, the big screen now displays SWITCH PARTNERS FOR 1 MIN. – $500. Meanwhile, GBJ loads both James and Nothings back into the ring, hops in himself, and tags Peyote Jones.
Face-Eater: I think on his very first night here, Peyote Jones may just have usurped GBJ’s crown as the Dirtiest Dude in AWC. Can we award him that, like officially?
Waters: Well if the fundraising gets to $500 Peyote may just have the chance to lay down Garbage Bag for the three and boost his claim to the name!
Jones examines his palms, both smothered with oil. Referee Richie Travis hops away from him, not wanting to risk staining his individually tailored referee’s shirt nor his Oakley sunglasses. James and Nothings both get to their feet, Nothings holding the back of his head, James cradling his... gooch. Jones runs at them and knocks them down.
Face-Eater: That’s the dirtiest double clothesline you’ll see.
CHING CHING CHING!
Waters: Time to swap partners now!
Face-Eater: Damn, Truth, this ain’t one of your swinger parties.
Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen... for one minute only, this match is now AARON NOTHINGS AND PEYOTE JONES AGAINST GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY AND FRANK DYLAN JAMES!
Nothings goes immediately to attack his heretofore partner, but Jones pulls him away with dirty hands, insisting that he remains the legal man. Nothings shoves back at Jones, not caring about the black marks now coming up his arms.
Face-Eater: These two have a history, Truth. Jones won the Just Wrestling title belt from Nothings in only his third match there.
Waters: So you lost to Nothings twice, and Nothings lost to Peyote. That makes Peyote Jones, uh, three times better than you, right?
Face-Eater: THAT IS NOT REMOTELY LOGICAL.
There is a cheer around the arena as the next stipulation goes up on the big screen: HOSE DOWN PEYOTE – $1000.
Face-Eater: HAHAHA! A hosedown on its way, and damn does he need it!
As Nothings and Jones dispute legal status, Frank Dylan James tags in Garbage Bag Johnny, who creeps to the top rope. Nothings is eventually led to the apron by the referee, and Peyote Jones looks around for GBJ, only to be knocked down by the Transatlantic Champion flying through the air!
Waters: DUMPSTER DIVE!
GBJ lands hard on top of Peyote after the cross-body frog splash, and as he rolls off makes a face at the sticky oil coming off all over him.
Face-Eater: It’s a good thing Johnny is used to sleeping in boxes on the side of the highway. Otherwise he might’ve had second thoughts halfway through that Dumpster Dive.
Realising he can end this match, Johnny reaches gingerly across the oily Jones and hooks a leg quite gently. Richie Travis slaps the mat from a safe distance.
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen, one minute has expired, and the match returns to GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY AND PEYOTE JONES AGAINST FRANK DYLAN JAMES AND AARON NOTHINGS!
GBJ slaps the mat in comic frustration.
CHING CHING CHING!
Face-Eater: Ohh here we are...
A fire crew appears at the top of the ramp, trailing a thick hose out from backstage. Without warning they shoot a huge jet of water at the ring, finding Peyote with pinpoint accuracy. Jones screams in terror, or maybe the water is cold. Soon enough he’s quite clean, though there are great sopping puddles of oily water all over the ring and ringside area.
Face-Eater: Peyote Jones with a twist on the drowned-rat look for a new season.
SMASH OPPPONENT THROUGH ANNOUNCE DESK TO WIN – $2000
Waters: HEY!
Jones blinks through the cascades of water dripping from his hair. Johnny, now teaming with him again, moves out to the apron and then strains over the top rope from there, unable to reach his partner to tag in. Meanwhile, FDJ leaps high and lands on the grounded Peyote. Water goes everywhere.
Face-Eater: ...Splash!
James backs away and tags Aaron Nothings, who scoots in and pulls up Jones by the hair. He nails him with a couple of right hands, but Jones staggers back and gets a slap on the back from GBJ before Nothings can go any further. Nothings does go further, clotheslining Jones into the turnbuckle, but the tag has been made and Johnny bounces off the second rope to spring into the ring and knock Nothings down with a high knee.
Waters: We’re getting closer and closer to that two-thousand dollar mark... let’s end this now!
Face-Eater: I gotta admit, I’m growing fond of this here table.
GBJ pulls Nothings up and shoves him toward the turnbuckle, where Jones is waiting and clobbers him with a double axe-handle from behind! Nothings drops to his knees, while Travis waves a hand suggesting that Peyote should probably move out to the apron. He does so, but not before cracking a kick into Nothings’ ribs, and GBJ then backs up and swings a knee at Nothings’ face, crumpling him to the canvas.
Waters: Garbage Bag Johnny and Peyote Jones are completely in control of this match.
Face-Eater: Barring another rule change like the partner switch.
Waters: I just want them to finish this before the $2000 kicks in...
GBJ tags the sopping wet Jones, noting with a combination of dismay and pleasure that he is now once more the Dirtiest Dude in AWC. Jones pulls Nothings up and whips him to the ropes, running to the opposite side himself. Nothings pulls something out as he rebounds and swings a fist but Jones ducks, and they both hit the ropes again. On the return this time Peyote leaps and cracks his shin hard into Nothings’ jaw, his head snapping back!
Waters: ENDORPHINS! That’s Peyote Jones’ big move, and the end for Nothings!
ONE!
TWO!
CHING CHING CHING!
The referee continues counting and easily makes the three, but Jones’ celebrations are cut short as James Brunt announces the change in stipulation.
Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen... this match now has to be won by smashing one’s opponent through the announce table!
Waters: NO!
Jones looks at GBJ, and both shrug. GBJ hops through into the ring and they grab hold of FDJ’s unwilling arms, dragging them downward toward his partner’s prone body. Though James is doing his best to resist, his fingers brush Nothings’ head and Travis rules it a legal tag.
Face-Eater: Johnny and Peyote have big plans for Frank Dylan James!
Jones thumps a knee into James’ gut through the ropes to quiet the Hillbilly Jesus down a bit, while GBJ hops to the outside and gets James set on his shoulders in an electric chair position.
Waters: This looks ominous...
Jones leaps up to the top rope while Johnny staggers forward, the heavier FDJ on his shoulders. The two lurch towards the announce table...
Waters: RUN!
As the two announcers dive for cover, Johnny brings James overhead in an electric chair drop just as Peyote leaps across the abyss between ring and table, latching his leg neatly around the falling FDJ’s head in a Fame Asser-type finish. The three go crashing through the table, which instantly collapses with pieces of wood and circuitry flying everywhere!
DING DING DING!
Brunt: The winners of this match... GARBAGE BAG JOHNNY AND PEYOTE JONES!
Johnny is quickly to his feet, a broad smile on his face having pulled off his favoured electric chair drop. He pulls Peyote Jones up and gives his saturated partner an oily, watery hug. Waters and Face-Eater jabber away but we don’t hear a word, and start to hope this might be fixed before the main event. Meanwhile, AWC is already sending industrial-sized hoovers down to the ring to try and suck out some of the water that has formed into huge puddles. It’s not a pretty sight, so we cut elsewhere.
Taking Back the Frontier
AUTHORS: Hyde and JC
We open up in the glass-walled office that Darcy "Crisis" Markson works from. It's positioned right alongside Pearl's, adjacent to the plushly furnished catering area, where Alexander Redding and Oliver Ranken can be seen chilling, perhaps commiserating each other over their respective defeats earlier in the night. Markson already has Van Isaac Pryce in the office with him, but it's plain they're waiting for someone as Pryce is sitting in a side chair and no one is saying a word. Presently, T.A. Giles raps his knuckles on the glass and pokes his head in.
Markson: Travis, you made it.
Giles: Sorry, boss. I was just getting in some final stretches before my match.
Markson: Nervous?
Giles: It's my first ever main event, I don't exactly know what to expect.
Markson: You'll be fine out there. Just treat it like any other match.
He turns to VIP, who has risen out of his seat to stare at the new arrival.
Markson: I trust you two know each other?
VIP: What up Notorious T.A.G.! Now we can get this party started right! Hell yeah!
Giles grins uncertainly.
Giles: Uh, sure. We've met.
The man once known as Darcy Crisis claps his hands together.
Markson: Great! Well, I've had a dictat down from on high--
He inclines his head toward the office next to theirs, where David Harber can be seen through the glass wall sitting at his desk.
Markson: --and it seems AWC has the privilege of AgentDash stopping by on a rolling contract as of next week. You guys know who Dash is?
VIP: AgentDash? What the hell? Sounds like a ghetto ass superspy, if you ask me. Who dat?
Markson rolls his eyes.
Markson: They don't school you guys in AWC history, huh? AgentDash was one of the old-timers. He never made it big-big here, but he hit his stride right at the end -- kinda like me, actually.
He pauses for recognition. Pryce gives him a blank stare.
Markson: Triangles 2006... the last night before Drakewerx shut us down... I won the Transatlantic title... this ringing any bells?
VIP: I got nothin', man. Sorry. But I'm sure you were the man, back in the day. S'all good, though. It's my time now, baby baybay!
Giles catches Markson's eye, or tries to, but the latter is too professional, or is trying to be.
Markson: Right. Well AgentDash is kind of a big deal now, because he holds not one but TWO AWC Championships. That's two more than either of you.
VIP: That ain't right.
Markson: Maybe it isn't. The head honcho and I were pretty impressed with each of you at Zero To Hero. First night in the real big time for each of you, right? And you each came out with a win, you handled it like champs. So next week, I want to set up a three-way match for the Frontier Championship. T.A. Giles, Van Isaac Pryce, and AgentDash. How's that sound?
VIP: Hell yeah! That's what I'm talkin' 'bout! I can school Old and Busted and New Hotness at the same time? Bet!
Giles peers at Pryce, as if trying to see beyond something that isn't there. He gives up and turns back to the Live Events Coordinator.
Giles: I didn't get a word of what he said, but I'm in.
Markson grins.
Markson: Great. And make sure you give it a real good go. Between you and me... and, um, a TV audience of several million... I'm not too keen on a guy who's only here week-to-week. So I'd kind of like that belt around the waist of a guy who's real AWC. That sound like one of you?
VIP: Marky Mark, you ain't said nothin' but a word. I got this.
Giles raises his eyebrows at Pryce's confidence.
Giles: We'll see about that come next week.
You Only Live Twice Twice
AUTHOR: Hyde
With Crisis, Giles and Pryce still wrapping up, we shift laterally across into the next office with a neat SFX SWOOSH!. The glass walls certainly chime well with the newfound opulence of the AWC backstage areas, but David Harber is now realising the downside, as he turns himself to face the bookcase in a futile bid for privacy.
Pearl: Live Twice Entertainment, please.
His grey suit has pinstripes running through it in Atlantic Orange – now the official name of the specific colour that has famously represented the Club since its inception in 2005. There are no creases in the beautifully cut material, but that’s not true of his face, as he tries to understand the yammering on the line.
Pearl: Listen – listen – I can’t understand what you’re saying. Do you speak English?
The answer is probably no, because the Entertainment Manager sighs.
Pearl: Just put me through to Sasha, OK? Sasha Volkyeva. Sasha.
He says the name more slowly each time, and seems to finally get what he wants.
Pearl: Good to hear from you too. How’s business? That’s great. Listen, did you get my message?
Not leaving any time for Ms. Volkyeva, who once shared the AWC Entertainment Manager job with Pearl when the brand was split across the two sides of the Atlantic, to answer his questions, Harber is all business – which Sasha isn’t too happy about.
Pearl: No, it’s not at all. We want the same thing, and this is a way we can both get it.
His voice softens.
Pearl: And it’d be nice to see one another again.
Their liaison wasn’t even brief. It was nothing. But there had been something there, once. A spark of fire in the Ice Queen. A trace of youthfulness in Mother Russia. Triangles 2006 was the night she cupped Pearl’s face in her hand, and her look told him all he needed to know. That same night, Drake closed the promotion. That same night, she and Gabriel Afeaki took flight, and built foundations anew. That was the beginning of Live Twice Entertainment.
Pearl: That would be great. I’m told the auction will be Monday. You can get to Beijing?
A pause, and Harber smiles.
Pearl: I’ll book you a hotel room. For you, the best. Don’t say a word.
He puts the phone back in place and leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. And he closes his eyes and lets himself remember.
Waters: What was that about, Dick?
Face-Eater: Sounds to me like Pearl’s in luuuurrrve.
Waters: The suggestion is that was Sasha Volkyeva on the phone—
Face-Eater: Well, the fact that he asked for Sasha Volkyeva was a bit of a clue there.
Waters: Now, Sasha has been running Live Twice Entertainment out of Russia ever since AWC shut down. We were hearing whispers about AWC buying her back out, ever since Harber retook control of the company, because otherwise I believe AWC is legally unable to operate in Europe.
Face-Eater: Yeah, L2E has been going all over. They’ve done a lot in France and Germany.
Waters: But Harber referred to an auction in Beijing, Dick. What could that have to do with anything?
Face-Eater: I guess next time we inexplicably cut backstage for a mysterious phone call that we just happen to overhear, we’ll find out.
Ellis Nash vs T.A. Giles
CHAMPIONSHIP: None
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Selena Sumner
AUTHOR: Peyote
Waters: Oh boy, Dick. What a main event that Harbor has picked out for us tonight!
Face-Eater: Yep.
Waters: The beautiful and talented Ellis Nash is finally reappearing in the AWC ring!
Face-Eater: Yep.
Waters: What? Why aren't you excited?
Face-Eater: Uh, I am. Should be a good match.
Waters: Oooh, I get it. Ladies and gentlemen, sorry that our color commentator is not very colorful right now, he's still bitter from getting dumped by Ellis Nash.
Face-Eater: WHAT?!? NO ONE has EVER dumped me!
Waters: Ahhh sure, Dick.
Face-Eater: Shut up Waters! As if you've ever been laid by a chick that didn't look like a female Goomba.
Waters: I uh..er. T.A. Giles is who she'll be facing! It's amazing the quick turnaround he'll have since that epic main event at Zero to Hero last Saturday.
Face-Eater: Yeah, such is the life of a wrestler if you want to be big time.
Waters: Well, they had to take him out of the arena on a stretcher after his fight with Diego Foster, who landed Giles awkwardly on his neck with the Diamond Flash.
Face-Eater: It looked like the only way to keep the damned guy down, I don't blame Diego one bit.
Waters: Well, either way, he has somehow managed to be cleared for a fight tonight, and either he's an amazing healer, or he'll be wrestling less than a 100% against an AWC legend.
Face-Eater: El isn't one to show mercy either, that cold-hearted bitch. She'll focus on testing that injury tonight, I'm sure.
Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for our main event of the evening... A match scheduled for one fall – introducing first...
“The Wondersmith and His Sons” by Aeronautilis begins to flood the speakers, as the cruiserweight reveals himself at the top of the ramp. The crowd explodes in cheers, welcoming the ZtH runner-up back after a brutal finish. Giles cracks a slight smile of nostalgia, but then returns to a serious demeanor as he marches toward the ring.
Brunt: From Brandon, Canada, weighing in at 195 pounds.... TEE-EH-GIIIIILES!!
Giles slides under the ropes and lifts himself to his feet, raising one arm in the air to the fans to acknowledge their appreciation. Their noise dies out as “Stripper” by Sohodolls knifes through the quiet.
Brunt: And, ladies and gentlemen...Please join me in welcoming back his opponent...
Everyone begins to rise to their feet.
Brunt: Standing in at 5'8”, weighing 135 pounds...fighting out of Cortland, New York...
As the introduction continues, she appears at the ramp entrance.
Brunt: ELLIS....NAAAAAAASH!!!!!
And the crowd bursts into ovation. El smiles and gives a slight wave as she begins her walk back to the squared circle. She passes by a group of fans at the barricades chanting “Welcome Back!” and everyone else along the way seems to be whistling or clapping.
Waters: What a warm reaction from the crowd!
Face-Eater: Yeah, Ellis may not be loved by everyone. In fact, she's even hated by some of these fans. But I'll be damned if they didn't miss hating her.
She walks up the steps, and springboards into the ring. Brunt begins to exit, though being sure to walk past her and mouth the words “Good to see you back” as he leaves the ring.
Face-Eater: HAHA, real smooth Brunt. Not the best pick-up line exactly!
Waters: I dunno if that is what he was trying to do...
Face-Eater: HE HAS NO GAME.
Waters: ...Okay. Well, it's time for this match to get underway!
DING DING DING
Ellis and Giles stare at each other in the center of the ring, neither one sure if they should make the first move.
Waters: They are studying each other, this is how El always fights. With a calm patience, wanting to pick her opponent apart. Giles is looking to match chess-piece for chess-piece here.
Giles decides to be smoke, and thrust out a leg kick towards her mid-section. Ellis dodges to her left of it. Giles tries to stay on the offensive and uses the momentum to swing the rest of his body forward and throw a lariat, which El ducks under. Giles quickly spins around and attempts to lock her up, but she slides underneath his legs and puts him in a full nelson.
Waters: Both are trying to get a feel for each other here.
El simultaneously switches to a half nelson as she kicks her right leg forward, and forcefully pulls it back.
Waters: Inverted Russian leg sweep! Giles eats mat!
Pawn takes pawn.
Face-Eater: Gross, that thing is covered in oil, animal blood, wrestler blood, and I think maybe some feces. Who knows from that last match.
Keeping up the pace, she rolls onto his back and locks him up with a Boston crab. Giles, though a bit dizzy, is still too fresh, and bucks his legs to get out of it. Knight takes pawn. Ellis keeps moving though, running towards the ropes to grab some speed. Bouncing off and back at her opponent, she plants her left foot onto his right knee and lands her right knee against his left cheek. Bishop strikes knight.
Waters: SHINING WIZARD! What a beautifully placed knee!
El quickly drops down for a pin.
ONE-
TWO-
Kickout.
Waters: Amazing, the way Giles dropped after that knee I thought he was unconscious.
El slaps her hand against the mat, upset. No three-move-checkmate for her in this one.
Face-Eater: Giles needs to show me something, he looks like he's being toyed with by a legend.
El attempts to pick up where she left off, dragging Giles up by his hair. However Giles quickly reacts and tosses her over his shoulder with a fireman's carry, dropping her on her back. Not hesitating, he drops down with her, using his elbow to drive the force of the blow into her chest. She bounces off the mat in pain, while Giles hops to his feet and drops another patented elbow. This time she does not bounce, and the rook takes a pawn by force with a third one.
Waters: Three lightning quick elbow drops! It looks like Giles doesn't have any injury concerns, the way he is moving around so fluidly.
Face-Eater: Well, he looked a little stiff to start the match, but his body is breaking back in.
Giles brings El to her feet and slams her back into the ground with a snap suplex. Gathering more pawns.
Waters: Vicious! That sounded like the crack of a whip.
Giles holds at his neck for a split-second, showing that he may feel a kink. He quickly removed his hand as if remembering the need to hide it.
Waters: It looks like that suplex may have had too much snap.
As both fighters show they are slow to catch up from that move, they look across the ring from each other, gasping. The crowd starts popping.
Waters: This has been a cerebral match so far, but that doesn't mean it won't wear on the bodies as well.
Face-Eater: Knowing El, she'll probably look to get back to her game plan now.
El begins to circle the ring, as Giles stands in the center and twists his body, only allowing her to see his front. Her eyes gleam, looking for an opening, and finally she bounces off the ropes and charges him. Giles ducks a fierce lariat, but El stops in mid-missed-swing and does a mule kick to the back of his knee. With him dropped to one knee, she back hand springs once and on her way back up to her feet wraps him in a guillotine. She attempts to forcefully pull him to the ground for a DDT, but he slips his neck out of it and drops her on her back. Immediately Giles hops up and goes for an elevated leg drop, but El quickly rolls out from under it. No pieces sacrificed.
Waters: The action is really picking up now!
El does a kip up and swings a roundhouse kick at Giles, who backs up just enough to avoid it. He responds with a slashing kick to her leg, which makes her back up. Neither player wants to move their piece forward.
Face-Eater: ...and it slows again. This match is all about whose patience will wear thin.
Giles begins to pick up a new strategy, and slowly walks towards El. She begins backing up, not sure what he is planning. He is backing her up into the corner without attempting a move, as both fighters appear to just be planning how to counter their opponent. El continues backing up while staring at Giles, until she feels her back touch the turnbuckle and she turns her head for a split second.
Waters: Kick to the gut! Hiptoss!
Face-Eater: AHEM.
Waters: What?
Face-Eater: You said kick to the “gut”, but she's a lady.
Waters: So?
Face-Eater: You don't say she has a gut, she has a tummy. It's kick to the tummy.
Waters: Get over it, Dick. It's a wrestling term. And Giles quickly scales the turnbuckle, SPLIT-LEGGED ASAI MOONSAULT! He pins!
ONE-
TWO-
THR-kickout!
Waters: What a match! The pace crawls like a snail, then leaps into blazing speed like a cheetah chasing a gazelle.
Face-Eater: See, you wouldn't say a cheetah kicked a gazelle in the gut, would you?
Waters: Well, I'm not sure I'd ever see it happen.
Giles also appears frustrated, and Irish whips El into the ropes. Instead of running off of them, she leaps onto them and lands a cross-body lionsault.
Face-Eater: What grace! Such grace can't have a gut.
Waters: Drop it already! Ellis holds on top and pulls up a leg for the pin!
ONE-
TWO-
TH-
Waters: No good! Ellis rolls her eyes, burning a hole of judgement through Selena.
Face-Eater: Clearly that should have been a three-count! Selena was slower than shit to get down and count it.
El gets to her feet, upset, and kicks Giles in his ribcage.
Face-Eater: KICK TO THE GUT!!!
Waters: That was his side...
Face-Eater: More his gut than it could ever be hers!
Waters lets an audible sigh go, as El continues to assault the downed Giles with hard kicks of frustration. Giles tries to get to his knees, but her rage won't allow him, and she lands a sit-down dropkick to his face. All he can do is make haste with a retreat under the ropes and outside of the ring.
Waters: Ellis Nash is on a rampage! She ran him right out of the ring.
Face-Eater: Maybe if he keeps running he can lose that gut and have a tummy like Ellis Na-
Waters: OKAYFINEITWASAKICKTOTHETUMMY! Happy?
Adam smiles as Giles is stomping around the outside right in front of the broadcasters. He begins to take his frustration out on the already destroyed announcer table, kicking and breaking down what little pieces are left.
Face-Eater: Hey! What is he doing?
Waters: Come on, don't tell me that's going to upset you. He's kicking at scraps of a shattered table, why wouldn't you be more upset with the last match for the table being destroyed in the first place?
Face-Eater: It's not that, I'm just defending you. It's clear that Giles has not respect for you and you alone, which is why he wants to destroy the only identity you have, your cheap and easily breakable ring table.
While they argue and Giles stomps, the crowd realizes they have taken their eyes off of the magic trick – the very essence of the art of illusion. For now, Ellis Nash stands atop the turnbuckle, awaiting someone to watch.
Waters: Wait, up there! ELLIS GOES FLYING... SWANDIVE BODY BLOCK!!!
Waters and the Face-Eater have to jump back, as El connects on top of Giles, sending him back and toppling over their now-empty seats.
Waters: She flew! She flew!
The crowd goes insane.
EL! EL! EL! EL!
Face-Eater: This is ridiculous!
Waters: I know! Don't you just love this action?
Face-Eater: What? NO! I'm talking about the Illustrious Face-Eater's safety! First they break the table, now they knock over my chair? The ring is a sopping mess, this is no place for a wrestler to be! Especially a hall of fame legend like myself! Get me Jack Murphy! I'm gonna lawsuit the shit out of Harbor.
Waters: Calm down already, here, I'll pick up your chair.
Meanwhile, Selena Sumner is halfway through the ten count as both bodies have slowly stirred to their feet – dazed and confused. El slides into the ring first, and Giles barely rolls in before the ten count. She helps him to his feet, and tucks him into an inverted facelack.
Waters: UH-OH! Here comes the Decree!
Giles is quick to react however, and backflips over, countering it into his own inverted facelock. He then spins his body with a half-turn and drops her with a bulldog. Giles stays on the offensive, picking her up and hoisting her onto his shoulders. He sets El down on the top turnbuckle, then scales it and jumps onto her shoulders.
Waters: HURRICANRANA!!! He just sent her body dribbling across the entire mat!!
HEY HEY T-A-WHAT YOU SAY? REPLAY! HEY HEY T-A-WHAT YOU SAY?!
Face-Eater: The hell? When did the crowd turn into an inner-city cheerleading squad?
Giles is slow to get up. Once again pressing his palm firmly on the side of his neck and wincing.
Face-Eater: Oh yeah, you can definitely tell now that the injury is still with him.
Giles is still up before El, so he decides to go over and continue the onslaught by wrapping her up in a figure four. She is too close to the ropes however, and Selena responds quickly to break it up. Giles grabs hold of her foot and begins to drag her towards the middle of the ring. As soon as he arrives, he attempts the move again, but as he wraps around her leg she uses her free foot to kick his butt off of her, and send him running towards the ropes. She kips up, but it is right as Giles is running back towards her, and he sends her flat to the ground with a harsh lariat.
Waters: DOWN! What a vicious hit!
Face-Eater: One fucking kip-up too many. HA!
Knowing the force he put into that, Giles decides to go for a cover.
ONE-
TWO-
TH-kickout!
Waters: Still not enough!
Giles doesn't let his exasperation stop him, picking El back up and lifting her high onto his shoulders for a powerbomb.
Waters: Giles has to be enjoying facing someone much smaller than him, he finally gets to use moves that monstrous opponents usually use on him.
Face-Eater: That's just like you, you big bully. Always picking on the little guy.
While Giles has El lifted high, she presses her hands into his shoulders and leaps over top of him, wrapping her hand across his jaw and bringing his neck across her shoulder as she sits down on the mat.
Waters: SUPER Neck Breaker! Giles is writhing in pain! Ellis is laying in exhaustion! Both are down!
Selena begins the ten count. No more pieces remain on the chess board except Kings and Queens. The battlefield has been destroyed.
ONE-
TWO-
THREE-
Both wrestlers swirl around, Giles getting one foot under him while Ellis gets both hands planted.
FOUR-
FIVE-
SIX-
Giles stands but only for long enough to stagger and fall into the ropes, while El manages to plant one foot down.
SEVEN-
EIGHT-
NINE-
The crowd has grown wild with anticipation, they are screaming at both fighters to stand and find them a proper victor. El gets her second foot planted, but is still squatted down. Giles is trying to untangle himself.
TE-
And at the last possible moment, both fighters are on their feet. Selena gives them both a look to double check if they are OK, and then gives the signal to continue.
Waters: Unbelievable!
Face-Eater: What? You expected a double DQ, eh?
Giles rushes over and lands some stiff knees to El. With her in the corner now, he lifts her up once again onto the turnbuckles. He then gets up to the second one himself, and stands turned away from her.
Waters: What is he planning? A top rope stunner?
Face-Eater: Wouldn't matter- El just kicked him off.
Waters: AND SHE GOES FLYING! DECREE!!! SHE LANDS THE DECREE FROM THE TOP BAH-GAWD ROPE!!!
ONE-
TWO-
THREE!!
Waters: IT'S ALL OVER!!! Ellis Nash with a top rope decree from out of nowhere!!! Both wrestlers are SPENT.
Selena raises El's arm in victory, who opts to lie on the mat and relax in her celebration. Giles is still out.
Face-Eater: That's all we wrote! Back next week with tonight's big LOSER Giles in a Frontier Championship match with VIP and the returning Grandmaster Flash!
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