Post by King Richius on Oct 24, 2017 17:51:02 GMT -5
WFWF International Assault RP
featuring “The Cleaner” Billy Broom
featuring “The Cleaner” Billy Broom
I’ve been around the WFWF for over a decade now yet not a single one of you knows my name or face. Let me clear that up right now.
My name is William Saturn Broome. I’m in charge of the road crew for the WFWF but most WFWFers are so used to seeing me with a mop and bucket ready to clean up puddles of blood that I’m known as the janitor.
Every venue the WFWF plays has its own custodial staff to clean up crumpled programs, spilled snacks and beverages, revolution flyers (thanks for that Frank), and so on but the WFWF has a tendency to create messes that require a specialist. That’s me. I’ll clean up the crap others won’t touch.
Ashes to Ashes turned out to be one of my busier nights. First that monster Lucas Crowe slammed Frank Lynn through the announcers table early on in the show. I bet nobody noticed as I led my guys down to ringside and we quickly removed the wreckage, replacing it with a shiny new table for Alicia and Daniel to sit behind as they called the rest of the show. We moved like thieves in the night making the switch without getting caught by the cameras. Nobody ever notices us. We have the experience and are that damn good.
On a usual night, that might have been the worst of it. Ashes to Ashes wasn’t a usual night. Ante Whitner and Phillip Schneider took out their violent tendencies on each other in a human barbecue match. I guess I’m lucky it was the last match of the night because there was no way I and my crew would be cleaning up that mess quickly or quietly.
We actually had to break out the masks or we would have added a few gallons of our own puke to the mess. The smell of burnt flesh, too many pools of congealing blood to count, the wreckage of a ring that looked like someone detonated a bomb under it, the barb wire that was still hot to the touch… a first class mess that only the WFWF could make.
While I was sifting through some broken pieces of the ring trying to figure out what part of the body a charred hunk of flesh came from, Lila Sleater walked up to me. She usually doesn’t have the time, or is it the desire, to chat with the hired help.
Lila: “Hello Mr. Broome. Busy night, eh?”
Billy: “Sure is, Ms. Sleater. The boys paid their pound of flesh tonight… and then some.”
Lila: “Can you get this taken care of quickly or should I add some overtime to the budget?”
I cocked an eyebrow and made a sweeping motion to indicate just how much there was to be cleaned up.
Billy: “Overtime. Definitely overtime.”
Lila: “Fair enough. Two hours enough for you and your crew?”
Billy: “Sure. Thanks.”
Lila: “You’re welcome.”
She stood there and watched me as I resumed the cleanup. I hate being watched when I work; that’s part of the reason I’m so good at going unnoticed during the show. I can feel her watchful eyes bearing down on me until I have to say something.
Billy: “Is there anything else, Ms. Sleater? Me and the boys work best when there’s nobody in the way.”
Lila: “You’re a former Army Ranger, right?”
Billy: “Yeah. Don’t amount to much though or I would be doing better than this.”
Lila: “You had to learn a good deal about fighting. I’m sure you’ve picked up a bit watching the wrestlers too. I’ve seen you do more than just run the ropes to check the ring setup before shows. You might make it as a wrestler.”
Billy: “Me a wrestler? With all due respect, have you been drinking?”
Lila: “Nope. Just thinking out loud. You have the look. You should give it a try. Think about it.”
Before I could reply, she turned and walked away. What the hell was that all about?
Uprising went so smooth that I barely had any work to do at all. I oversaw the breaking down and packing up of the ring, set the crew to a final sweep and mop, and made my way home early for once.
The wrestlers may get to fly but not the janitor. I had an all night drive ahead of me, made possible by copious amounts of coffee and my new favorite keep me awake music: Babymetal. (Don’t judge me. I’m sure you have something embarrassing in your playlist too. Besides, they’re the one band both me and my daughter enjoy.)
I got home to find Jenny fixing her breakfast. She was entering puberty and you could already see how much she would end up looking like her mother.
The mother who left us many years ago for a stockbroker with better prospects than a retired Army vet with symptoms of PTSD. The stockbroker didn’t want to raise some other guys kid so I got Jenny.
Best damn thing to ever happen to me. She’s the light of my life. She’s why I drive all over the continent cleaning up bloody messes and trying to stay out of the path of destruction so many of the WFWF wrestlers leave in their wake. I’m going to give her the best, something I didn’t have growing up.
Jenny: “I saw the show. Looks like you had an easy night. No broken furniture. No pools of blood. What did you do, pay off the wrestlers?”
Billy: “Nah. They don’t even notice Billy the Broom. I got lucky is all. Demon versus Crowe could have been a train wreck.”
Jenny: “Well I’m happy for you. Want some bacon and eggs?”
Billy: “I’d love some. It was a long drive.”
Jenny doubles up on the eggs and bacon in the frying pans, the sizzling sounds and scintillating smells waking me right up and making me drool a little. Jenny’s cooking beats the hell out of anything I can get at a greasy spoon on the road.
Jenny: “I was giving it some thought and I think I know why Lila said you should try wrestling.”
Billy: “That’s Ms. Sleater to you and me. You want respect, you have to give it first.”
Jenny: “Fine! Ms. Sleater.”
Billy: “You were saying…”
Jenny: “Well, way I see it, she has a big problem: not enough wrestlers. You look like a wrestler. Doesn’t matter if you’re any good. She just needs you to fill fifteen minutes of show time.”
Billy: “You’re probably right. Doesn’t make me feel all that great about myself. I’m more than a warm body.”
Jenny: “Damn right you are!”
Billy: “Language young lady! That’s a dollar in the swear jar.”
Jenny: “Doh. You’re so old school.”
Billy: “I’m not going to raise some trash mouth gutter slut. You’re a proper young lady with a bright future.”
Jenny: “Oh daddy, everybody swears now. It doesn’t mean I’m going to become a two dollar crack whore.”
Billy: “That’s another dollar in the jar.”
She grumbles but doesn’t hesitate to feed the swear jar. Most of the dollar bills are from me but lately more are coming from my once sweet and innocent little girl. I blame South Park. Never should have let her start watching that show. Cartman is a bad influence.
Jenny: “You should do it.”
Jenny: “Take Lila… I mean Ms. Sleater up on her offer. Become a wrestler. I bet it pays more than being a janitor.”
Billy: “I’m sure it does. Mr. Demon made enough to buy the company.”
Jenny: “Don’t let her lowball you. She needs you more than you need her. The first offer will always be low so hold out for something better.”
Who is this tiny cutthroat business woman and what did she do with my daughter? It must be her step father teaching her during Jenny’s one weekend a month with her mother.
She is giving me some good advice. I see a lot of these wrestlers who have more money than they know what to do with. Buying houses with cash, private jets, new cars every six months, fancy clothes. I bet they aren’t worried about paying for their kids college education.
Maybe I should give it a try. I could make enough money to send Jenny to any college she wanted, even if she chooses one of the really expensive Ivy League schools.
Lila: “I’ll see you in San Juan. Good luck!”
Billy: “Thank you, Ms. Sleater. I appreciate the opportunity.”
I hang up the phone. Turns out Jenny is as smart as she is pretty. Lila Sleater needs warm bodies. I saw the open invitation and called her to see if I could try my hand at wrestling. She said yes. I’m going to make more in one night for what will probably be fifteen minutes of work than I could in six months of mopping up blood and guts.
Its going to be pretty odd walking into the ring with all eyes on me.
Crap, I’m going to need some wrestling trunks, boots, pads, the works. And a catchy name. I wonder, can I use “Ziggy Stardust” without getting sued?
And that’s the story of why a janitor will be competing in the Open Invitational Gauntlet for the International Championship as “the Cleaner” Billy Broom.
I should do one of those promos all the wrestler do before a match. I haven’t really paid much attention to that side of the business so I’m not sure how well this will go. Forgive me if it sucks.
Over the past decade, the wrestlers haven’t noticed me and I tried to keep it that way. Getting noticed leads to trouble that I don’t need.
It’s gonna change. The janitor who has made a career out of cleaning up messes is turning the tables. I’m going to make the mess at International Assault. I mean, I’m not going in with the intention of making anybody bleed or setting someone on fire and I don’t think I will be removing any internal organs or such but I’ve cleaned up after enough shows to know that it sometimes comes to that. If it happens, I will be dishing it out. Call me a giver. It’s in my nature. It’s as simple as that.
I’ve done time in combat so I’m no stranger to violence. I’ve been in my share of “it’s you or me” situations and I’m still here. I’m a fighter and a survivor. That gives me as good a chance as anybody else.
Can I actually beat Lucas Crowe, Anna Ahriman, David Brennan, or whoever else is in the gauntlet? I dunno. We’re all going to find out together. My primary objective is to not embarrass myself. If I can walk out with my head held high knowing I did my best, I’ll be happy.
I’ve got nothing to lose and a lot to gain. Just stepping into the ring guarantees the biggest paycheck of my life, which is more than enough to make this worth it. Anything else is gravy on my biscuit.
Nobody is going to give me much of a chance. I don’t. That’s what makes this so interesting. I may surprise people. Anything can happen in the ring, including a complete unknown coming out of no where to shock the world.
I’m going to be all I can be. Hopefully that will be enough to win a match or two.
Yippee-ki-yay mother truckers!