Post by veronicaaaahhhh on Jul 26, 2006 6:38:42 GMT -5
Wayne McGurk Odium RP- Tijuana
At least night feels cooler than day. The dirty bottle of Tequila stands across from Wayne, silent on a badly finished wooden table. Wayne stares deep into the bottle; penetrating though, looking at the pathetic little worm lying motionless on the bottom of the bottle. The worm: the golden little prize, taking the drinker into an even deeper state of intoxication. That was shit. The myth is nothing but shit. You want to get drunk, as in extraordinarily drunk- take a shot of ethanol; it’ll stop you from breathing and turn you into a comatose blow torch. What the
anyway, Wayne could use a drink.Wayne reaches over and takes the bottle of tequila. Wayne returns to an old rocking chair, right beside the window. It’s about eleven-thirty in the evening; Leno’s just about to start. Wayne has found himself in a quaint little hostel in Tijuana. The golden glow from several candelabras overpower the pale walls. The room is equipped with what you really need; four walls and bed. Although, the bed itself is just a cushion about a couples inches thick, spread over a wooden frame.
Wayne rises, bottle of tequila in hand, and motions towards the window; barefoot over hardwood. Coming in towards the breeze, and the sound of a Tijuana night, Wayne leans forward and rests his arms on the edge of the window; taking in the Tijuana night; windowpanes spread open. A glass ashtray with a lit cigarette stands a foot away from Wayne. Wayne takes the cigarette and draws it to his lips. It’s a Virginia Slim; dear God. He’s got a pack of Luckies on the breast pocket of his flannel shirt hanging on the door knob. He’ll get it… later; giving in to procrastination. Wayne peers his sights downwards towards the street; so many things happening. Crowds rushing; people going somewhere. Where? To a bingo game; a Lucha Libre show; a sleazy bar with mustached prostitutes? When it comes to Mexican women or Hispanic women in general, the beauties are always the mestisa’s; half breed, mostly from Spanish decent.
I know I may not see certain things the way the rest of the world may, but I have been around long enough to sense the truth when it is cloaked before me. And for the past several weeks, the truth has become an instrumental guiding tool. It’s not a blind fact that the truth is the most powerful thing in existence; giving the weakest of the weak the power of a million armies. To the human soul it is indeed stronger than God. Everyone knows it; a notion they either push aside or blind in favor of their faith. But with the few who do take it, they return with so much more than life has ever prospered for them. In it’s beauty, the truth brings an abundance of peace, harmony, and love; pure unconditional love. But, like everything else, it’s double sided, for it brings remorse, pain, corruption, fear and loathing. Like the mystery of the force that so dominates the Star Wars saga, the truth must be used, and must only be used, wisely. Only a coward uses the truth for the greater good of his own.
Much like the awesome power of the truth over God, Drakz and Kyzer do suffer the same predicament. I know I’m repeating myself, but do allow me to retort. The world blinds itself from the very notion of the truth alone; they just don’t want to believe it, let alone hear it. Thus, spawning a generation of dyslexia! Because the world is dyslexic. Not a lot of people know this, but the WFWF is a really
ed up place. It pretty much seems that everyone on the roster has got a major psychological problem. From a distance, it does seem like everyone’s taking their gimmicks just a little too personal; loosen up guys, it’s just a cliché. Damned was I wrong; looks like Shadow’s going to have more ups to pray for. The funny thing about the whole thing is that it isn’t our side that’s chewing away at sociopathic jewelry- it’s theirs. If I recall, in the world of pro wrestling, it’s supposed to be the other way around. Drakz and Michael Kyzer aren’t the bad guys, quite far from it. You see their here to help everyone in the WFWF. And all due time, the world is going to open their eyes and take it all in.Wayne takes in the Virginia Slim once again. It suddenly came to Wayne that this is the first time he’s ever shared a smoke with Vanessa. They’ve shared food, drinks, and a little more than bodily fluids, but a smoke; it’s the first time. He takes the cigarette from his lips and burns it out on the ashtray. He pulls the windowpane back.
You sure you wanna do that?
Wayne shuts the windows. An image of a woman wrapped in a towel floats on the sky; it’s just Vanessa’s refection mirrored on the glass. The bathroom door stands open and Vanessa stands before him. Wayne takes a moment to study her profile; her milky skin, the freckles on her shoulder, and her damp head of hair that only makes her red seem so much darker.
Do what?
Close the window. I mean, come on, it’s as hot as hell!
It’s cooler as opposed to this morning.
True.
Vanessa opens the towel to reveal absolutely nothing but her body. She motions to the bed, drops her head forward and runs the towel over her hair, drying it.
You wanna go out for a bite.
Wayne walks closer to her.
Its midnight, babe. And besides I don’t think that here; the whole Spanish midnight dinner thing!
Then maybe it’s Noche Buena…
Vanessa drops herself on the bed.
That’s a midnight dinner on Christmas, right?
Correctamundo daddy!
Wayne takes a seat on the bed before her.
So, what do you want to do tonight?
Stay in…
Wayne places his hand on Vanessa’s bare thigh.
I was thinking of doing the same.
Vanessa eye’s catches Wayne’s. If there’s anything Wayne’s ever shared with Vanessa, it was kinetic silence; something that could only be yielded together. It was their kayfabe. It was almost amazing what a couple winks and nods could do. Wayne looks over at Vanessa; a rare smile on both their faces. He makes his look (an inquiry and an innuendo in a single package). Vanessa grips his hands and visually contemplates on the thought. She takes a couple seconds; leaving Wayne hanging. Her eyebrows rise provocatively as she nods her head; it’s a go. Wayne lowers himself into her and kisses her on the lips. She responds back. Wayne slowly pulls away. Vanessa looks over Wayne stymied. Wayne gives the look again and points to his legs. Vanessa’s eyes rise as she slowly turns her head sideways; great big no, worth a shot. Vanessa smiles back, rises and pulls Wayne down into her. They kiss again.
*
It’s roughly past three in the afternoon. The Tijuana sun stands at its highest as Wayne stands outside the hostel. Wayne leans back; resting himself on the outside walls of the pale stucco building; a burning cigarillo firmly tucked between his fingers. Wayne thinks back to lunch, a bowl of lentils with chorizo sausages and a beer for only a dollar fifty; not a bad deal. Vanessa hasn’t come back yet. She’s been out for most of the day. She was gone by the time he woke up. He begins to walk down the sidewalk. The day seems nice anyway.
Vanessa’s had her share and I’ll have mine soon. It’s so close I can just feel it! But that’s Super Brawl, and it’s not Odium. The beauty of triple threat is that more than anything, it brings out the true competitive nature of our sport. Things don’t as end as suddenly as they arise, and you’ve got to take advantage of every opening possible. While I do have a lot of time on my hands, my time at the moment is rather short. So, if I’m going to say anything, I might as well do it as quick as I
ing can.Wayne withdraws a cigarillo, lights it, and draws it towards his lips; sweet burn. Wayne continues to walk forward. There are a lot of sleazy douche bags around the area, and Vanessa’s somewhere out there. Wayne stops to assure himself; don’t worry man, she loves you. But there’s something with these guys, they can get anyone and anything they want- and damn it they win every God damned time I hate them; what the
are you talking about? You’re Wayne McGurk, aren’t you? – Correct. You’re a former world champion right?- Damn right; held the ing belt for three years without a loss! Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. I do; women are easily drawn to bungholes. Tyme, Justin Tyme. Just like every little thing in our sport; a cliché. A guy like you runs around, overconfident, because he knows he can acquire anything he so desires at any cost. I bet there are times at night, when you’re all alone, surrounded by your meaningless assets of decadence, and you find yourself weeping like a child with a skimmed knee. It’s worthless. What’s it all worth if you’re going to be an bunghole. But I forgot, that’s your gimmick. A catch so people can actually like you. I’ve got absolutely nothing to fear from you. But I’ll help you out. On Odium I am going to reach down deep and I’m going to take you to a place where you probably fear to tread, you’ll walk away a loser, but a better man at that.
Wayne stops outside a church. The three o’clock bells chime; it’s been awhile. Wayne steps into the church. God, the only way to describe the place is extremely depressing. Inside, a crowd has gathered.
Padre Shadow, now, I couldn’t really care less if you’re going to be main eventing Super Brawl, because I’ve beaten you before. But that don’t mean that I’m going to say that I’m going to kick your ass in Odium; no one knows what’s going to happen. Like the match itself, everything isn’t sure. Now, were in the same pace here. Because we both know that Tyme isn’t a threat. There isn’t really any need to fret about this match, because there is nothing at stake. In the end, the only thing we earn is a paycheck. But, padre, there’s just one little thing I want to ask you: will God be on your side on Odium?
Wayne’s had enough of the parish and leaves. Outside the church, a flock of children are in the midst of a football game. Wayne spots Vanessa in the distance. Vanessa catches Wayne’s gaze and smiles back at him.
Where’ve you been?
Around.
Could’ve left a note…
Papa, don’t preach.
Wayne and Vanessa walk back to the hotel, arm-in-arm. As they walk through the streets of Tijuana, Wayne’s contemplates on what Vanessa told him; Papa don’t preach. God, why didn’t he say that earlier.
