Wayne McGurk Felo-de-se RP: Sombra

Wayne McGurk Felo-de-se RP: Sombra

Wayne kept himself at his place; there was no need for any attention tonight. There was no business for him here. Sitting there, leaning forward there was only one little thing that mattered to him at this moment, and it was all unfolding right before his very eyes. There was noting stable, and like the life that he lives through, it was always changing.

One day, one of these four’s gonna stand where I am, while the rest’ll linger on ‘ntil they find the time to move on. The question for them, that will be then, is what?

There were only a handful of people on hand; wasn’t that little, but reckoned it was enough to count by hand. They were here because they really had nowhere else to go, either that or a friend or someone they knew was performing tonight- for all he knew they were up there right now. That, with that blasted halogen lamp just shining away over them, their hearts pulsating because their just so ing nervous; no matter how hard their trying there just bound to up somewhere a long the way- what a God damn headache that has to be. Either that, or the people watching this small spectacle are actually interested. With the exception of road agents, journalist, and pompous smarks looking for something real, who the hell would waste a perfect Saturday night watching this crap?

Wayne McGurk would.

Wayne McGurk does not watch; no, this is research.

The ring that stood in the middle of this would-be warehouse appeared to be the same kind the WFWF used ‘couple years back; more stiff. The poor s; doing the same **** they do, getting paid less and takin’ bumps on a ring without any give.

I love my life.

Over in the ring, both opponents stared into one another’s eyes; this was the middle of the match already- they already threw in more than they could already give. One was bouncing around with a faux hawk, and this other was a rather buff fellow with a serious demeanor and an ugly grin. Now, Wayne following the computer-printed program, the buff guy goes by the name of the Murderer and the faux hawk one’s knows as Prodigy; cheap names. They work, in getting the gimmick across. Prodigy attempted a strike, but it failed to connect. Both men locked into a tie-up. The Murderer kicked Prodigy in the gut and whipped him to the ropes. He tried to catch Prodigy, but Prodigy reversed by rolling off the Murderer's back. Prodigy hit the ropes and took the Murderer down with a spring-board heel kick. The crowd stood in applause, as Prodigy reaped the glory. He stomped on the Murderer's chest, and followed with a standing shooting-star press. He coverd him, but Axe kicked out at two. Prodigy brought Axe back to his feet and motioned a clothesline, but the Murderer reversed with a violent dragon suplex, that sent Prodigy down on the mat. Prodigy clutched onto his head, as the Murderer attempted a cover, but Prodigy grabbed the Murderer by the tights and threw him out of the ring.

Outside the ring, a trainer rushed to the Murderer's side, while Prodigy used the time to rejuvenate. The Murderer tried to climb back to the ring, but Prodigy sent him back out, courtesy of a dropkick through the ropes. But out of nowhere, Prodigy hit the Murderer and the trainer with a Suicide Moonsault Plancha. Prodigy dragged The Murderer back into the ring.

As the Murderer laid in the middle of the ring, Prodigy verbally taunted the trainer. Prodigy climbed on the ring and hopped on top of the ropes. He took air with a spring-board forearm smash, but before he could connect The Murderer sidestepped and hit him with the Roundhouse kick, knocking Prodigy out of the sky; ing sick.

Nice.

He took the dazed Prodigy up and sent him to the mat with a sit-down tigerbomb. Prodigy convulsed as the Murderer mounted his opponent and sent several violent knee shots across Prodigy’s forehead. He covered Prodigy, but he kicked-out. The Murderer locked on an STF; the faux hawked er, Prodigy passed out. The Murderer won.

Everyone in attendance stood in applause, so did Wayne; to his surprise. The guy earned it, and he wasn’t going to be taking that away from him. Wayne sat several rows in the back; in what was close to a nosebleed section. Here he could have a Camel and a beer, enjoy a match, and not have to worry about dealing with some bunghole father and their bastard child.

Sitting there, watching the Murderer file out of the ring with his trainer, Wayne thought of his daughter. From he was, it was high time to start taking Scarlet to the shows. Not just have her wait backstage, but actually take her to a show and show her how to heckle a wrestler. Wayne though back to his early days, a time when most people knew him as the Slasher. It was a small show, somewhere outside Chicago. There must’ve been twenty, thirty people on hand, with a show chalked up with guy’s who’ve already had national and pay-per-view exposure. Back then, he would whore himself to the crowd. He’d rip a sign in front of the fan who wrote it, if it was a small town, he’d heckle everyone in attendance, call them half-assed, fat-headed morons who lived in a piece of **** town. This one night in particular, there was a guy who brought his kids along; one boy and a girl- give or take, a few years older than Scarlet. Wayne fought about three times that night, and those kids were noisy motherers; they were just begging for verbal abuse- they raise their thumbs for the good guys, and drop them and boo for the bad guys. Pissing off the kids was enough to generate heat. So, whenever Wayne would wrestle, he would just hear these noisy little rugrats calling him whatever they reckoned best were demeaning. At first he didn’t mind them, but by the last match, man… those s were getting on his nerves. He went out of the ring and verbally gave it to them. And these kids were though, they weren’t about to retreat. So Wayne raised his voice and really gave it to them; went so far to the point that their father drastically pulled the girl away, and shouted at Wayne, “Don’t you dare”. Wayne smiled at him and said “I will dare, you!” Wayne pushed the father, and before they knew it they were exchanging blows, with nothing but a steel barricade between them. Needless to say, it got Wayne over and it caused him his nights pay in fine.

The things, he had to do.

By this time, there was a tag team approaching the ring; two rockin’ dudes with fringe laced around their neon tights, high fiving everyone they passed- who the hell hasn’t seen that before? Wayne leaned back with both feet arched upon the chair in front of him; he was having a Camel.

I didn’t need a bike to get myself over; I gave them myself and everything I had to offer. I wasn’t going to stop. I stood where I was, and threw everything I had to give and I didn’t even get paid, but I learned. I may be what some could call the best, with me where I am, but most often than none, I strike out. I may beat someone and keep my title, if I need to defend it, and captivate an entire arena- it happens. Now, I may do that with little or no efforts, and that alone just shows were I stand in the world of wrestling today. But to know that I wrestled a match with little or no efforts, makes me feel like ****. People come to me and tell me that I’ve done good, congratulating me in my efforts, they may say that, but I don’t believe it. They may have watched it, but I lived through it- not them. And I will be damned if I am commended on an effort I did not wholeheartedly dedicate a hundred percent of myself into!

If anything, my wife said it best, in the world of wrestling I am a perfectionist. If I can not get something right, I shift myself over and I do something else. When something doesn’t just seem to work for me and an opponent just won’t stay down, and when what I am doing just becomes absolutely pointless and I deem unworthy of my time, I take myself away and shift myself into a calm and I find a new approach. With the clock ticking, and my opponent regaining his lost strength, I find what I need. I bring myself back, and I allow my opponent to make his move; the time is right, the door’s wide open; available to him. So I watch him, almost hesitantly I allow him to move. Now, there’s that small voice inside telling me it’s a bad idea and I should just strike him when he’s down- and its right. But it is my final choice whether or not I chose to listen to that voice or follow my instincts and trust my judgment. If there is anything that I have learned, it is that it is never too late to make another move. You can already be out there, with you’re opponent knowing how to handle you, and for all you know he has the upper hand, because you don’t know if you can react. You can. It just all depends on how you see it. If you do have total control, time will cease to exist and you can free your mind and in the very depths of your soul you will find the answer you’ve been searching for. The real trick there is by never allowing stress to consume you, when it does all you can think of is getting something done, but you never find out how- you just block it out of your system. And all you’re left with are scraps, and the most you can do is conjure how to put it all together. It works, you’ve done you’re job. You just didn’t get around into the real fighting.

What I love most about competition, is that it’s the only time when mind and body truly intersect; both are doing the same thing in a completely different way. That, in enough itself, is the true spirit of competition. Now, I know who I am and what I do, enough to know that I can recover from what I ever so happened to fall upon. I also happen to know that I can do anything, and whether I am proud of my personal efforts or not, it’ll still be considered ing good. It’s because I am an established man; it is because that I have and continue to master my personal style; the blood, sweat, and tears of all those who have fallen upon my hand have helped me decorate the tapestry that is my life’s work. I need not speak their names, but I do believe that I have beaten the best this place has to offer. I beat them with nothing but these hands, and whether or not I’m proud of what I gave of myself to beat them, some were hard, others weren’t much of a challenge, I am proud of what I’ve done and the road I pave.

No matter, how big or small my opponent may appear on the chain, their always the same person to me: a challenge. A new opportunity to further better myself and what it is I do. Now, the universe is not a very fair place; no one ever gets what they want and the most we can do is just find the better in what the cards of fate may deal us with. I have been waiting for the bigger picture, and I do believe that my chance will come in all due time. I think I’m a fairly decent person; I’ve got a whole don’t with me and I won’t with you attitude going on- it’s perfect. Like I said, the universe is not a fair place at all, and whether you and the rest of your scamps like it or not, I highly doubt your chances. It’s nothing personal; it’s just the way I feel. It’s what the odds say, and I’ve pretty much made it a life’s mission to defy the odds. And I’ve done it, instead of focusing on beating me, it’s something you should look into- it’s more important than a chain-smoking biker.

Christian “The Cool Man” Rodriguez, you don’t know how many times I have had to deal with the likes of you. You do your thing, I think it’s good, but I ask you, what makes you so different? And think about this, there are six billion people in this world today. Now, a good one-two billion probably knows what wrestling is, and about a fifty-sixty percent of that probably watch it. Do you know how many chain-smoking, -saying, tattooed, ****-loving, ass-kicking, muscled-up, long-haired, goatee-wearing, Harley-riding wrestlers there must be out there? There’s a lot. If you look a list of the most popular gimmicks its right there on the top ten. Anyone could do it, but why do I just so happen to stand out from the crowd?

Now, I’ve seen what you’ve done and to tell you the truth, it reminds me a lot of myself. Watching you out there, let’s me see why Shadow picked you, among anyone else, to face me. You could put up a fight. I’d say a couple years experience on your part, and the two of us would just about stand evenly matched; and I like the sound of that. Because then, I’ve got someone who can send me to hell and deep down into the depths of my very limits; I would have someone who can let me set myself into new limits. I see that, and that’s where I’m closing the book; there is so much that you need to learn. You have it, but don’t you dare let that get into your head.

Now, on Felo-de-se, I want you to give me everything you have. Not just for the sake that you’re going up against the International Champion, but for the sake that you’ve got your first big match in your career. It’s just up to you, if you can score an upset and lay me down for the count. I’m putting what I can for your benefit; all that I ask is that you do the same. If you’ve already conjured you’re agenda, I’d recommend that it be wise that you raise the stakes. Because, no matter what you do, you will burnout doing it!

Good luck.

The show cost him fifteen bucks, for about a couple hours worth of wrestling; Christian was coming up next. Wayne drew from the Camel and exhaled a cloud of smoke, and dropped the cigarillo into his five dollar beer. Whatever he was gonna see here was already waiting for him at Felo-de-se; he saw enough- that good glimpse of what to expect from this place a long time from now. Wayne stood from the steel chair, his ass numb for about a half hour, and walked out.

*

Gently, Wayne shut the door as he let himself in. The lights were down and the shades were drawn, and the only thing he could hear was the quiet hum of the air conditioner. Vanessa laid on the right side of the bed, away from him, facing the window. Wayne removed his shirt and let his pants fall onto carpet. Wayne opened the sheet and slid himself in. Wayne, laying on his side, reached his arm over Vanessa. She took Wayne’s arm, hooked it over her head, and turned over to the left. Wayne positioned himself horizontally, on his back, and accepted Vanessa in the empty space on his chest; her resting now upon his chest.

What time is it?

About a quarter to two.

It’s too early, baby.
How was the show?

Get some sleep and it’ll tell you about it in the morning.