Post by Deleted on Sept 1, 2012 23:44:41 GMT -5
Stable Killer: The Legend Continues
(OOC: My original plan was to get Jonny Fly’s approval for this role play, but time constraints made that impossible. Hopefully he won’t mind the inferred bits of dialogue his wrestler has in the second scene. If he does, I will change them. Also, if posting this without his permission breaks a fed rule I apologize, and accept whatever consequence goes with doing so.)
We see Scoutmaster Stuart Slane in his uniform. He’s got a new sash, though this one is not as awash with merit badges as the one destroyed by Johnny Stylez. The Internet Championship Belt is around his waist. Slane is standing in front of the WCF banner and Hank Brown, microphone in hand, is by his side.
“Good evening, WCF Universe. This is Hammerin’ Hank Brown, and I’m here with the current Internet Champion, Stuart Slane. “
Slane gives the audience a three-fingered salute.
“Mister Slane, there is a great deal I’d like to ask you about. Starting with your successful title defense at the Revenge Pay Per View. Do you feel your win against Johnny Stylez is tainted?”
The Scoutmaster scowls, “In what way?”
“Well, you attacked Stylez as he was walking to the ring, before the match even started.”
“As you said, that was before the match. If the referee felt my ambush of Mister Stylez put him at some kind of competitive disadvantage, he should not have allowed the fight to have taken place.”
Brown pursued the point, “But don’t you feel, given the fact you constantly preach about the need to show honor and integrity as a WCF wrestler, your assault was in some ways hypocritical?”
“I’ll save the preaching for Steeltoe Joe. Or Oblivion, though his reveries may fall more under the category of demented ramblings than actual sermons. What I did last week was give Mister Stylez, and the rest of his Misfit brethren, a taste of their own medicine.”
“About the Misfits. Some people are saying that it was their interference that allowed you to keep your Internet Title, since by inadvertently distracting their ally allowed you to pick up the win.”
“Horsefeathers. I won despite their intrusion, not because of it. In fact, overcoming the obstacle the Misfits put in my way only further demonstrates my claim as champion. How many other wrestlers in the WCF can say they thwarted the efforts of any entire stable single-handedly?”
Hank Brown scratched the end of his nose, “Frankly, sir, I’m not sure you can say that.”
“You need to stick with reporting the facts, Mister Brown, and save the analysis for someone with the proper credentials. It is quite clear that my victory over the Misfits is recognized by this company, and that my new title of ‘Stable Killer’ is genuine. Why else would Mister Lerch put me in a match this week against members of the two predominant factions in WCF?”
“You are referring to your scheduled Slam match against Johnny Reb and Famine of the Vile, who are part of the Pantheon and the Church of the Dark Saints respectively.”
The Scoutmaster nodded, “Yes. This triple threat is an opportunity to add to my resume.”
Hank Brown could at least agree with that, “Let’s talk about the match. Handicap your opponents for us.”
There was a pause as Stuart gathered his thoughts, “This Sunday, I face two men. One of whom has seen fit to follow the precepts of a failed movement, a worthless gutter culture that can only find its followers among the mentally weak and socially retarded. I am speaking, of course, of Famine of the Vile.
“Mister Vile has crowned himself ‘The Demon King’ of the WCF, a title that no doubt is meant to draw comparisons to Satan. Why he chooses to do this is beyond my comprehension. The very notion to emulate the being who is, ultimately, the greatest LOSER in all of recorded history boggles the mind.
“Has Mister Vile even read the Bible? Is he aware that the Devil FAILS in almost all of his endeavors? His revolt is quashed. He is cast out of the Silver City to the very worst place you can go. Later, he spits the bit in the Judean Desert, and, if I may use a wrestling metaphor, will be staring up at the lights at the time of the Rapture. The only accomplishment the Devil can point to is tempting Eve, but, and please don’t accuse me of misogyny for saying this, she WAS only a woman, and as such more prone to moral lapses.”
Hank Brown’s eyes bug out of his head a bit, but otherwise gives no other reaction.
“You know, now that I think of it, it is an interesting coincidence that Mister Vile’s sympathizes so much with the Devil, since his only accomplishments of note since coming to the company involve him giving grief to the fairer sex. First it was his prolonged game of cat and mouse with Sarah Twilight, the real one, mind you, and now more recently his warehouse brawl against Mako Shinobi.”
“Mariko Shinoda,” Hank corrected him.
After leveling a sour look at the interviewer Slane went on, “None of this changes my earlier assertion: Satan is nothing for a righteous soul to fear. Do you know what worries me, Mister Brown? My children getting sick. Or a dirty bomb exploding at the United Nations. What doesn’t scare me is a man who chooses to model himself after the so called Prince of the Power of the Air. Mister Vile would do better to draw inspiration from someone who is not ‘The Cosmic Jobber’, lest that stain rub off on him.”
“And Johnny Reb?”
“Mister Reb will be the most decorated opponent I have faced in the Wrestling Championship Federation. He is a three time World Champion, and has held the Tag belts at least as much. There is no denying his ability. What I do question is his motivation. Mister Reb seems unfocused. Whether the cause is his flagrant disregard of US drug laws or, perhaps more seriously, his failure to observe the Novikov Self-consistency Principle-“
“The Novi-what now?” Hank interrupted.
The Scoutmaster waved the question off, “Look it up. The point is this: Johnny Reb is not all there. And if he comes to the ring on Sunday in such an altered state, I will have no problem defeating him.”
“That’s as good a place to stop as any. Thank you for your time, Scoutmaster.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for having me.”
The scene changes. Scoutmaster is now hunkered down in one of the WCF Arena storerooms, surreptitiously making a call on his cell phone.
“Yes, may I please speak to Mister Jonny Fly? Is this Mister Fly? Mister Fly, this is Scoutmaster Stuart Slane. Stuart Slane.”
Speaking louder, “STUART SLANE. Mister Fly, perhaps it would help if you turned the music down. Yes, I understand. Women can be an unwanted distraction at times, but if you could—ah, there, that’s better. Now, Mister Fly, if I may-“
Slane stops talking. There’s a loooooooooonnnnnnggggg wait. Keen ears can pick up the distinctive sounds of a couple quibbling on the other end. Bad language is used. When the obscenities stop, the Scoutmaster continues.
“All clear? Splendid. Now, Mister Fly…. Hm? The Scoutmaster, yes. I got it from the 8th Wonder. I have no idea where they got it, no. Mister Fly, please, I have a proposition for you. It concerns your, ahm, business venture. Your enterprise in Las Vegas. Yes. You see, I am currently in negotiations with a party interested in…. well, Mister Fly, I’m trying to. The reason this is taking so long-“
Scoutmaster moves the phone away from his mouth and sighs. Then he continues talking.
“All right, here it is. I need to hire one of your escorts, but not for the reasons one normally hires them. I have a business dinner and I require someone to…. Right, like ‘Pretty Woman.’ What? No, I think ‘horse-toothed’ is a bit too harsh to describe- pardon? Well, yes, I am. But we’re separated currently, that’s why I am in my current situation. Mister Fly, no, she wouldn’t consider it. Money wouldn’t matter. My wife has become quite hard-headed in the past year or so…. Hm?”
Slane’s brow furrowed, “Please do not refer to the mother of my children as a skank, Mister Fly. Thank you. Now, if I may, what I propose is this: in exchange for your cooperation on this matter, in addition to your discretion, I am willing to remove yourself and all members of the Pantheon from all further Demerit Badge consideration.”
Slane looks puzzled, “Demerit Badges. I give them out on the Weekly Report. No, DE-merit Badges. They are not awards… well, they are, but for nothing positive. Yes, you have. You got one on my inaugural episode. Well, no, they are not an actual badge…. I don’t have—what?”
It was now Stuart began to blush profusely, “Oh, no. I’m not saying that. I uh, fully intend to pay the going rate for the services rendered. Services which will be wholly platonic, I hasten to add. No. No. No. Mister Fly, that’s a personal question. I would like to keep this--- yes. I was thinking $1500. I figured that would include airfare and hotel. What? She should be reasonably attractive. Educated, yes. HOW MUCH?”
The Scoutmaster looked worried, “You are aware I am employing this woman to only pretend to be my date? I don’t expect any carnality. Carnality is extra. Of course. Yes, I tried other avenues. I placed an online ad. No. ‘Ring rat’? I don’t know what that is. Oh. No, certainly not. I’m a married man, Mister Fly. It’s the same thing. Yes. Yes, it is. What? Mister Orbit? No, I didn’t consider him. I don’t like him. Well, true; but I dislike you less. You’re not the same. What? No, it’s not because of that. I don’t see color, Mister Fly. He’s too… urban. No, that’s not code! Mister Fly. Mister Fly.”
Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, Stuart Slane hangs up the phone. He then spends several moments peevishly kicking around the various pieces of backstage bric-a-brac that filled the arena storeroom. Then the Scoutmaster leaves, never noting the figure crouched behind a stack of pallets despite being in the same closet as he. A figure that had been privy to this very private conversation…..