Post by Deleted on Dec 1, 2013 0:28:37 GMT -5
Waylon Cash sits at the edge of his bed. His hands shake, but he can not see them. No light enters the room, as there are no windows. He sets his hand on his leg, hoping to stop the tremors, but it doesn't work. The door in front of him opens, allowing light to pour into the room. He squints his bloodshot eyes, and watches the silhouette of his fiance move slowly toward him.
Roxxy:Why are you sitting here in the dark?
Waylon:Don't turn on the light! ...I got a headache.
Roxxy:Poor baby.
She takes a seat on the bed next to him, and wraps her arm around his waist.
Roxxy:You ok?
Waylon:... No. I ain't ok baby. I know you're tryin' to help me, but you gotta give me my stuff back. I'm startin' to lose it. I can't keep goin' like this.
He lets out sigh, and rests her head on his shoulder.
Roxxy:I can't, baby. I wish I could. I hate seeing you like this, but I just can't.
Waylon stands up with a force that almost pushes Roxxy off the bed.
Waylon:Well why the fuck not?! I'm doin' my job, and I been keepin' my cool pretty well considerin' what I been through. All I'm askin' is for a little bit more. I just gotta get over this hump.
Roxxy:The goal is to get you off of the stuff. It's not gonna be fun, but you're not gonna be able to do it by feeding the addiction every time it comes calling.
Waylon:GOD DAMMIT!
Waylon flings his fist forward, slamming it into the wall. Unfortunately, this is exactly the moment that he finds out that cement lies behind the wall paper.
Waylon:OWWWW! JESUS FUCK SHIT ASS!!!
Roxxy reaches to grab his arm and check his hand, but he yanks it away.
Waylon:Don't touch me! Look, just leave me the fuck alone for a little while!
Waylon stomps out of the room, and toward the elevator. Roxxanne goes to follow him, but Scott Savage is waiting just outside the door, and stops her.
Scott:Let him go. He needs some time.
Waylon rises above them, and through the roof, before Scott speaks again.
Scott:He is going through a rough patch. He will be ok.
Roxxanne opens her mouth, as if she might say something, but her lips begins to quiver. She throws herself against her brother's chest, and wraps her arms around him. He holds her tight, as tears pour from her eyes. She eventually manages to choke out a sentence.
Roxxy:How do you know? He's falling apart Scott, and it's all my fault!
Scott pulls her away from his body and crouches down so he can look her in the eye.
Scott:You listen to me. There are a number of people to blame for the state that man is in. None of those people are you. You have done everything you can to help him, but you can't do it alone. Truth be told, you've held out far longer than most people would have.
Roxxy:I'm not sure how much longer I can do it. I'm scared, Scott! I'm losing him!
Scott:You're not. Let me go talk to him. I promise, he will be just fine.
It takes a while, but with tears in her eyes Roxxanne nods. Scott lets her go, and walks over toward the elevator, as she walks into her bedroom, and shuts the door behind her. Scott slowly rises up above the concrete foundation, to see Waylon sitting on the front steps. Scott stand there, glaring at the back of the man's head.
Scott:Get up.
Waylon turns his head, but doesn't stand.
Waylon:What?
Scott pulls off his black suit jacket, and hangs it on one of the many crossbeams behind them. He then loosens his tie, and rolls up the sleeves of his ebony shirt. This action causes Waylon to get to his feet, and back down onto the front lawn.
Scott:You have known me for over sixteen years now. How many times have you seen me loosen my tie? If you can recall the answer, you know that you and I now have a problem.
Waylon holds his hands up defensively.
Waylon:What the hell did I do?
Scott is now speaking in a quiet snarl through clenched teeth.
Scott:My sister is the best god damn thing that has ever happened to you. She is down there right now sobbing, because she sees how much pain you are in. I get that you are having your problems, but I will not tolerate you showing her that level of disrespect. She is trying to save you, and I will be damned if I am going to watch you be that ungrateful.
Waylon stops backing away.
Waylon:So what are you gonna do? Hit me? Go ahead and hit me! Gimme a good one right across the jaw, buddy!
Scott steps down onto the grass, and grabs his client by the shirt. He pulls him in, so they are face to face with each other.
Scott:I don't want to. I really don't. If I ever hear you speak to my sister that way again, I will.
Waylon's angry demeanor disappears.
Waylon:I'm sorry. I know she's just helpin' the best she knows how. I just got a career to think about, and I can't train if I'm goin' through withdrawal.
Scott sets him back down, before brushing off his own crimson vest.
Scott:I trust I won't have to follow through with my threat.
Scott walks back to his jacket in silence, and reaches into the breast pocket. He pulls out a small bag of white powder, and tosses it to the wrestler.
Scott:I had better get a good promo for your match this week.
Not another word is spoken between the men, as Scott allows the elevator to lower him back down beneath the foundation. Waylon stands in the yard, bag of cocaine in his hand, staring forward at nothing. After a second, he begins feeling his pockets, and pulls a pen out of his jeans. He rips off the cap, and uses the tiny end to scoop a small pile of powder from the bag. He sucks it into his right nostril, and sighs as his nasal cavity instantly goes numb. He tilts his head back, allowing the familiar feeling to wash over him in waves. After a few minutes, his eyes open wide with the spark of inspiration. He wrenches his phone from his pocket, and finds the camera function. He hits record, and begins speaking.
Waylon:Hey there WCF faithful! Waylon Cash here. I guess I'm supposed to say a little somethin' about our opponents this week. I been wrackin' my brain, tryin' to think of somethin' to say, and I think I finally came up with it. You ready WCF... iverse... whatever, this is gonna blow your noodles!... Fuck Jonny Fly, Fuck Steve Orbit, and Fuck Jeff Purse. How'd ya like that one?
Waylon has a seat on the edge of the foundation, and pulls a cigarette from behind his ear. He lights it without much though, letting curls of smoke disappear upward. He tilts the hat on his head back, and stares at the grass.
Waylon:I used to like showin' up to work. I used to see a good competition waitin' for me. I used to see the sport that more than any other, shows a man's individual greatness. I used to get so excited to get involved in that sport. Now... all I see is hate. I got nothin' but pure hate for the men I'm gonna be fightin'. You know why that is? It's for the simple fact that they have the balls to think they got a shot against Waylon Cash. I don't like cocky people, and even botherin' to step into the ring with me is about as cocky as it gets. It's also a huge mistake. A mistake I'm gonna make my opponents pay for.
Waylon almost forgets the cigarette in his hand, letting it burn down slowly.
Waylon:I ain't sayin' it's gonna be easy. This is gonna be a damn hard match for us... as if we ain't got enough goin' on. Our opponents are three of the best singles wrestlers in this company. Jeff Purse is about as decorated as they come. Me and him have had our share of fights, and I ain't ashamed to say that he's one of the damndest scrappers I ever come up against. He's a World title contender all day. I'm gonna have a good time goin' toe to toe with him this Sunday. There's somethin' just... poetic about endin' the career of such a talented wrestler.
Waylon finally remembers his cigarette, and takes a deep drag. He blows the cloud of gray smoke upward, before turning back to the camera.
Waylon:Then we got Steve Orbit. Now, everybody and their mother knows how much I hate Steve Orbit, I don't gotta rehash that again. What I do wanna say is that despite our differences, Steve was always one hell of a fighter. He stood next to me in some of the bloodiest wars I ever been a part of. I like beatin' his ass, but I hate getting' into the ring with him. I know when I walk into a match with the Mack, I ain't gonna feel right for the next week. That's a pain most of the boys in the back know all too well. It's one you remember the next time you get into the ring with him. I ain't gonna pretend getting beat on by Orbit is gonna be fun for me, but givin' him his receipt will be. Imma cut ya deep, Stevie boy. I'm gonna Bleed you dry. And it ain't because you turned your back on me. It ain't about any of the shit in the past. I'm gonna hurt you because you're getting' the title shot that I deserve.
Waylon takes another drag, before standing from his seated position. He wanders a bit around his lawn, staring at the sprawling acres of land. Eventually, he stops, and focuses the camera on his face.
Waylon:Everyone knows I deserved that title shot, Steve. Every damn fan that's ever seen a wrestlin' match knows that Waylon Cash is the name on everyone's lips. Waylon Cash is the top seller, Waylon Cash is the god damn main event!...Waylon Cash should be the world champion. Ia in't though, am I? No. Why do you think that is, Steve? Why do you think it is that I'm not getting' the world title shot at one. You gt your chance. You couldn't hack it, and now you're just bein' handed another one. It's bullshit, and I'm gonna do whatever I can to make sure your ass don't even make it to the Pay Per View.
Waylon tosses his burned out cigarette across the lawn, and slides his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He stares out at the tree line in the horizon, seeing if he can spot any animals. He sees no movement, and turns back to the camera.
Waylon:Of course, I can't forget about Jonny Fly. You think you're the funniest god damn thign in the world, don't you? Jonny Fly's got jokes for days. Guess what. This Sunday, the jokes stop. I got my reasons for hatin' Orbit and Purse, but I got my sights set dead on you, buddy. I think you know damn well why too. If you can't guess, it's that giant gold target around your waist. The trophy I want so badly. The trophy your ass don't deserve. You come back after bein' gone forever, when I was here the entire time, spillin' blood for this company. You get thrown into a main event, and walk out with the champion. Seems like that's the way it is every time to lower yourself to show your face. You get to stand there holdin' the world title, while those of us who've been workin' our asses off gotta wait until you leave again. Well that ain't how it's happenin' this time.
When I see you this Sunday, the only thing I'm gonna be thinkin' about is putitn' you on a stretcher. I can't stand watchin' you walk down the ramp with that belt for one more minute, and at Slam, I'm gonna make damn sure it doesn't happen. I'm gonna beat you so bad, you won't walk for months. I'm gonna make damn sure you think twice before comin' back again, and tryin' to put your grubby hands on my belt. I guess you could say that my goal this week is to single-handedly cancel the main event of One.
Waylon leans against a tree, and puts his hat back on the top of his head. He looks up into the sky, watching an oddly shaped cloud pass overhead. Once it is gone, he looks back to the camera.
Waylon:Like I was sayin', you guys are three of the best singles wrestlers we got here, and that's great. What you don't got is the experience as a team that S-PAC has. In fact, I'll be kinda surprised if you guys manage to even show up for the match. First of all, if I was Jeff Purse, I know it would eat away at me that the guy who's supposed to have my back this week, was more than happy to take a cheap win last week. I would definitely wonder what else he was willin' to do. And Steve... If I were you, I'd be too busy lookin' over my shoulder. I mean, you got Jonny Fly right there behind you. If I was him, I'd be more than ready to take you out when you weren't lookin'. As a matter of fact, that seems just like the kind of thing Jonny Fly would do. And Fly, both your opponents got great reasons to hate you. I wouldn't be surprised to see them turn on you together. I'm not sure I'd even be willin' to risk it.
Waylon turns, and begins to walk back toward the concrete block that will one day be his house.
Waylon:Here's the thing, Me, Benjy and Gable... we're a team. We're a single unit. We fight together, and we die together. Ain't nothin' you can do to break us apart. You three... you're nothin' but a powder keg, ready to blow itself all to shit. I'm gonna watch you assholes turn on each other quicker than you can say predictable, and then we're gonna swoop in and stomp the scraps 'til there ain't nothin' left of you. It's as simple as that. You can pretend you're not gonna turn on each other. You can make your jokes, and put up a brave front, but all them jokes ain't gonna mean shit come Sunday. We already tore down the ring, set Eric Price's desk on fire, and disrupted WCF entirely. This Sunday, S-PAC cancels the Main Event of a major Pay per view.
Waylon takes a seat again, and leans back against one of the wooden posts that jut up out of the cement.
Waylon:At the end of the day, it's the same old story. S-PAC dominates. Ain't no two ways about it, and I'm tired of people tryin' to stop us. Ain't nobody done it yet, and ain't nobody ever gonna. Like it or not, we're here to stay, and ain't a damn thing any of the boys in the back can do about it. You want us out of the main event? You want us to stop dominatin' every damn week? You're gonna have to kill us, and I don't think any of you got what it takes. You can step up and try if you want, but if anyone in the back is thinkin' about it, I'd suggest you watch Slam this week, and see what happens to morons who think they can stand up to the adamantium wreckin' ball that is S-PAC.
Waylon turns the camera off, and saves the video, before sliding the phone back into his pocket. He stands up, and stares at the concrete foundation, considering his next move carefully. After a few moments, he walks up the steps, and stomps on a particular square of concrete. An elevator slowly rises through the foundation. Waylon steps inside, and lowers himself down into the open gym space. Scott Savage is sitting on the apron the the ring, waiting for him. Cash rolls his eyes as he approaches his manager.
Waylon:You don't gotta watch me every second. I'm a big boy.
Scott:Is it done?
Waylon:Yeah. I'll post it tonight. Anything else you want before I go out?
Scott:Yes. You are going to go into that room over there, and apologize to Roxxanne.
Waylon opens his mouth, but Scott silences him with a raised hand.
Scott:There is no argument here. That wonderful woman deserves an apology and you know it.
Waylon lets out a long sigh, before turning and walking towards his door. He slowly turns the knob, and inces the door open. Roxxanne is sitting faced away from the door. The only sound in the room is her occasionally sniffling back the remnants of tears. Waylon walks around the bed, and takes a seat next to her. She doesn't say a word, or even acknowledge his presence.
Waylon:Roxxy... I'm a damn fool sometimes. Don't pay no attention to me when I get upset like that. You're doin' what's best for me. You're lookin' out for me, and I love that about you. I guess I'm just tryin' tot ell you I'm sorry for actin' like such an idiot. I love you baby. I love you more than you could ever know, and I don't mean to go off like I do. I really am sorry.
She remains silent, but leans over, resting her head on his shoulder. He responds by wrapping his lanky arm around her shoulders, and holding her close.
Roxxy:Why are you sitting here in the dark?
Waylon:Don't turn on the light! ...I got a headache.
Roxxy:Poor baby.
She takes a seat on the bed next to him, and wraps her arm around his waist.
Roxxy:You ok?
Waylon:... No. I ain't ok baby. I know you're tryin' to help me, but you gotta give me my stuff back. I'm startin' to lose it. I can't keep goin' like this.
He lets out sigh, and rests her head on his shoulder.
Roxxy:I can't, baby. I wish I could. I hate seeing you like this, but I just can't.
Waylon stands up with a force that almost pushes Roxxy off the bed.
Waylon:Well why the fuck not?! I'm doin' my job, and I been keepin' my cool pretty well considerin' what I been through. All I'm askin' is for a little bit more. I just gotta get over this hump.
Roxxy:The goal is to get you off of the stuff. It's not gonna be fun, but you're not gonna be able to do it by feeding the addiction every time it comes calling.
Waylon:GOD DAMMIT!
Waylon flings his fist forward, slamming it into the wall. Unfortunately, this is exactly the moment that he finds out that cement lies behind the wall paper.
Waylon:OWWWW! JESUS FUCK SHIT ASS!!!
Roxxy reaches to grab his arm and check his hand, but he yanks it away.
Waylon:Don't touch me! Look, just leave me the fuck alone for a little while!
Waylon stomps out of the room, and toward the elevator. Roxxanne goes to follow him, but Scott Savage is waiting just outside the door, and stops her.
Scott:Let him go. He needs some time.
Waylon rises above them, and through the roof, before Scott speaks again.
Scott:He is going through a rough patch. He will be ok.
Roxxanne opens her mouth, as if she might say something, but her lips begins to quiver. She throws herself against her brother's chest, and wraps her arms around him. He holds her tight, as tears pour from her eyes. She eventually manages to choke out a sentence.
Roxxy:How do you know? He's falling apart Scott, and it's all my fault!
Scott pulls her away from his body and crouches down so he can look her in the eye.
Scott:You listen to me. There are a number of people to blame for the state that man is in. None of those people are you. You have done everything you can to help him, but you can't do it alone. Truth be told, you've held out far longer than most people would have.
Roxxy:I'm not sure how much longer I can do it. I'm scared, Scott! I'm losing him!
Scott:You're not. Let me go talk to him. I promise, he will be just fine.
It takes a while, but with tears in her eyes Roxxanne nods. Scott lets her go, and walks over toward the elevator, as she walks into her bedroom, and shuts the door behind her. Scott slowly rises up above the concrete foundation, to see Waylon sitting on the front steps. Scott stand there, glaring at the back of the man's head.
Scott:Get up.
Waylon turns his head, but doesn't stand.
Waylon:What?
Scott pulls off his black suit jacket, and hangs it on one of the many crossbeams behind them. He then loosens his tie, and rolls up the sleeves of his ebony shirt. This action causes Waylon to get to his feet, and back down onto the front lawn.
Scott:You have known me for over sixteen years now. How many times have you seen me loosen my tie? If you can recall the answer, you know that you and I now have a problem.
Waylon holds his hands up defensively.
Waylon:What the hell did I do?
Scott is now speaking in a quiet snarl through clenched teeth.
Scott:My sister is the best god damn thing that has ever happened to you. She is down there right now sobbing, because she sees how much pain you are in. I get that you are having your problems, but I will not tolerate you showing her that level of disrespect. She is trying to save you, and I will be damned if I am going to watch you be that ungrateful.
Waylon stops backing away.
Waylon:So what are you gonna do? Hit me? Go ahead and hit me! Gimme a good one right across the jaw, buddy!
Scott steps down onto the grass, and grabs his client by the shirt. He pulls him in, so they are face to face with each other.
Scott:I don't want to. I really don't. If I ever hear you speak to my sister that way again, I will.
Waylon's angry demeanor disappears.
Waylon:I'm sorry. I know she's just helpin' the best she knows how. I just got a career to think about, and I can't train if I'm goin' through withdrawal.
Scott sets him back down, before brushing off his own crimson vest.
Scott:I trust I won't have to follow through with my threat.
Scott walks back to his jacket in silence, and reaches into the breast pocket. He pulls out a small bag of white powder, and tosses it to the wrestler.
Scott:I had better get a good promo for your match this week.
Not another word is spoken between the men, as Scott allows the elevator to lower him back down beneath the foundation. Waylon stands in the yard, bag of cocaine in his hand, staring forward at nothing. After a second, he begins feeling his pockets, and pulls a pen out of his jeans. He rips off the cap, and uses the tiny end to scoop a small pile of powder from the bag. He sucks it into his right nostril, and sighs as his nasal cavity instantly goes numb. He tilts his head back, allowing the familiar feeling to wash over him in waves. After a few minutes, his eyes open wide with the spark of inspiration. He wrenches his phone from his pocket, and finds the camera function. He hits record, and begins speaking.
Waylon:Hey there WCF faithful! Waylon Cash here. I guess I'm supposed to say a little somethin' about our opponents this week. I been wrackin' my brain, tryin' to think of somethin' to say, and I think I finally came up with it. You ready WCF... iverse... whatever, this is gonna blow your noodles!... Fuck Jonny Fly, Fuck Steve Orbit, and Fuck Jeff Purse. How'd ya like that one?
Waylon has a seat on the edge of the foundation, and pulls a cigarette from behind his ear. He lights it without much though, letting curls of smoke disappear upward. He tilts the hat on his head back, and stares at the grass.
Waylon:I used to like showin' up to work. I used to see a good competition waitin' for me. I used to see the sport that more than any other, shows a man's individual greatness. I used to get so excited to get involved in that sport. Now... all I see is hate. I got nothin' but pure hate for the men I'm gonna be fightin'. You know why that is? It's for the simple fact that they have the balls to think they got a shot against Waylon Cash. I don't like cocky people, and even botherin' to step into the ring with me is about as cocky as it gets. It's also a huge mistake. A mistake I'm gonna make my opponents pay for.
Waylon almost forgets the cigarette in his hand, letting it burn down slowly.
Waylon:I ain't sayin' it's gonna be easy. This is gonna be a damn hard match for us... as if we ain't got enough goin' on. Our opponents are three of the best singles wrestlers in this company. Jeff Purse is about as decorated as they come. Me and him have had our share of fights, and I ain't ashamed to say that he's one of the damndest scrappers I ever come up against. He's a World title contender all day. I'm gonna have a good time goin' toe to toe with him this Sunday. There's somethin' just... poetic about endin' the career of such a talented wrestler.
Waylon finally remembers his cigarette, and takes a deep drag. He blows the cloud of gray smoke upward, before turning back to the camera.
Waylon:Then we got Steve Orbit. Now, everybody and their mother knows how much I hate Steve Orbit, I don't gotta rehash that again. What I do wanna say is that despite our differences, Steve was always one hell of a fighter. He stood next to me in some of the bloodiest wars I ever been a part of. I like beatin' his ass, but I hate getting' into the ring with him. I know when I walk into a match with the Mack, I ain't gonna feel right for the next week. That's a pain most of the boys in the back know all too well. It's one you remember the next time you get into the ring with him. I ain't gonna pretend getting beat on by Orbit is gonna be fun for me, but givin' him his receipt will be. Imma cut ya deep, Stevie boy. I'm gonna Bleed you dry. And it ain't because you turned your back on me. It ain't about any of the shit in the past. I'm gonna hurt you because you're getting' the title shot that I deserve.
Waylon takes another drag, before standing from his seated position. He wanders a bit around his lawn, staring at the sprawling acres of land. Eventually, he stops, and focuses the camera on his face.
Waylon:Everyone knows I deserved that title shot, Steve. Every damn fan that's ever seen a wrestlin' match knows that Waylon Cash is the name on everyone's lips. Waylon Cash is the top seller, Waylon Cash is the god damn main event!...Waylon Cash should be the world champion. Ia in't though, am I? No. Why do you think that is, Steve? Why do you think it is that I'm not getting' the world title shot at one. You gt your chance. You couldn't hack it, and now you're just bein' handed another one. It's bullshit, and I'm gonna do whatever I can to make sure your ass don't even make it to the Pay Per View.
Waylon tosses his burned out cigarette across the lawn, and slides his hand into the pocket of his jeans. He stares out at the tree line in the horizon, seeing if he can spot any animals. He sees no movement, and turns back to the camera.
Waylon:Of course, I can't forget about Jonny Fly. You think you're the funniest god damn thign in the world, don't you? Jonny Fly's got jokes for days. Guess what. This Sunday, the jokes stop. I got my reasons for hatin' Orbit and Purse, but I got my sights set dead on you, buddy. I think you know damn well why too. If you can't guess, it's that giant gold target around your waist. The trophy I want so badly. The trophy your ass don't deserve. You come back after bein' gone forever, when I was here the entire time, spillin' blood for this company. You get thrown into a main event, and walk out with the champion. Seems like that's the way it is every time to lower yourself to show your face. You get to stand there holdin' the world title, while those of us who've been workin' our asses off gotta wait until you leave again. Well that ain't how it's happenin' this time.
When I see you this Sunday, the only thing I'm gonna be thinkin' about is putitn' you on a stretcher. I can't stand watchin' you walk down the ramp with that belt for one more minute, and at Slam, I'm gonna make damn sure it doesn't happen. I'm gonna beat you so bad, you won't walk for months. I'm gonna make damn sure you think twice before comin' back again, and tryin' to put your grubby hands on my belt. I guess you could say that my goal this week is to single-handedly cancel the main event of One.
Waylon leans against a tree, and puts his hat back on the top of his head. He looks up into the sky, watching an oddly shaped cloud pass overhead. Once it is gone, he looks back to the camera.
Waylon:Like I was sayin', you guys are three of the best singles wrestlers we got here, and that's great. What you don't got is the experience as a team that S-PAC has. In fact, I'll be kinda surprised if you guys manage to even show up for the match. First of all, if I was Jeff Purse, I know it would eat away at me that the guy who's supposed to have my back this week, was more than happy to take a cheap win last week. I would definitely wonder what else he was willin' to do. And Steve... If I were you, I'd be too busy lookin' over my shoulder. I mean, you got Jonny Fly right there behind you. If I was him, I'd be more than ready to take you out when you weren't lookin'. As a matter of fact, that seems just like the kind of thing Jonny Fly would do. And Fly, both your opponents got great reasons to hate you. I wouldn't be surprised to see them turn on you together. I'm not sure I'd even be willin' to risk it.
Waylon turns, and begins to walk back toward the concrete block that will one day be his house.
Waylon:Here's the thing, Me, Benjy and Gable... we're a team. We're a single unit. We fight together, and we die together. Ain't nothin' you can do to break us apart. You three... you're nothin' but a powder keg, ready to blow itself all to shit. I'm gonna watch you assholes turn on each other quicker than you can say predictable, and then we're gonna swoop in and stomp the scraps 'til there ain't nothin' left of you. It's as simple as that. You can pretend you're not gonna turn on each other. You can make your jokes, and put up a brave front, but all them jokes ain't gonna mean shit come Sunday. We already tore down the ring, set Eric Price's desk on fire, and disrupted WCF entirely. This Sunday, S-PAC cancels the Main Event of a major Pay per view.
Waylon takes a seat again, and leans back against one of the wooden posts that jut up out of the cement.
Waylon:At the end of the day, it's the same old story. S-PAC dominates. Ain't no two ways about it, and I'm tired of people tryin' to stop us. Ain't nobody done it yet, and ain't nobody ever gonna. Like it or not, we're here to stay, and ain't a damn thing any of the boys in the back can do about it. You want us out of the main event? You want us to stop dominatin' every damn week? You're gonna have to kill us, and I don't think any of you got what it takes. You can step up and try if you want, but if anyone in the back is thinkin' about it, I'd suggest you watch Slam this week, and see what happens to morons who think they can stand up to the adamantium wreckin' ball that is S-PAC.
Waylon turns the camera off, and saves the video, before sliding the phone back into his pocket. He stands up, and stares at the concrete foundation, considering his next move carefully. After a few moments, he walks up the steps, and stomps on a particular square of concrete. An elevator slowly rises through the foundation. Waylon steps inside, and lowers himself down into the open gym space. Scott Savage is sitting on the apron the the ring, waiting for him. Cash rolls his eyes as he approaches his manager.
Waylon:You don't gotta watch me every second. I'm a big boy.
Scott:Is it done?
Waylon:Yeah. I'll post it tonight. Anything else you want before I go out?
Scott:Yes. You are going to go into that room over there, and apologize to Roxxanne.
Waylon opens his mouth, but Scott silences him with a raised hand.
Scott:There is no argument here. That wonderful woman deserves an apology and you know it.
Waylon lets out a long sigh, before turning and walking towards his door. He slowly turns the knob, and inces the door open. Roxxanne is sitting faced away from the door. The only sound in the room is her occasionally sniffling back the remnants of tears. Waylon walks around the bed, and takes a seat next to her. She doesn't say a word, or even acknowledge his presence.
Waylon:Roxxy... I'm a damn fool sometimes. Don't pay no attention to me when I get upset like that. You're doin' what's best for me. You're lookin' out for me, and I love that about you. I guess I'm just tryin' tot ell you I'm sorry for actin' like such an idiot. I love you baby. I love you more than you could ever know, and I don't mean to go off like I do. I really am sorry.
She remains silent, but leans over, resting her head on his shoulder. He responds by wrapping his lanky arm around her shoulders, and holding her close.
