Post by Stuart Slane on Jun 26, 2016 15:58:22 GMT -5
June 21, 2016
Reading, Pennsylvania
WCF Tower
WCF Studio
The camera focused on Wrestling Championship Federation’s Most Handsome Journalist, Bryan Worthy. As always, he was in his neon green sports coat with the company logo stitched onto the breast pocket.
Buzz: Welcome to ‘What’s the Buzz?’. I’m Bryan Worthy. Today, in this special extended edition of the show, we’re sitting down with Stuart Slane. The former Internet, United States, and Television Champion will attempt to add the WCF World Title to his list accolades this Sunday at the Blast Pay Per View. Mister Slane, hello, and thank you for coming on our show.
A second camera showed Stuart, dressed in a tee shirt that advertised Blast and a pair of dungarees. He smiled.
Slane: Thank you for having me, Mister Worthy.
Bryan’s expression turned briefly from convivial to solemn briefly as he provided some surely forgotten context to their pair’s relationship.
Buzz: In the interest of full disclosure I should point out that Stuart and I have had issues in the past. Two years ago, he broke into my hotel room and, while I was asleep, placed a live rattlesnake on my chest. It was his intention to use this predicament to ‘motivate’ me into becoming People’s Champion.
The shot switched over to Slane, who was squirming in his chair as flexuously as the aforementioned instrument of coercion.
Buzz: This was done as part of a longer, more convoluted plan to get revenge on Stuart’s longtime nemesis, Jonny Fly. Now, to his credit, I was able to appeal to his better nature, and make him realize how stupid and absolutely reckless his actions were. Stuart did remove the rattler, at the cost of getting bitten himself.
Slane: Yes, I was careless. Fortunately, I was able to remove the venom from my system through oral suction.
Bryan cocked an eyebrow dubiously at the declaration.
Buzz: I thought that was impossible.
Stu’s grim countenance softened. He gave a slight smile.
Slane: Not if you’ve earned your ‘Snake Handling’ Merit Badge, it isn’t. Mister Worthy, I am very sorry for my actions that night. Back then, I was a very different man. I was petty and vindictive, and consumed with avenging myself for imaginary wrongs inflicted by J-J-J- the man you referenced. I appreciate you never pursuing legal recourse against me for endangering you as I did.
With a shrug and a shake of the head, Bryan put the issue to rest.
Buzz: Your apology is enough, Stuart. I know how this game is played. If I ever want a receipt for your stunt I’ll challenge you to a match.
Slane: Ha. Anytime, Mister Worthy.
Buzz: Now that our personal bit of backstory is out of the way, let’s focus on WCF’s as a whole. You’ve been with the company on and off since 2012. I wouldn’t declare you a fed mainstay but you are a veteran who’s seen it gone through several changes. What are your thoughts on the recent upheaval to the Wrestling Championship Federation roster?
Stuart, happy with the change in topic, became more relaxed. He leaned back, rested his elbows on the arms on the seat, and steepled his fingers.
Slane: What happened in early May could have ruined WCF. We lost a lot of talent. Wrestlers who, in all honesty, would have been the smart bets to be where I am right now. I don’t think I would be competing in the WCF Classic Finals if men like Wade Moor, Andre Holmes, and Crow McMorris were part of the promotion. I likely wouldn’t even been booked for the tournament! So, for my career, and my own standing in the sport, The Mexico Incident has provided me with an opportunity, just as it has allowed for the influx of new talent to the locker room to find their niche. It is a credit to the WCF brand that it still thrives despite the losses. I should have known that. The company recovered from Gravedigger’s attempt to destroy it back when he was pretending to be Hector Rodriguez. It survived all the myriad stable wars. Eric Price couldn’t even ruin this place. WCF abides.
Bryan Worthy nodded before asking his follow up.
Buzz: This is all true. But there is no doubt that the promotion is in a state of disarray. The recent World Title picture typifies that. The six weeks have seen the belt hot potatoed from champion to champion. Logan, Oblivion, and now Jeff Purse have all worn the belt. That’s never good for a belt’s prestige. Do you think the WCF Classic is in part responsible for that?
Slane: To a point I agree with you, Mister Worthy. The Classic has seen the title change hands three times in as many weeks. Short reigns can diminish the value of the belt. But on the flip side they can show that the contenders vying for it are all equally capable of earning it. When there is no clear front runner, it adds a level of excitement that doesn’t exist when there’s only one or two wrestlers at the top.
Stuart shifted his position in his chair, crossing his knees and lacing his fingers across the top.
Slane: However, you’re right. There is something to be said for consistency. The WCF Title needs to be held by a wrestler who, night after night, performance after performance, proves he or she is the best fighter on the card. Whichever one of us walks away with the championship at Blast has to be able to main event every card afterwards.
Buzz: So who among you think is best suited for that?
Slane: Myself. Though I’m not going to say I would run away with that superlative. I’ve suffered setbacks in the ring. I lost my Television Championship to an opponent who was not on my level. I was indisputably squashed by the current Television Champion when I attempted a return from injury in early May. But since the WCF Classic has begun, I’ve proven myself to be more reliable than the three men I’m facing.
Buzz: Are you including the time you lost a match by count out when you abandoned your tag team partner, Nathan Chambers, who is one of your opponents Sunday?
Stuart smiled ruefully.
Slane: That was poor sportsmanship on my part. However, I’d like to think on one level it proves my point; that if I hadn’t bailed on Mister Chambers, we would have won. Check the other tag matches we’ve competed in. The other times we WCF Classic Finalists have fought side by side, it has been myself earning the pin.
Bryan seemed to doubt Stuart’s claim in general.
Buzz: You state you’ve been the most consistent performer in the WCF Classic, but if we look at the quality of competition you faced during it, most would give the edge to Jeff Purse. He has beaten two future Hall of Famers to get in his current position, one of whom was World Champion.
Slane: Oblivion. Yes, but as much as I admire Jeff, and feel him becoming World Champion a second time has cemented his legacy as a part of WCF, he did so with help. Seth Lerch interfered in that match. He distracted Oblivion as payback for him taking the title off of his chosen champion Logan. That’s not Jeff’s fault, but it’s the truth. As for him beating Steve Orbit, I think it’s safe to say the Mack was not at his best that night. Again, you can’t blame Jeff; you have to beat who’s put in front of you, which he did. But since winning the WCF Title he hasn’t demonstrated the consistency the WCF Champion should. Part of that blame should go to Seth, for sending his goon squad to keep Jeff from competing two weeks ago. But the following match he should have made a statement, not just in our match but before it. Jeff’s been too passive. Now, maybe he’ll show that fire at Blast. I hope so. I want him, and everyone else, to be at their best on Sunday. It will be a good way to rehabilitate the championship. Jeff, at his best, would be a tremendous standard bearer for the company. If it can’t be me, I hope it’s him leaving with the title.
Buzz: I would like to point out that one of your wins in the WCF Classic was controversial as well. You pinned Brent Alpine when he was distracted by actions outside of the ring; an attempted abduction of his manager’s, uh, surrogate, Percy Micro. There are some who still believe you orchestrated the disruption yourself, since you have ties to the culprit: the swine rights activist Circe Cicero.
Stuart raised his right hand as if under oath.
Slane: Mister Worthy, I had no idea Miss Cicero planned to interrupt our match. Now, I did take advantage of the situation. I will own up to that. But as a former wrestler yourself you know you can’t allow outside factors to take your head out the game. A wrestler’s focus is just as valuable an asset as is strength, speed, or technique. I kept my ring awareness. Mister Alpine did not. That’s why I won.
Buzz: Nathan Chambers and James Chevalier faced stiff competition during the WCF Classic, and neither one of them are responsible for any losses yet.
Slane: The Game I’ll give you. He has beaten quality opponents in Thomas Bates and Mikey eXtreme. He has performed well in the three matches he’s been put in since. Even the ‘match’ he walked out on, that disgusting attempted execution of Mister Bates by the Family, he showed true character. Despite his relative inexperience Mister Chevalier has proved he belongs in the WCF Classic Finals. I know he was around before the big roster shake up, but if all of the company’s recent additions show his drive and dedication, WCF’s future is bright.
Buzz: And Nathan Chambers?
Slane: He’s lucky to be main-eventing Blast. He should never have gotten out of the first round of the WCF Classic. Teo Del Sol, Teddy Blaze, whatever he wishes to be called, is a better wrestler than Mister Chambers is. Sarah Twilight is a vastly better wrestler than he is. He caught them napping, and moved on in the Classic because of it. And the way he has behaved and performed since should impress no one. He was handed the Hardcore Title for no other reason than I suspect Seth wanted it available for the upcoming Ultimate Showdown. He’s acted like a fool in our tag matches, making it all about himself rather than the group.
Buzz: And yet he’s not responsible for his single loss in WCF. You are.
Stuart’s eyes narrowed.
Slane: I’m also responsible for his two victories in the tag division. Again, I’ll cop to the charge of acting unprofessionally in our match against Dat Hawt American Darkness. I wish we had won that contest. But Mister Chambers deserved to be abandoned for his arrogance. He deserved worse. What he doesn’t deserve is to be WCF Champion.
Buzz: Why do you think you do? Your past is just as checkered as Mister Chambers’s present. You’ve cheated, you’ve lied, you’ve played the fool; some say these flaws are still part of your character. Should WCF want as it’s presumptive leader a man whose past indicates he’s unfit to lead anyone?
The big man pondered the question. He bowed his head; staring into his own lap contemplatively. Finally, he raised it and answered.
Slane: I deserve it because of the four of us, I’m the best wrestler. I’ve proved it again and again. Take a look at my past, Mister Worthy. When I first joined WCF, as the Scoutmaster, people thought I was a novelty act. A one trick pony that would bomb in the big leagues and eventually would be immortalized in an entry at Wrestlecrap. And that almost happened. Zombie McMorris accidentally injured me, and during my convalescence I considered quitting. But I didn’t. I returned, and captured the title he and I were fighting for in the first place, the Internet Championship. And I took that title and made myself relevant with it in ways he would never consider. I did the same with the United States Title when I beat the man who held it longer than anyone, Steven Orbit, on WCF’s biggest stage, One. My fortunes would change, as it does for all wrestlers, eventually. I lost the US belt, and my rank as Scoutmaster; then attempted multiple returns with multiple personas. I hoped those masked gimmicks would help me regain my edge as a performer. They did not. I targeted my self-proclaimed nemesis, denying him his snack food of choice, in hopes of goading him into the match that would save my reputation. That failed when he turned me into just another F-f-f-Fryjobber. I tried coming back under the non-union Mexican equivalent of my old Scoutmaster title. No mas. Failure followed failure.
Slane picked his nose. Not really. I just needed to break up the growing wall of text.
Slane: But I recovered, finally. I returned to the WCF with a mandate from Seth Lerch, to be a wrestler the WCF Galaxy could get behind. And to do that I sought the guidance of one of the best men I know. Through the efforts of Jeff Purse, his wife Kari, and my own willingness to listen and change, I remade myself. I know people doubted me when I first returned to competition in 2016. They never thought I’d beat the talented Dustin Beaver for the Television Title. But I did; twice, the second time at one of WCF’s most prestigious events, the pay per view that honored the fifteenth anniversary of the very company. I turned those cynics into critics who claimed I was ‘too good’ for the Television Title. I’m not quite sure that’s true, given what eventually happened, but I know this: I’m good enough to be WCF World Champion. Standing alongside the three other men I’m facing at Blast, I’ve seen what they can do in the ring. They’re all good, each in their own way. But I’m better. I have the power, the skill, and the ambition to beat any one of my opponents, or anyone else on the roster who wants to challenge me. That’s what WCF needs right now. It needs a wrestler in the top spot who can defend that spot against all comers. That’s who I’ve become. I will prove that Sunday, when I win the WCF Classic and become this company’s champion.
Bryan seemed impressed by the older man’s answer. He nodded before turning to address the camera.
Buzz: That’s as good a note as any to go out on. Stuart Slane, thank you for your time, and good luck to you at Blast.
When the cameras were off and their microphones were being removed the host leaned over to speak to Stuart.
Buzz: I didn’t want to bring this up on air, but I have been doing some investigating in your case against the Hue World Order.
Stuart had been under scrutiny for nearly two months; as he had been accused by the new defunct faction of color obsessed jobbers of creating the faction himself, and ordering them attack him during matches in order to gain sympathy, and support from the WCF Galaxy. The former conspiracy theorist denied the allegation, and was using his free time to try and uncover who was behind the frame job. His prime suspect, Seth Lerch, was exonerated in a bit that was supposed to be part of a promo from two weeks ago. Maybe someday it’ll get posted. But back on point. Stuart was surprised at the revelation.
Slane: Have you learned anything?
Standing from his chair, Bryan removed his blazer and hung it over his broad shoulder.
Buzz: Let’s talk in my office.
The office of Bryan Worthy was a tiny, tidy plot in WCF’s Fourth Estate. There was a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and several pictures of Buzz on the wall where he was either wrestling or reporting. He folded his blazer across the back of the chair and loosened his tie.
Buzz: One of the points your defenders argue in favor of your innocence involves the HWO’s first attack on you. They jumped you before a Television Title match against CJ Phoenix, and nearly blinded you by spraying paint in your face.
Slane: Yes, I’m glad others pointed that out.
Worthy opened his filing cabinet and removed an evidence bag containing a yellow aerosol can. He set it on the table.
Buzz: When I brought this up with your lead accuser, Andre Ganguly, he said the original plan was to use this: a prop can that shot a harmless dyed mist. He said you tested it and were unhappy with the results, and told them to use the real thing.
Slane: That’s a lie.
Buzz: They also said your fingerprints are on the can.
Stuart’s cold blue eyes widened in disbelief.
Slane: That’s impossible.
Buzz: I had an outside agency dust for prints. We have the results. What we need, if you’re willing to cooperate, is for you to agree to be fingerprinted for comparison. I didn’t want to bring this up on air, since I’m not that kind of journalist, but I’m asking you now.
Stuart didn’t appear to be listening. All of his attention was focused on the can. He even moved and squatted down beside it for a better look. Then he started to smile.
Slane: I got you.
He nodded manically.
Slane: You tried one trick too many, and I got you.
Bryan Worthy watched Stuart’s reaction with some concern.
Buzz: Er, I hope you’re not accusing me of being the mastermind behind your predicament.
Slane: What? No.
The bigger man stood from his crouch and held up the bag.
Slane: You can check the prints you found on this against mine if you want. I’ll tell you right now that they match. However, when I touched this, it wasn’t a spray can. It was part of a larger modular unit, a leg for an ergonomic Zimmer frame.
Stuart snatched a pen from the desk and drew a representation of a four-wheeled ‘rollator’ used by the invalid.
Buzz: I don’t understand.
Stuart smirked. He tapped the picture triumphantly.
Slane: I put one of these together. A few weeks back, during a “Make a Wish” event, I was visiting a child in the early stages of cerebral palsy. One of the activities was to assemble his newly arrived walker, which I did.
Worthy was skeptical.
Buzz: You did a “Make a Wish” visit? I wasn’t aware. Usually the Media Department has a representative there.
Slane: I was told that no one was available to document the event. Not that I minded at the time. I didn't want a charitable act turned into some kind of photo op meant to shore up my sagging reputation.
Bryan still didn’t seem to buy it. He shrugged.
Buzz: Still, it would have been nice, you know, to actually have seen this happen, you know, to help set the stage. Even if it was only a flashback….
Stuart pushed the baggie into Buzz’s chest and then tore the picture he had drawn off of the desk calendar blotter.
Slane: No time for that! I have a lead to track down!
And with surprising speed, the former Scoutmaster bolted from the room.
June 21, 2016
Reading, Pennsylvania
WCF Tower
The office of Dr. Fabian Kaye
Stuart Slane power walked past the receptionist of Wrestling Championship Federation’s ‘gimmick guru’ and flung open the door to his office. The portly mustachioed psychiatrist rose angrily from behind his desk.
“Stuart! What is the meaning of this?!”
“You and I need to have a chat, Doctor,” Slane closed the door behind him and stalked towards the much smaller man, “About Grant Collinsworth.”
Kaye’s face grew ashen, “Uh, I can’t right now. I’ve got a consultation in ten minutes.”
“Going to convince another wrestler to adopt for the ‘mysterious social outcast with quasi-religious overtones’ tweener gimmick?” Slane spat back facetiously, “Don’t you think we have enough of those?”
“Now see here, Stuart; I’m not going to stand for you barging in here and casting aspersions on the work I do!”
“Then sit,” Slane perched his haunch on the side of Faye’s desk and with a casual shove forced him back in his chair, “And tell me about Grant Collinsworth.”
Kaye, tight lipped, refused to answer. Stuart took the opportunity to exposit.
“You personally contacted me about visiting the Collinsworth family. You said they requested me. You also had me bring this,” he held the scrap of paper that bore the doodle of the walker, “over to them to assemble. It was a gift, you told me, from WCF’s Helping Holds Project. Remember?”
“I… don’t recall. Perhaps a vignette might help.”
Stuart wadded up the picture and biffed it off Kaye’s forehead, “No. Just the truth. Admit it, Dr. Kaye, you’re the one who is the mastermind behind the Hue World Order! You wanted to prove your insane theory that some wrestlers cannot change, and that they are just natural faces or heels. So you framed me, in hopes I would crack. That I’d revert to my deluded, paranoid ways!”
“Haven’t you?” the head shrinker noted smarmily.
In response Stuart slammed both hands down on the armrests to the chair Kaye sat in and leaned very close.
“It isn’t paranoia, if they’re really out to get you, Doctor,” he hissed.
“Really, Stuart, all this sturm and drang, all over some pointless conjecture,” Kaye laughed nervously, his eyes searching over Slane’s shoulder towards the door, no doubt hoping for security to stage a timely rescue, “You can’t prove any of this.”
It was time for Stuart to play the heavy, something at six feet six and two hundred and seventy pounds he excelled at, “Dr. Kaye, I have earned over 147 Merit Badges in my career in the Boy Scouts of America. I have learned skills that make me a nightmare for petty little schemers like you. Confess, or I’ll tear your life apart, professionally and personally.”
Fabian shook his head, “This is bigger than you think, Stuart,” he said simply.
“What’s that mean? Are you saying this goes higher than you? It’s not Seth, I know that.”
Stuart stood up and folded his arms, “Who’s pulling your strings, Doctor Kaye?”
“Someone far more dangerous than you,” Fabian noted, “Please, Stuart, for your sake, for all that you’ve achieved these weeks, don’t dig into this any further.”
“I’m not going to let someone manipulate me from the shadows,” Stuart said resolutely, “I, and the WCF Galaxy, deserve the truth.”
Slane gave Dr. Kaye’s chair a punitive rattle, and then walked out of the office, into the reception area where the secretary and a pair of security guards waited.
“Mister Slane, we’re here to escort you from the building,” one of them said.
Slane, who had no interest in making matters worse, complied, “Fine.”
He was led to the elevator when Bryan Worthy came rushing up. He carried a computer print-out in his hand.
“Stuart, I did some research into your story and found something that might interest you,” he said hurriedly, eyeing the guards with some concern, “Um, you haven’t done anything rash, have you? Or newsworthy? Should I get my blazer?”
“No, I’m fine; though it sounds like you’ve spent your time more productively than I did. You’ve been a big help with this matter, Mister Worthy.”
“Well, it’s my job to help WCF talent get over,” Buzz handed the what he held over to Stu as he was ushered in the elevator, “I checked to see if the Helping Holds program was donating walkers to fans in need of them. They are. But the project is being underwritten. I think one entry on the list of contributors should stand out.”
“Couldn’t you just tell him?” one security guard pointed out not unreasonably, “I mean, is there any need for suspense at this point?”
Slane’s glance at the name in question made it clear the man was wrong. He looked to Bryan with a confounded, shocked expression, “It can’t be! Him?!”
That was when the elevator doors slid closed, and we get our cliffhanger.
*Big thanks to (spoiler) for letting me use (spoiler) in this story.*
June 24, 2016
Philadelphia Pennsylvania
Washington Square West
Vintage Wine Bar
The establishment was not what Stuart expected. Brightly lit and narrow, with exposed brick walls and a wine bottle chandelier, the Vintage Wine Bar looked more like a trendy college hangout then the chosen site for a rendezvous with a Mafia crimelord. But here he was, stuffed into his off the rack sports coat with polyester tie, weaving his way through the assemblage of oenophiles; towards the two men who, like himself, definitely appeared as though they didn’t belong there.
“Mister Slane,” the swarthy dark suited gangster type said, moving forward as to shake the wrestler’s hand, while in fact that was just cover for a quick frisk of his jacket, “I’m Louis. This is Todd.”
Todd, an even swarthier dark suited gangster type had positioned himself behind Stuart, pretending to drop his billfold to pat down Stuart’s legs. In a moment of absurd panic Slane worried he was being set up for the old “Table Top” maneuver, before he realized Louis and Todd likely had more efficient methods of neutralization available to them.
Louis glanced down at his rising partner to get the signal their guest was clean before continuing, “The boss said to give you some privacy, so we will. But we’re both going to be at the bar; watching. You so much as raise a pinkie in anger we’ll be over there to snap it off quicker than you can say Jack Robinson. Understand?”
“Of course. I’m not here to cause trouble. I just want answers,” Stuart said in a forced, even tone. He did not appreciate being manhandled, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
“Well, go on then,” Louis stood aside and gave the gesture to pass.
Stuart did, approaching the pair of tables that had been reserved earlier for this meeting. His quarry sat facing the restaurant, back to the wall, in what was no doubt another security concern. Not that she seemed the slightest bit vexed about her safety at all. Despite it being obvious the woman knew exactly who he was, Slane’s Midwestern manners compelled him to make introductions anyway.
“Mrs. Malignaggi? I’m Stuart Slane. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
Alessandra Malignaggi née Allegri smiled pleasantly up at Stuart and offered him a perfectly manicured hand, “It was no problem at all. I was looking for an excuse to try out Vintage’s wine cellar; it wouldn’t do for a woman of my standing to be seen out on the town drinking alone. Ha ha.”
Stuart smiled uneasily as he stood by the table. The woman was stunning, with long dark hair, smoldering eyes, and flawless olive skin. The pearl peplum halter dress she wore under her scarlet bolero jacket was snug in all the right places. But it was not her looks that gave the big man pause, but her reputation. Alessandra was reportedly the head of one of the most powerful crime families on the East Coast, as well as outright sociopath. Stuart had encountered her kind before, but usually between the ropes of a wrestling ring. Here, in the real world, where the code of unarmed combat did not apply, he was going to have to play this very carefully.
The woman known among her fellow racketeers as the ‘Evil Eye’ cast both of hers to the chair opposite her, “Please, Mister Slane, have a seat. I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and ordered for us; a nice Spanish red.”
Stuart eased his large frame down, “That would be fine,” he lied. All wine tasted like spoiled grape juice to him.
The steward brought over their bottle (2005 Bodegas Roda Cirsion, retailing at $249) and a pair of glasses, “Shall I pour?” he asked.
“Mr. Slane will handle those duties, thank you,” the Sicilian beauty pressed two twenty dollar bills into the waiter’s hand before dismissing him. She then looked to Stu expectantly.
After some fumbling with the cork Slane splashed some of the dark purple fluid into both of their goblets and handed Alessandra hers.
“Next time hold the bottle higher; anywhere from six to ten inches. The fall allows the wine to aerate,” she told him helpfully before doing the classic swirl swirl sip, “Mm. Not bad. Has a very earthy taste, with a hint of chocolate. Your thoughts?”
To Stuart it tasted like spoiled grape juice strained through moss, but since Malignaggi was picking up the tab he kept that opinion to himself, “Good. Very, uh, damp.”
After taking another swig from her glass Alessandra broached the topic that had brought the two of together this evening, “I had some of my people look into your concerns. What they came back with was certainly interesting.”
Stuart Slane had been trying for weeks to learn the identity of the person trying to frame him. The Hue World Order, a group of former WCF jobbers had inexplicably targeted Slane during his reign as Television Champion. Later on, they claimed Stuart had hired them himself in an attempt to gain favor from the WCF Galaxy. His best lead had come earlier in the week, when a prop aerosol can the HWO was supposed to use in an earlier ambush tested positive for Stu’s fingerprints. Slane was able to trace the can to a philanthropic foundation (trust us, it makes sense. Sort of.) funded by the Malignaggi Family, whose former head was better known as the wrestler Joey Flash.
Flash’s wife smiled, “But first, I thought we could spend some time talking about the business.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Wrestling. We’re both part of the sport now. We’re both insiders. I haven’t had much of a chance to compare notes with another wrestler besides Thursday. An ‘old hand’ like yourself would provide a different perspective.”
“Yes, well,” Slane’s eyes darted back and forth furtively, “Are we sure your wrestling career is, uh, canon? I don’t want to be liable for any paradoxes of the time-space continuum.”
“If anyone complains we’ll just say Wizard Odin did it,” Alessandra assured him before inching her empty wine glass closer to Stu. Taking the hint, he filled hers and topped off his.
“What is it you want to know about wrestling? Or at least, what I think I know about wrestling?” Slane asked as he handed Alessandra’s wine back to her.
“Do you like it?”
“Give the damage it’s done to my body, I would have to be a masochist if I didn’t like wrestling,” Stuart answered, “I imagine most of us feel the same way.”
Alessandra waved her hand dismissively, “Oh, I don’t know. For some wrestlers, it seems like the sport is secondary; that they’d rather be doing something else. It’s a means to an end instead of the end itself.”
“Well, in the end wrestling is a job; and there’s always some who don’t like their job. Fortunately I’m not one of them,” the big man stated matter-of-factly.
“What do you like about your job? And don’t give the cliché babyface answer ‘the support you get from the fans’. I’ve seen their reaction when your music hits. It’s tepid at best.”
“The WCF Galaxy doesn’t accept me because it doesn’t trust me,” Stuart explained in terms that were something of an oversimplification, “Part of that is my fault. But some of the blame lies with those who use subterfuge to smear my good name.”
He gave Alessandra a pointed look. She chuckled softly.
“Yes, we’ll get to that. There’s still over half a bottle of wine left.”
Stuart dutifully poured more of the fermented grape into both their glasses, “I like wrestling because it allows me to test myself, physically and mentally, against a wide spectrum of competitors. A very wide spectrum; the sport is made up of an incredibly diverse collection of individuals: undead drug fiends, antipodean narcissists, video game aficionados, fashionable mob wives-“
He gestured towards Alessandra, who beamed.
“- each of whom have their own stories, and their own way of doing business. Learning about them, challenging them, overcoming them; in an environment where it seems like anything can happen; that imparts a special thrill. Forget space: pro wrestling is the final frontier; and it’s one I enjoy exploring.”
Stuart drank from his glass before continuing.
“But that’s just me. What drew you to the sport, Mrs. Malignaggi?”
“Oh, revenge; the chance to hurt people; nothing quite so esoteric as your motives,” Alessandra said simply, “Something happened to Joseph in Mexico. I still don’t know what, other than it took him from me. But his disappearance is tied to this silly sport, and so, to find my answers, to find him, I became a part of it.”
Slane chose to broach the next topic cautiously, “So you feel that your husband is still-“
“He’s alive,” she said brusquely and in a tone that that made it clear the topic was closed. For a brief moment Stuart caught a glimpse past the façade of Alessandra Malignaggi née Allegri, charming socialite; and to the Crimson Lady’s true nature.
Stuart nodded, and then said with sympathy, “Wrestling has cost you a great deal.”
The anger in Alessandra’s dark eyes briefly turned to agony, then back to rage before ultimately settling on ice cold detachment. It was clearly a miscalculation on Stuart’s part to refer to the woman’s considerable losses even tangentially. The sport took more than her husband away from her; but her young son as well. It was an agony even a delinquent parent like Slane could not even imagine, “Obviously; almost as obvious as your pitiful attempt to play on my emotions. What were you expecting, Stuart; did you think your casual allusion to the death of my son would cause me to break down? Did you fantasize about me throwing yourself into your arms and weeping like a child, leading to me spilling my secrets to the big strong man?”
“No. I was merely making an observation. I’m not trying to manipulate you,” Slane objected to the characterization neutrally. Inwardly, however, he felt a sense of alarm. Had his attempt at empathy towards the woman who reputedly felt none set her off? Stuart glanced to one of the glossy signs that decorated the wall behind Alessandra, hoping that he would catch Todd and Louis in the reflection to gauge their position and mood. No such luck.
Alessandra drained her glass in one gulp, “Regardless, your presence has become grating. I think it is time we address the reason I agreed to meet with you in the first place,” she told Stuart after, with uncharacteristic coarseness, wiped her wine stained lips with the back of her hand, “It is as you suspected; my husband did bankroll this Hue World Order group.”
“Why?” Slane asked, “What purpose did it serve to send a bunch of jobbers to attack me, and then set it up to seem like it was my own idea?”
“I asked the men Joseph used to run his little conspiracy that; they said he was ‘fattening you up for slaughter’. Do I need to explain to you what he meant by that?”
Stuart was fairly sure he understood, “He wanted to build up some kind of rivalry between us, and then settle matters in the ring,” he replied.
“Ha. There’s more to it. Joseph didn’t think you were worth his time at first. Your supposed accomplishments were paltry. Beating #BeachKrew’s pretty boy Dustin Beaver; winning the Television Title; those were things he’d done already. But my husband, despite his aloof manner towards his competition, was always seeking it out. He craved new opponents to dominate; someone- anyone- that would provide him a break from the mind numbing routine. This need started to consume more of his thoughts and time. Can you blame him? How many times can a man of Joey Flash’s caliber compete in the same matches week after week, before getting bored? And when Joseph gets bored, he gets ambitious. If WCF would not provide him with new foes to conquer, then he’d have to make them from scratch. That’s why he set his sights on you, Mister Slane. You were his project. When he learned you had performed at your best when railing against false conspiracies like the Gang of Fourteen; he thought what better way to motivate you then to create a real conspiracy for you to fight?”
“That’s… very complicated,” Slane adjudged.
“That’s Joseph. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and having to face Grayson Pierce half a dozen times made him look for relief in unlikely places. Case in point,” she gestured towards Stuart.
Slane was unsatisfied with the explanation, “But what was Mister Flash’s endgame?”
“Knowing my husband, he was going to wait and see if his plan successfully motivated you. If it did, he’d confess to being responsible, gloat about it, and dare you to respond. Then, if you were stupid enough to take the bait, he’d destroy you in the ring.”
“I would have had something to say about that last part,” Stuart said grimly.
Alessandra’s smile returned, but it there was still a hint of malice to it, “Oh, no doubt,” she teased.
For a moment neither spoke, as Alessandra sipped her wine while Stuart attempted to process everything he had learned. Finally he spoke, “I suppose, on one level, I should be flattered Mister Flash went through so much trouble to set up a future confrontation between us. He wa-is, a phenomenal talent, one of the best I’ve seen compete in WCF.”
“The best,” Flash’s wife assured Stuart, “Now, Mister Slane; a question: now that you know the truth, what do you plan to do with it?”
“I will make a statement to the WCF Galaxy identifying your husband as the culprit behind the Hue World Order.”
“Which I will categorically deny, and offer a mountain of evidence to the contrary,” Alessandra’s Cheshire grin grew wider.
The pronouncement left Stuart flummoxed, “But, why? Mrs. Malignaggi, this is over. There is no reason to continue the deceit.”
“Of course there is,” the woman traced a red lacquered nail around the rim of her glass, “My husband wishes to unmask himself as your tormentor. I’m not going to deny him that limited pleasure.”
Slane was incredulous, “Your husband, wherever he is, is no longer part of WCF. Nor do I think he’ll be returning anytime soon,” and that was assuming Joey Flash was even alive, which Stuart doubted but, wisely, kept to himself.
“Hm. Well, what you say is certainly possible, Mister Slane. But tell me, even if that were the case, how does allowing you to use my Joseph’s name to save your reputation benefit me and mine?”
Stuart’s mind struggled to come up with an answer. He couldn’t think of any he thought would satisfy the mob king(queen?)pin.
“Because it’s the truth, and the right thing to do,” was what he reluctantly settled on.
Alessandra laughed for a good five seconds while Stuart shifted angrily across from her. She caught her breath and dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief produced from her clutch.
“You’ve managed to save the evening with that one quip, Mister Slane. I thank you,” she said before her tone shifted from convivial to serious, “No, I’m afraid appealing to my sense of fair play will not be sufficient. I’m going to want something more. Your next match, it is for your company’s World Title, correct?”
“Yes. I’m competing in the WCF Classic Finals at Blast. The winner becomes World Champion.”
“Good. This is what I want; if you win your match, I want you to make it clear to everyone- the fans, the locker room, that grubby carny Lerch- that the reason you became champion was because of Joey Flash. I want you to thank my husband for guiding you to greatness, and that without his efforts you wouldn’t be where you are right now.”
Slane did not respond.
“How’s that for truth, Mister Slane? I mean, you can’t deny what I am saying. Joseph’s little scam accomplished its goal. It got you mad, and fueled your desire to prove all the doubters wrong.”
Slane seethed inwardly, and not because she was ifalse. Before he had been accused Stuart had been listless and without motivation. He lost matches against inferior opponents like Tiffany White and Neofarian; foes that he could have demolished if motivated. Since the interview with Jesse Heenan, where the charges of duplicity had been leveled, he had been steamrolling his way through the WCF Classic and the subsequent build to Blast. Being targeted had focused Stuart in a way he had not been since his days as the Scoutmaster.
And it was all because Joey Fudging Flash was ‘bored.’
So Stuart made the decision to tell the truth, “Yes,” he acquiesced to Alessandra’s argument.
“So you’ll give Joseph credit for your win at Blast?” the woman smirked, “After all, it is the right thing to do.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Splendid,” Alessandra clinked her glass against Stuart’s despite it not being held up for any toast, “Then we have a deal: you become WCF Champion and admit your victory is because of my husband, and I will gladly hand over all the evidence I have that you had no idea you were his dupe.”
“What happens if I fail to win the World Title?”
“Then you get nothing. No confession. No proof of my husband’s plotting. Like the saying goes: ‘victory has a thousand fathers, while defeat is an orphan’. The Malignaggi name won’t be tainted by your failure. If you lose, the focus shall fall entirely on you.”
“I understand. Fortunately I have no intention of losing,” Stuart rose from his chair, “Mrs. Malignaggi, thank you for your time. I wish you luck in your wrestling career. Hopefully you will find everything you seek from it, and more.”
Alessandra Malignaggi had a rejoinder to her guest’s earnest farewell; one last scathing before he departed. But, upon consideration, she chose to keep it to herself, “Same to you, Mister Slane. For what it’s worth, I do hope you win your match at Blast. You deserve it. WCF deserves it. My Joseph deserves it.”
Given the multiple ways her declarations could be interpreted, Stuart made the decision not to respond to them at all. He simply nodded and left.
June 26, 2016
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Wells Fargo Center
The Locker Room before Blast
Stuart Slane sat on the bench in front of his changing area. He was in his gear already: a green compression shirt, tan carpenter shorts, and brown hiking boots, one of which he was lacing up as he began speaking.
“The biggest match of my wrestling career is minutes away. It’s the WCF Classic Final. Unlike previous Final tournaments, the winner of this match will become our company’s champion, and in a way, its de facto leader.”
He stood and tested how snug he had tied his shoe.
“I have always gravitated towards a position of leadership; with my family, with the Scouts. And while I had some of the traits all good leaders possess, in some regards I was severely deficient. I was too narrow-minded, and unwilling to compromise. Leaders should guide, not dominate. Which, in a sense, is the opposite goal of a wrestler.”
Slane sat back down. He hunched forward slightly, hands clasped before him.
“A good wrestler, a good champion, dominates. He or she takes control in that ring, defeats his opponents; whether they are ally or enemy, and then moves on to the next challenge the bookers come up with. All of the great fighters I’ve seen have done that. And that is what I plan to do tonight.”
He paused.
“It’s not going to be easy. All of my men I’m facing have their own strengths. James Chevalier has excellent grappling skills and a fast paced high-flying offense. He’s yet to be pinned in a WCF ring, and has demonstrated despite his relative rookie status has proven to be a true student of the game. Nathan Chambers, for all the cheap shots and cut corners, deserves respect for his drive and chutzpah. He might not be the best wrestler, but he’s made it this far just on his hustle alone. And the current Champion, Jeff Purse; he has the pedigree. He’s proven he has what it takes to be champion time and time again. The most experienced man in this match, he fights a hybrid style that is both technical and acrobatic, utilizing the most ‘out of nowhere’ finishing move in the business, the Spoke super kick.”
“But I do have an advantage over all of these men: power. I’m forty pounds heavier than the biggest man in this match, and I assure you none of it is flab. My size and strength are going to be factors none of their skill, or athleticism, or cunning can counter. I can take a beating like few in this fed can, and am capable of handing them out to. There’s nothing complex or clever about how I fight. My goal is repeatedly hammer away at my target’s body, or wring out every drop of vigor from it. In that ring my aim isn’t to outwrestle, but to punish. That’s the best chance I have Sunday, and I will do whatever I can to carry out that strategy. Whether it’s against my friend Jeff Purse, or a man I respect like James Chevalier, or one I don’t in Nathan Chambers, my goal is to dominate. Like a champion should.”
Slane’s expression softened.
“And if that’s good enough, and Blast ends with my hand being raised as the WCF Word Title is strapped around my waist, I will do my best to lead like a champion should. It is an exciting, but tumultuous time here in Wrestling Championship Federation; a dawn of a New Era. I’m not exactly a fresh face for the company to put forward as its standard bearer, but it will be my first reign as world champion. And I promise that I will use that position to help WCF grow and evolve into whatever it is this injection of new talent makes it, while honoring the past and ensuring its history is never forgotten. At Blast I will become Wrestling Championship Federation’s Champion, and help add to this institution’s proud, unimpeachable legacy.”
Another pause.
“Scout’s Honor.”
