Post by 'The Shine' Brent Alpine on Jul 28, 2016 18:09:15 GMT -5
(OOC note - Stuart Slane's handler partially contributed to this RP with some lines of dialogue for Slane, Cicero and Jesse Heenan. This makes up of 774 words of the overall 4444 word count. Seth, please judge it accordingly. P.S. If there are any gaps in the text, please highlight the blank spaces as the fonts used may not be visible on everyone's board view. Thanks.)
Two currently dormant volcanoes sit forlornly on opposite ends of a tropical yet primitive island. Black mist swirls around the skies and there is a palpable sense of electricity in the atmosphere. Ominous moments pass by before the WCF logo flashes through the sky like a comet. This sets the volcanoes into an explosion of lava and brimstone. Both streams of molten rock trickle inwards and are heading for each other with great rapidity.
As the lava rushes across the land, 1980s style synths beat louder and louder to forewarn a confrontation. This crescendo is intertwined with a series of shots of Stuart Slane and Brent Alpine - Slane rolls up Alpine during WCF classic, Alpine pins a brutally assaulted Steve Orbit, Slane wins the WCF World Title, Alpine pins Henry Spearman at the end of the last Slam. We also see stills of connected personas - Percy Micro, Circe Cicero, 'Sow Reaper', Esther and Dallas Culture.
The flows of lava are about to collide when... they stop. These streams expand, morph into liquid metal shapes and form into two figures that face towards each other menacingly - Slane and Alpine.
We cut to a distinctly retro TV studio, probably a newly converted warehouse, and a panning shot across an audience that looks like they've never stepped foot in a WCF arena before. They are mostly comprised of middle aged or old women who clap along earnestly to the exceedingly cheesy vintage music.
'Let's get physique, physique
I wanna get physique
Let's get into physique
Let me hear your body talk, your body talk
Let me hear your body talk'
An irritating adaptation of the Olivia Newton-John classic blares out around the studio like a mantra or chant. The ladies in the crowd are lapping it up and there may even be one or two booty shakes.
As the music ceases (and not a moment too soon), the camera fixes to the main stage. There are two magnolia chaise longues facing each other threateningly like the volcanoes from the intro. On the inner edge of both couches are Stuart Slane, left, and Brent Alpine to the right. In front of a backdrop of posters of the respective athletes and a WCF Ultimate Showdown logo, each wrestler's eyes are transfixed to the other's with searing intensity.
Their entourages sit in a more relaxed manner; Circe Cicero and Esther to the left by Slane and the miniature pig Percy Micro and Dallas Culture to Alpine's right. Culture casts an occasional gaze at Circe Cicero, his (as yet unrequited) love interest... or, more specifically, her golden glittered peep-toe heels which she doesn't seem to wish to hide from his view.
The Television and World Titles are displayed on wooden pulpit like structures to the side of their respective holder.
Positioned on a cream accent chair between each chaise longue, the sinuous seductress Jesse "The Figure" Heenan summons all of her alluring blend of journalistic gravitas and smouldering enchantment as our host for this evening. As the studio audience hush, she confidently addresses the camera.
Jesse Heenan: Welcome ladies and gentlemen to Let's Get Physique! My name is, of course, Jesse Heenan. Any WCF fan worth his or her salt will remember me from landmark segments such as Round Up and Facts and Figure.
Dallas Culture is distracted as Jesse playfully dangles a black stiletto off her obviously freshly pedicured left foot. Meanwhile, Alpine and Slane are still sizing each other up like predators sure of their alpha status. Neither one has blinked yet.
Jesse Heenan: Coming this Sunday on Pay Per View, we will bear witness to our epic event... Ultimate Showdown. But tonight, we have a face to face confrontation between arguably the two favourites in the ultra competitive 8 man clash for the WCF World Title. I'm delighted but somewhat apprehensive to mediate between these two men. Introducing to my left, he is the current Television Champion and one of the best young superstars on the planet. And boy, doesn't he Shine? This is... the wonderful... Brent Alpine! And to my left...
Her tone flattens and her million dollar smile goes from riches to rags.
Jesse Heenan: It's Stuart Slane. WCF World Champion. Current.
Alpine blinks. He masks any sense of defeat in the staring contest by deliberately averting his gaze to Jesse. He blinks at her repeatedly, paying the physical price for his show of optic machismo.
Brent Alpine: Until Sunday.
Stuart Slane: We'll see.
Brent Alpine: I've already hired a metal polishing company to wipe off your stench from my belt. They're meeting me after the PPV.
Stuart Slane: Well, that's wasted money. Wasted money from wasted talent.
Jesse Heenan: Gentlemen, please. My first question is to you, Brent, and it has been imposed upon me by the powers that be. It's not a theory I endorse... Yet, by some school of thought, you have already lost to Stuart recently. How can you beat him this time?
Stuart Slane: It's not a 'school of thought', Jesse. It's a fact.
Jesse Heenan: Of course. A fact. With mitigating circumstances...
Brent Alpine: There's a time and season for everything, Jesse. It is said that God created the world in six days and rested for one. Why so long if he's omnipotent and could have presumably clicked his fingers and made everything appear? Well, 99.999999999999% percent of his time was taken making me because of the sheer need for precision and exquisite skill it necessitated. Aside from that, God liked to stretch the whole thing out in the spirit of showmanship and grace. Resting made him appear fallible. This is exactly my approach to life. If I did everything with my complete effort and power, the entire world would crumble even further into insecurity. What fun is 'Alpine wins, Alpine wins, Alpine wins'? Well... a lot of fun but it's crushing to the feeble human psyche. I am a maestro. I like to toy and play push/pull with my adversaries. Otherwise they would all simply give up and go home. On May 29th 2016, I gave Stuart Slane the small mercy of a fluke win over me. Why? Because I wanted to keep him going and give him his fairy tale. But, sorry Stuart... this Sunday the magic mirror will shatter, the glass slipper will no longer fit and you'll finally have your Unhappy Ever After.
Dallas Culture: I enjoy glass slippers.
Everyone looks at Dallas in disgust.
Jesse Heenan: Stuart, not only are you up against Brent Alpine but 6 other WCF title holders. Is this not an insurmountable challenge?
Stuart Slane: First of all, what Brent dismisses so inanely as a fairy tale is actually years of hard work, sacrifice, mistakes, learning... and, to coin a cliché, blood, sweat and tears. I've had many a setback on this journey but, unlike Brent, I haven't had my memory wiped to hide from my failures. I've had to go through many a dark valley and have stepped out stronger every time. When the going gets tough, Alpine runs. Don't misunderstand me - Brent is immensely talented and I would be a fool to overlook that. Every single title holder in the Ultimate Showdown match offers a fierce and unique challenge. The difference between Brent and I is that he's complacent, I'm always prepared.
Brent Alpine: You need to be.
Jesse Heenan: Brent, is it fair to say that Stuart has hit a personal nerve with you?
Brent Alpine: Not especially. I wouldn't give him that much credit. He's desperate for that to be the case though... isn't he, Esther?
Esther looks to the ground, embarrassed.
Jesse Heenan: Stuart, do you feel responsible for the acrimony between your camp and Brent’s? After all, it was your side that engineered the distraction during the WCF Classic that led to him losing his match against you.
Stuart Slane: Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Miss Heenan: I had no involvement in Circe Cicero’s-
Circe Cicero: Wasn’tmeitwasSowReaper.
Stuart Slane: -Miss Cicero’s attempt to abduct Percy Micro during my and Mister Alpine’s match. I was just as surprised as he was when it occurred. I have told the WCF Galaxy as much. Yet not only does Mister Alpine refuse to believe me, he and his Eminence Grise of a manager conspired to seriously injure me the following week at Slam in retaliation… even going so far as to hang me from the ceiling like a gutted hog carcass and stuffing an apple in my mouth!
Suddenly, Percy Micro's voice-box flashes on with a crimson dot.
Percy Micro: The look flattered you, Mr. Slane.
Jesse Heenan: Based on your description of Brent’s manager, Stuart, it is clear you see Percy Macro as a negative influence on his career. Would you go so far as to call The Shine a pawn of Macro’s?
Stuart Slane: I would say Mister Alpine is a willing dupe of the swinish Svengali; someone with a weak resolve and the inclination to allow others to do the heavy lifting for him as those without backbones often do. A champion of any type should not display such credulity.
Jesse Heenan: Is that why you’ve drawn The Shine’s former caregiver into your orbit? In an attempt to further weaken his resolve?
Slane looks deeply offended by the line of questioning.
Stuart Slane: That is not what happened at all. Mister Alpine chose to fire Miss Esther from his employ, apparently at the behest of Percy Macro. It’s the man’s own fault she is no longer part of his coterie.
Jesse Heenan: But that doesn’t explain why she’s part of yours, now does it? What exactly are your intentions towards Esther?
Stuart Slane: Purely platonic.
Circe Cicero: *snorts derisively*
Slane hears Circe and shoots her an angry glance before continuing. Alpine's eyebrows furrow and his mouth coils into a sneer.
Stuart Slane: There is a matter of private, personal business I have discussed with Miss Esther that I feel she is capable of helping me with, but as it is uh, private and personal I see no point in going into further detail here.
Jesse Heenan turns in her seat. The stiletto she was teetering over her toes hits the studio floor and clicks on collision. She smiles devilishly. Dallas Culture's eyes practically bulge out of his head and he covers his lap with a nearby cushion.
Jesse Heenan: Speaking of relationships... Dallas, what is your connection with the mysterious Sow Reaper?
All Dallas' senses are engulfed with feet.
Jesse Heenan: Dallas? Dallas Culture?
He snaps out of it and tries to look into her eyes, occasionally stumbling.
Dallas Culture: It is too divine to put into words. But essentially, Circe and I have a soul tie.
Circe Cicero: Sow Reaper!
Dallas Culture: Sorry, 'Sow Reaper' and I have a soul tie. She offered me her feet chakra to entwine with my mouth chakra and that forged a karmic link between us. It is more beautiful than lust or even love. We have ascended into a higher plain in our relationship through this sacred act.
Circe Cicero: Uh, you do realise you didn't actually lick my... I mean, Sow Reaper's feet? She paid the janitor to feed you his filthy toes while you were blindfolded.
Shocked and appalled, Dallas spits and spits and spits.
Circe Cicero: I'm not sure why you are spitting now. Have you not washed since?!
Jesse Heenan: Moving along swiftly... Brent, who do you feel are the most dangerous opponents you will be facing in the Ultimate Showdown match?
Brent Alpine: Tyler Walker.
Jesse Heenan: Err... he isn't in the match.
Brent Alpine: Oh good! Well, no one then. Except Teddy Blaze... he's in danger of putting everyone to sleep.
Jesse Heenan: And you, Stuart?
Stuart Slane: It's not surprising that Brent mentioned Blaze. Especially following Blaze pinning him a few weeks ago. I take all of the opponents very seriously. Each man has something to their game which makes them a threat. It could be strength, or speed, or skill, or experience, or drive. None of them are going to be an easy out. Yet, I am confident I will be the last man standing in the match, and remain WCF Champion.
Jesse looks beyond Slane to one of the two pretty ladies by his side.
Jesse Heenan: Circe, why are you trying to take Percy Micro?
Circe Cicero: First of all, I am not trying to “take” Percy. “Take” implies ownership, and Percy is no one’s property. He is a free and sentient being who deserves the same rights and freedoms as you or I. No, Miss Heenan; it is the intention of the People for the Ethical Treatment of Swine to liberate Percy Micro from his fettered, abusive captivity. As to why? If you had any sense of institutional memory Miss Heenan you would not need to ask that question. This is not the first Percy Micro. Several years back there was another who was also used as a proxy for the people behind Brent Alpine. And that Percy was slaughtered, murdered for no other reason than cheap heat. PETS is merely trying to save this Percy from the same gruesome fate.
Jesse Heenan: I see. Does Stuart share your beliefs?
Stuart Slane: No.
Circe Cicero: To a point.
Stuart Slane: No.
Jesse Heenan: You have hired Circe as your valet, though.
Stuart Slane: Miss Cicero is my personal assistant. She helps me maintain my schedule which has become increasingly hectic now that I am World Champion. Beyond that, I have no involvement in her personal life or, uh, political activities. What she chooses to believe or do in her free time is none of my business.
Circe appears slightly hurt by this statement, but recovers quickly.
Circe Cicero: Yes, Mister Slane is no longer willing to help PETS and it's pro-Sus agenda to the extent he once did, when we hired him to serve as our in-ring representative 'Hog Wilder'. It seems he doesn't need my- I mean our- support any more. Still, to paraphrase the Good Book: PETS is Legion. Our voice will be heard. Our mission will prevail. Percy Micro, and every other maligned pig in the WCF Galaxy, eventually will be relieved of the indignities he endures from his oppressors.
At this provocation, Percy Micro's microphone light turns on again.
Percy Micro: How deluded you are! Everyone loves a bleeding heart. But the trouble with a bleeding heart is that it tends to bleed itself to death. That is the fate that awaits you, Miss Cicero, if you persist in your naïve mission to liberate the worthless pig that serves as a vessel for my master. We will chalk this one down to infantile ignorance. Any further violations will be punished most severely by my boss. If you only knew who he is, you would not dream of uttering a word about this pig, never mind attempting to 'liberate' him.
Circe Cicero: I don't care who your boss is. What you and he are doing is wrong. What's more, the pig is not 'worthless'. It is a special life, an important creation.
Before Percy can respond, Jesse interrupts and addresses his client.
Jesse Heenan: Brent, the mysterious entity behind Percy Micro... Percy Macro, if you will... has threatened to expose your secret of what happened in Cairns, a city in your native Australia. Sorry to ask but it's my journalistic obligation... what DID happen in Cairns?
Mortally offended, Alpine storms up out of his seat.
Jesse Heenan: Brent, WAIT!
Brent Alpine: My time is precious. You've had too much of it.
Alpine begins to make his way to the exit, walking past Stuart Slane.
Dallas Culture: Brent, you forgot your belt!
Brent Alpine: No I didn't.
Alpine petulantly snatches Slane's World Title belt. Like a hawk, Slane immediately rises to his feet and grabs the other strap. What threatens to descend into a Reigns/Lesnar-esque title tug of war lameness is halted abruptly by WHAM! Slane throws a right hand in Alpine's direction. Brent staggers but WHAM! He unloads a punch of his own. WHAM! BAM! THANK YOU MAM! Unfortunately, Esther tries to intervene and break the fight up but is accidently caught by Slane's gargantuan elbow. She falls like a sack of potatoes, completely unconscious.
Slane anxiously attends to her while Alpine ceases brawling and shows momentary concern.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine GO! Dallas will take me.
With some internal conflict, Alpine looks at the fallen Esther sombrely. He smashes Slane in the back of the head with his own World Title. The Scoutmaster awkwardly falls on top of the injured Esther.
Brent Alpine: Sorry Esther...
Alpine places the World Title back on its pulpit and dashes out of the studio hurriedly, reclaiming his TV belt before he leaves.
In the chaos and confusion, Circe has sneaked up to the chaise longue upon which Percy and Dallas are still seated; Percy now on the pillow atop Dallas' lap. She cradles Percy in her arms and deliberately brushes Dallas' engorged crotch. She quickly strides off the stage, losing a heel in the process.
Percy Micro: Dallas!!! If you want to see her alive again, you need to stop her.
Dallas begins to run after Circe but is beguiled by the heel that fell off her foot. He picks it up and sniffs the inside in intoxicated bliss. This incites groans and whistles of disgust by the mostly female studio audience.
Percy Micro: DALLAS!!!
As Circe disappears out of the studio, Slane continues to tend to lie on top of Esther. They are both starting to come around.
We are now in the bowels of the studio. The parking lot specifically. Standing next to a white people carrier, Brent Alpine fumbles hastily for his keys but his pockets hold everything but.
Brent Alpine: Shit!
Returning to his pocket, he pulls out a futuristic looking cell phone and bashes the keys. He holds it to his ear. However, the voicemail tone is clearly audible.
Brent Alpine: Dallas, you took the keys. Get back here now! Don't bother bringing Percy. Pretend you forgot.
With this, we see the little pig trot around the corner of the lot.
Percy Micro: Pretend you forgot what?
Brent Alpine: How did you get here? Where's Dallas?
Percy Micro: Dallas, the liability he is, got distracted by Circe Cicero's feet when she took me. Needless to say, that was an ill fated mission for her.
Alpine's face goes as pale as an apparition.
Brent Alpine: What did they DO to her?
Percy Micro: What was necessary. Now we must leave. Slane is in pursuit.
Brent Alpine: But I don't have the ke...
He is cut off by an unfamiliar blue light appearing on Percy Micro's headset. The car makes a clicking noise, indicating it has been unlocked.
Brent Alpine: How did you...
Percy Micro: Let's go.
Back in the studio building, Circe Cicero is crying on a bench in an empty dressing room. Mascara smears all over her face. She is startled by someone coming to the door. It's Dallas Culture.
Circe Cicero: Too late. He's taken her.
She sobs and trembles. Dallas sits beside her on the bench and tentatively places a consoling arm over her.
Dallas Culture: He? Who's he?
Circe Cicero: A very evil man. When he stopped me in the hall, it was like all the breath from my lungs was sucked dry. The air went cold and all I could smell was... death. And malice.
Dallas Culture: But who IS he?
Circe Cicero: I don't know. His face was hidden.
Dallas Culture: Did he hurt you?
Circe Cicero: That's the strange thing. He didn't lay a finger on me. But I have never been so totally paralysed around someone like that before. It was as if I was taken prisoner by fear and I'm not sure it will ever let me go.
Dallas Culture: Let me help you. We can meditate together.
He wipes a tear from her cheek. She looks up at him with puppy dog eyes and her pupils dilate.
Circe Cicero: I think I might have misjudged you.
Dallas Culture: No, it was my fault. We kind of got off on the wrong foot... I mean, start.
He blushes while she laughs. Looking down, she spots a huge bulge down the front of his yoga pants. Her eyes widen and she gasps.
Circe Cicero: Wow, I'm flattered. Slightly disturbed... but flattered.
We see some slight movement in his crotch area. Suddenly, Cicero's missing heel pops out from within the front of his yoga pants. Instinctively, Circe slaps him.
Circe Cicero: PERVERT!
She leaves the room abruptly. Dallas is initially disappointed but then looks at the heel he now gets to keep and smiles in satisfaction.
Back in the parking lot, Alpine is about to speed away with Percy in his people carrier but suddenly, we hear a smash echoing throughout the building.
Stuart Slane: That's for Esther!
Slane's large boot treads through Alpine's back window. In panic, Alpine slams down the accelerator and races out of the parking lot.
Stuart Slane: Next time, it'll be your head.
Just as Alpine's vehicle is about to speed out of view, a groggy Esther emerges from the door that leads out to the parking lot.
Stuart Slane: No, no, you need to be treated by the medics.
Esther: I'm fine.
Alpine's vehicle is stationary down the other side of the lot. He is looking suspiciously in his rear view mirror, through the almighty hole in his back window, at Slane and Esther.
Esther: Thank you Stuart.
Stuart Slane: For what?
She leans in and kisses him tenderly on the lips. He doesn't move. He doesn't know where to put his arms. He looks forward over Esther's shoulder and sees Alpine glaring at him furiously through the mirror. Alpine smashes the steering wheel in frustration.
Brent Alpine: BITCH!
Alpine drives through the exit; his engine roaring aggressively.
We've moved to a generic looking hotel room - white and clinical, not particularly high budget. Brent Alpine is facing the wall, seated by a rustic solid oak computer desk. He is staring at a laptop screen which plays the footage we have just witnessed. His teeth are gritted and his face is contorted in pure rage. Percy Micro is curled up in a cute ball on the desk but the sinister controlling force behind this pig steers the 360 degree camera on Percy's headset towards the laptop.
Brent Alpine: You need to get this squashed, Percy. It can't get out into public consumption.
Percy Micro: I disagree, Mr. Alpine. This segment further exposes the duplicitous natures of the WCF World Champion and your former nurse, Esther. Any remaining doubts about their characters have firmly been dispelled.
Brent's demeanour softens, indicating some consolation at this statement.
Brent Alpine: You're bang on the money. I always knew Slane is a snake. After all, what type of people are drawn to becoming Scoutmasters? Control freaks, abusers, morally superior hypocrites. The stupid fans believe he's some sort of zero to hero inspirational story. They fail to see how obviously try hard he is. Someone truly of integrity and decency doesn't have to force it down people's throats so much. He's clearly a fake.
He sighs ruefully.
Brent Alpine: I have to admit, I might have given Esther too much credit. For months, I let her into my world. I let her nurse the few pathetic bruises that the WCF roster could only muster with all their limited strength. She even sponge bathed me. I would never have let her done that had I knew she was such a...
He hesitates.
Percy Micro: I believe the word you are looking for is 'slut'.
Brent Alpine: Well I wouldn't go th... in fact, you know what? Slut is an apt word. It's as plain as day that Slane was misguidedly using Esther to get to me. How could she buy that hook, line and sinker?
Percy Micro: Because she wanted to. Sluts go against better logic because they just want to fornicate. She ignored the fact that Slane was using her, she ignored the fact that he brutally elbowed her. She just wanted to fornicate with the WCF World Champion. She's as power hungry as she is phallus hungry.
Brent Alpine: That's it! You're correct again. Esther is the one using Slane! What imbeciles. She was so desperate to be with the World Champion. I bet, after Sunday, she'll be knocking on my door again! But I'll leave her out in the rain like the slutty dog she is.
Percy Micro: And she claims to be a Christian? Hypocrites, all of them! Neo Pharisees. It's really rather auspicious that you chose to terminate her services when my master suggested you do so.
Alpine sheepishly strokes Percy.
Brent Alpine: Look, I owe you a huge apology. I misread your boss' intentions. I thought he was threatening me in order to control me, using what happened in Cairns to hang over me like a noose. Now I see that your boss was simply trying to guide me using tough love. I completely appreciate this and am thankful. Sorry that Esther might have clouded my judgement temporarily.
Percy Micro: Apology accepted. My boss bears you no ill will, despite you frequently biting the hand that feeds.
Brent Alpine: I won't do that again.
Percy Micro: Ah Mr. Alpine, you always did shine more effervescently with us by your side. Now you are fully submitted to the truth and authority of my master, you are no doubt ready to hold the WCF World Title and take it to new, unfathomable heights.
Brent Alpine: I know. I can feel it with every exquisite fibre of my being. The time for sympathy is over. The Era of Domination is upon us.
Alpine briefly rewinds the footage to the part where Esther kissed Slane. He pauses on this frame and his fingers tense on the keypad.
Brent Alpine: You remember how I previously mentioned that Slane and I will swap titles at Ultimate Showdown?
Percy Micro: Indeed I do.
Brent Alpine: I've changed my mind. I've decided to viciously eliminate Slane immediately as he enters the ring. This will consign him to a nightmarish Tag Title reign with some other product of anal relapse such as Nathan Chambers or Zombie McMorris.
Percy Micro: That's deliciously cruel. I love it.
Brent Alpine: Hit the lights... because The Shine's... too...
He finishes his catchphrase by recklessly slamming his laptop monitor down with such force that the desk shakes.
Brent Alpine: Bright!
Two currently dormant volcanoes sit forlornly on opposite ends of a tropical yet primitive island. Black mist swirls around the skies and there is a palpable sense of electricity in the atmosphere. Ominous moments pass by before the WCF logo flashes through the sky like a comet. This sets the volcanoes into an explosion of lava and brimstone. Both streams of molten rock trickle inwards and are heading for each other with great rapidity.
As the lava rushes across the land, 1980s style synths beat louder and louder to forewarn a confrontation. This crescendo is intertwined with a series of shots of Stuart Slane and Brent Alpine - Slane rolls up Alpine during WCF classic, Alpine pins a brutally assaulted Steve Orbit, Slane wins the WCF World Title, Alpine pins Henry Spearman at the end of the last Slam. We also see stills of connected personas - Percy Micro, Circe Cicero, 'Sow Reaper', Esther and Dallas Culture.
The flows of lava are about to collide when... they stop. These streams expand, morph into liquid metal shapes and form into two figures that face towards each other menacingly - Slane and Alpine.
We cut to a distinctly retro TV studio, probably a newly converted warehouse, and a panning shot across an audience that looks like they've never stepped foot in a WCF arena before. They are mostly comprised of middle aged or old women who clap along earnestly to the exceedingly cheesy vintage music.
'Let's get physique, physique
I wanna get physique
Let's get into physique
Let me hear your body talk, your body talk
Let me hear your body talk'
An irritating adaptation of the Olivia Newton-John classic blares out around the studio like a mantra or chant. The ladies in the crowd are lapping it up and there may even be one or two booty shakes.
As the music ceases (and not a moment too soon), the camera fixes to the main stage. There are two magnolia chaise longues facing each other threateningly like the volcanoes from the intro. On the inner edge of both couches are Stuart Slane, left, and Brent Alpine to the right. In front of a backdrop of posters of the respective athletes and a WCF Ultimate Showdown logo, each wrestler's eyes are transfixed to the other's with searing intensity.
Their entourages sit in a more relaxed manner; Circe Cicero and Esther to the left by Slane and the miniature pig Percy Micro and Dallas Culture to Alpine's right. Culture casts an occasional gaze at Circe Cicero, his (as yet unrequited) love interest... or, more specifically, her golden glittered peep-toe heels which she doesn't seem to wish to hide from his view.
The Television and World Titles are displayed on wooden pulpit like structures to the side of their respective holder.
Positioned on a cream accent chair between each chaise longue, the sinuous seductress Jesse "The Figure" Heenan summons all of her alluring blend of journalistic gravitas and smouldering enchantment as our host for this evening. As the studio audience hush, she confidently addresses the camera.
Jesse Heenan: Welcome ladies and gentlemen to Let's Get Physique! My name is, of course, Jesse Heenan. Any WCF fan worth his or her salt will remember me from landmark segments such as Round Up and Facts and Figure.
Dallas Culture is distracted as Jesse playfully dangles a black stiletto off her obviously freshly pedicured left foot. Meanwhile, Alpine and Slane are still sizing each other up like predators sure of their alpha status. Neither one has blinked yet.
Jesse Heenan: Coming this Sunday on Pay Per View, we will bear witness to our epic event... Ultimate Showdown. But tonight, we have a face to face confrontation between arguably the two favourites in the ultra competitive 8 man clash for the WCF World Title. I'm delighted but somewhat apprehensive to mediate between these two men. Introducing to my left, he is the current Television Champion and one of the best young superstars on the planet. And boy, doesn't he Shine? This is... the wonderful... Brent Alpine! And to my left...
Her tone flattens and her million dollar smile goes from riches to rags.
Jesse Heenan: It's Stuart Slane. WCF World Champion. Current.
Alpine blinks. He masks any sense of defeat in the staring contest by deliberately averting his gaze to Jesse. He blinks at her repeatedly, paying the physical price for his show of optic machismo.
Brent Alpine: Until Sunday.
Stuart Slane: We'll see.
Brent Alpine: I've already hired a metal polishing company to wipe off your stench from my belt. They're meeting me after the PPV.
Stuart Slane: Well, that's wasted money. Wasted money from wasted talent.
Jesse Heenan: Gentlemen, please. My first question is to you, Brent, and it has been imposed upon me by the powers that be. It's not a theory I endorse... Yet, by some school of thought, you have already lost to Stuart recently. How can you beat him this time?
Stuart Slane: It's not a 'school of thought', Jesse. It's a fact.
Jesse Heenan: Of course. A fact. With mitigating circumstances...
Brent Alpine: There's a time and season for everything, Jesse. It is said that God created the world in six days and rested for one. Why so long if he's omnipotent and could have presumably clicked his fingers and made everything appear? Well, 99.999999999999% percent of his time was taken making me because of the sheer need for precision and exquisite skill it necessitated. Aside from that, God liked to stretch the whole thing out in the spirit of showmanship and grace. Resting made him appear fallible. This is exactly my approach to life. If I did everything with my complete effort and power, the entire world would crumble even further into insecurity. What fun is 'Alpine wins, Alpine wins, Alpine wins'? Well... a lot of fun but it's crushing to the feeble human psyche. I am a maestro. I like to toy and play push/pull with my adversaries. Otherwise they would all simply give up and go home. On May 29th 2016, I gave Stuart Slane the small mercy of a fluke win over me. Why? Because I wanted to keep him going and give him his fairy tale. But, sorry Stuart... this Sunday the magic mirror will shatter, the glass slipper will no longer fit and you'll finally have your Unhappy Ever After.
Dallas Culture: I enjoy glass slippers.
Everyone looks at Dallas in disgust.
Jesse Heenan: Stuart, not only are you up against Brent Alpine but 6 other WCF title holders. Is this not an insurmountable challenge?
Stuart Slane: First of all, what Brent dismisses so inanely as a fairy tale is actually years of hard work, sacrifice, mistakes, learning... and, to coin a cliché, blood, sweat and tears. I've had many a setback on this journey but, unlike Brent, I haven't had my memory wiped to hide from my failures. I've had to go through many a dark valley and have stepped out stronger every time. When the going gets tough, Alpine runs. Don't misunderstand me - Brent is immensely talented and I would be a fool to overlook that. Every single title holder in the Ultimate Showdown match offers a fierce and unique challenge. The difference between Brent and I is that he's complacent, I'm always prepared.
Brent Alpine: You need to be.
Jesse Heenan: Brent, is it fair to say that Stuart has hit a personal nerve with you?
Brent Alpine: Not especially. I wouldn't give him that much credit. He's desperate for that to be the case though... isn't he, Esther?
Esther looks to the ground, embarrassed.
Jesse Heenan: Stuart, do you feel responsible for the acrimony between your camp and Brent’s? After all, it was your side that engineered the distraction during the WCF Classic that led to him losing his match against you.
Stuart Slane: Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Miss Heenan: I had no involvement in Circe Cicero’s-
Circe Cicero: Wasn’tmeitwasSowReaper.
Stuart Slane: -Miss Cicero’s attempt to abduct Percy Micro during my and Mister Alpine’s match. I was just as surprised as he was when it occurred. I have told the WCF Galaxy as much. Yet not only does Mister Alpine refuse to believe me, he and his Eminence Grise of a manager conspired to seriously injure me the following week at Slam in retaliation… even going so far as to hang me from the ceiling like a gutted hog carcass and stuffing an apple in my mouth!
Suddenly, Percy Micro's voice-box flashes on with a crimson dot.
Percy Micro: The look flattered you, Mr. Slane.
Jesse Heenan: Based on your description of Brent’s manager, Stuart, it is clear you see Percy Macro as a negative influence on his career. Would you go so far as to call The Shine a pawn of Macro’s?
Stuart Slane: I would say Mister Alpine is a willing dupe of the swinish Svengali; someone with a weak resolve and the inclination to allow others to do the heavy lifting for him as those without backbones often do. A champion of any type should not display such credulity.
Jesse Heenan: Is that why you’ve drawn The Shine’s former caregiver into your orbit? In an attempt to further weaken his resolve?
Slane looks deeply offended by the line of questioning.
Stuart Slane: That is not what happened at all. Mister Alpine chose to fire Miss Esther from his employ, apparently at the behest of Percy Macro. It’s the man’s own fault she is no longer part of his coterie.
Jesse Heenan: But that doesn’t explain why she’s part of yours, now does it? What exactly are your intentions towards Esther?
Stuart Slane: Purely platonic.
Circe Cicero: *snorts derisively*
Slane hears Circe and shoots her an angry glance before continuing. Alpine's eyebrows furrow and his mouth coils into a sneer.
Stuart Slane: There is a matter of private, personal business I have discussed with Miss Esther that I feel she is capable of helping me with, but as it is uh, private and personal I see no point in going into further detail here.
Jesse Heenan turns in her seat. The stiletto she was teetering over her toes hits the studio floor and clicks on collision. She smiles devilishly. Dallas Culture's eyes practically bulge out of his head and he covers his lap with a nearby cushion.
Jesse Heenan: Speaking of relationships... Dallas, what is your connection with the mysterious Sow Reaper?
All Dallas' senses are engulfed with feet.
Jesse Heenan: Dallas? Dallas Culture?
He snaps out of it and tries to look into her eyes, occasionally stumbling.
Dallas Culture: It is too divine to put into words. But essentially, Circe and I have a soul tie.
Circe Cicero: Sow Reaper!
Dallas Culture: Sorry, 'Sow Reaper' and I have a soul tie. She offered me her feet chakra to entwine with my mouth chakra and that forged a karmic link between us. It is more beautiful than lust or even love. We have ascended into a higher plain in our relationship through this sacred act.
Circe Cicero: Uh, you do realise you didn't actually lick my... I mean, Sow Reaper's feet? She paid the janitor to feed you his filthy toes while you were blindfolded.
Shocked and appalled, Dallas spits and spits and spits.
Circe Cicero: I'm not sure why you are spitting now. Have you not washed since?!
Jesse Heenan: Moving along swiftly... Brent, who do you feel are the most dangerous opponents you will be facing in the Ultimate Showdown match?
Brent Alpine: Tyler Walker.
Jesse Heenan: Err... he isn't in the match.
Brent Alpine: Oh good! Well, no one then. Except Teddy Blaze... he's in danger of putting everyone to sleep.
Jesse Heenan: And you, Stuart?
Stuart Slane: It's not surprising that Brent mentioned Blaze. Especially following Blaze pinning him a few weeks ago. I take all of the opponents very seriously. Each man has something to their game which makes them a threat. It could be strength, or speed, or skill, or experience, or drive. None of them are going to be an easy out. Yet, I am confident I will be the last man standing in the match, and remain WCF Champion.
Jesse looks beyond Slane to one of the two pretty ladies by his side.
Jesse Heenan: Circe, why are you trying to take Percy Micro?
Circe Cicero: First of all, I am not trying to “take” Percy. “Take” implies ownership, and Percy is no one’s property. He is a free and sentient being who deserves the same rights and freedoms as you or I. No, Miss Heenan; it is the intention of the People for the Ethical Treatment of Swine to liberate Percy Micro from his fettered, abusive captivity. As to why? If you had any sense of institutional memory Miss Heenan you would not need to ask that question. This is not the first Percy Micro. Several years back there was another who was also used as a proxy for the people behind Brent Alpine. And that Percy was slaughtered, murdered for no other reason than cheap heat. PETS is merely trying to save this Percy from the same gruesome fate.
Jesse Heenan: I see. Does Stuart share your beliefs?
Stuart Slane: No.
Circe Cicero: To a point.
Stuart Slane: No.
Jesse Heenan: You have hired Circe as your valet, though.
Stuart Slane: Miss Cicero is my personal assistant. She helps me maintain my schedule which has become increasingly hectic now that I am World Champion. Beyond that, I have no involvement in her personal life or, uh, political activities. What she chooses to believe or do in her free time is none of my business.
Circe appears slightly hurt by this statement, but recovers quickly.
Circe Cicero: Yes, Mister Slane is no longer willing to help PETS and it's pro-Sus agenda to the extent he once did, when we hired him to serve as our in-ring representative 'Hog Wilder'. It seems he doesn't need my- I mean our- support any more. Still, to paraphrase the Good Book: PETS is Legion. Our voice will be heard. Our mission will prevail. Percy Micro, and every other maligned pig in the WCF Galaxy, eventually will be relieved of the indignities he endures from his oppressors.
At this provocation, Percy Micro's microphone light turns on again.
Percy Micro: How deluded you are! Everyone loves a bleeding heart. But the trouble with a bleeding heart is that it tends to bleed itself to death. That is the fate that awaits you, Miss Cicero, if you persist in your naïve mission to liberate the worthless pig that serves as a vessel for my master. We will chalk this one down to infantile ignorance. Any further violations will be punished most severely by my boss. If you only knew who he is, you would not dream of uttering a word about this pig, never mind attempting to 'liberate' him.
Circe Cicero: I don't care who your boss is. What you and he are doing is wrong. What's more, the pig is not 'worthless'. It is a special life, an important creation.
Before Percy can respond, Jesse interrupts and addresses his client.
Jesse Heenan: Brent, the mysterious entity behind Percy Micro... Percy Macro, if you will... has threatened to expose your secret of what happened in Cairns, a city in your native Australia. Sorry to ask but it's my journalistic obligation... what DID happen in Cairns?
Mortally offended, Alpine storms up out of his seat.
Jesse Heenan: Brent, WAIT!
Brent Alpine: My time is precious. You've had too much of it.
Alpine begins to make his way to the exit, walking past Stuart Slane.
Dallas Culture: Brent, you forgot your belt!
Brent Alpine: No I didn't.
Alpine petulantly snatches Slane's World Title belt. Like a hawk, Slane immediately rises to his feet and grabs the other strap. What threatens to descend into a Reigns/Lesnar-esque title tug of war lameness is halted abruptly by WHAM! Slane throws a right hand in Alpine's direction. Brent staggers but WHAM! He unloads a punch of his own. WHAM! BAM! THANK YOU MAM! Unfortunately, Esther tries to intervene and break the fight up but is accidently caught by Slane's gargantuan elbow. She falls like a sack of potatoes, completely unconscious.
Slane anxiously attends to her while Alpine ceases brawling and shows momentary concern.
Percy Micro: Mr. Alpine GO! Dallas will take me.
With some internal conflict, Alpine looks at the fallen Esther sombrely. He smashes Slane in the back of the head with his own World Title. The Scoutmaster awkwardly falls on top of the injured Esther.
Brent Alpine: Sorry Esther...
Alpine places the World Title back on its pulpit and dashes out of the studio hurriedly, reclaiming his TV belt before he leaves.
In the chaos and confusion, Circe has sneaked up to the chaise longue upon which Percy and Dallas are still seated; Percy now on the pillow atop Dallas' lap. She cradles Percy in her arms and deliberately brushes Dallas' engorged crotch. She quickly strides off the stage, losing a heel in the process.
Percy Micro: Dallas!!! If you want to see her alive again, you need to stop her.
Dallas begins to run after Circe but is beguiled by the heel that fell off her foot. He picks it up and sniffs the inside in intoxicated bliss. This incites groans and whistles of disgust by the mostly female studio audience.
Percy Micro: DALLAS!!!
As Circe disappears out of the studio, Slane continues to tend to lie on top of Esther. They are both starting to come around.
We are now in the bowels of the studio. The parking lot specifically. Standing next to a white people carrier, Brent Alpine fumbles hastily for his keys but his pockets hold everything but.
Brent Alpine: Shit!
Returning to his pocket, he pulls out a futuristic looking cell phone and bashes the keys. He holds it to his ear. However, the voicemail tone is clearly audible.
Brent Alpine: Dallas, you took the keys. Get back here now! Don't bother bringing Percy. Pretend you forgot.
With this, we see the little pig trot around the corner of the lot.
Percy Micro: Pretend you forgot what?
Brent Alpine: How did you get here? Where's Dallas?
Percy Micro: Dallas, the liability he is, got distracted by Circe Cicero's feet when she took me. Needless to say, that was an ill fated mission for her.
Alpine's face goes as pale as an apparition.
Brent Alpine: What did they DO to her?
Percy Micro: What was necessary. Now we must leave. Slane is in pursuit.
Brent Alpine: But I don't have the ke...
He is cut off by an unfamiliar blue light appearing on Percy Micro's headset. The car makes a clicking noise, indicating it has been unlocked.
Brent Alpine: How did you...
Percy Micro: Let's go.
Back in the studio building, Circe Cicero is crying on a bench in an empty dressing room. Mascara smears all over her face. She is startled by someone coming to the door. It's Dallas Culture.
Circe Cicero: Too late. He's taken her.
She sobs and trembles. Dallas sits beside her on the bench and tentatively places a consoling arm over her.
Dallas Culture: He? Who's he?
Circe Cicero: A very evil man. When he stopped me in the hall, it was like all the breath from my lungs was sucked dry. The air went cold and all I could smell was... death. And malice.
Dallas Culture: But who IS he?
Circe Cicero: I don't know. His face was hidden.
Dallas Culture: Did he hurt you?
Circe Cicero: That's the strange thing. He didn't lay a finger on me. But I have never been so totally paralysed around someone like that before. It was as if I was taken prisoner by fear and I'm not sure it will ever let me go.
Dallas Culture: Let me help you. We can meditate together.
He wipes a tear from her cheek. She looks up at him with puppy dog eyes and her pupils dilate.
Circe Cicero: I think I might have misjudged you.
Dallas Culture: No, it was my fault. We kind of got off on the wrong foot... I mean, start.
He blushes while she laughs. Looking down, she spots a huge bulge down the front of his yoga pants. Her eyes widen and she gasps.
Circe Cicero: Wow, I'm flattered. Slightly disturbed... but flattered.
We see some slight movement in his crotch area. Suddenly, Cicero's missing heel pops out from within the front of his yoga pants. Instinctively, Circe slaps him.
Circe Cicero: PERVERT!
She leaves the room abruptly. Dallas is initially disappointed but then looks at the heel he now gets to keep and smiles in satisfaction.
Back in the parking lot, Alpine is about to speed away with Percy in his people carrier but suddenly, we hear a smash echoing throughout the building.
Stuart Slane: That's for Esther!
Slane's large boot treads through Alpine's back window. In panic, Alpine slams down the accelerator and races out of the parking lot.
Stuart Slane: Next time, it'll be your head.
Just as Alpine's vehicle is about to speed out of view, a groggy Esther emerges from the door that leads out to the parking lot.
Stuart Slane: No, no, you need to be treated by the medics.
Esther: I'm fine.
Alpine's vehicle is stationary down the other side of the lot. He is looking suspiciously in his rear view mirror, through the almighty hole in his back window, at Slane and Esther.
Esther: Thank you Stuart.
Stuart Slane: For what?
She leans in and kisses him tenderly on the lips. He doesn't move. He doesn't know where to put his arms. He looks forward over Esther's shoulder and sees Alpine glaring at him furiously through the mirror. Alpine smashes the steering wheel in frustration.
Brent Alpine: BITCH!
Alpine drives through the exit; his engine roaring aggressively.
We've moved to a generic looking hotel room - white and clinical, not particularly high budget. Brent Alpine is facing the wall, seated by a rustic solid oak computer desk. He is staring at a laptop screen which plays the footage we have just witnessed. His teeth are gritted and his face is contorted in pure rage. Percy Micro is curled up in a cute ball on the desk but the sinister controlling force behind this pig steers the 360 degree camera on Percy's headset towards the laptop.
Brent Alpine: You need to get this squashed, Percy. It can't get out into public consumption.
Percy Micro: I disagree, Mr. Alpine. This segment further exposes the duplicitous natures of the WCF World Champion and your former nurse, Esther. Any remaining doubts about their characters have firmly been dispelled.
Brent's demeanour softens, indicating some consolation at this statement.
Brent Alpine: You're bang on the money. I always knew Slane is a snake. After all, what type of people are drawn to becoming Scoutmasters? Control freaks, abusers, morally superior hypocrites. The stupid fans believe he's some sort of zero to hero inspirational story. They fail to see how obviously try hard he is. Someone truly of integrity and decency doesn't have to force it down people's throats so much. He's clearly a fake.
He sighs ruefully.
Brent Alpine: I have to admit, I might have given Esther too much credit. For months, I let her into my world. I let her nurse the few pathetic bruises that the WCF roster could only muster with all their limited strength. She even sponge bathed me. I would never have let her done that had I knew she was such a...
He hesitates.
Percy Micro: I believe the word you are looking for is 'slut'.
Brent Alpine: Well I wouldn't go th... in fact, you know what? Slut is an apt word. It's as plain as day that Slane was misguidedly using Esther to get to me. How could she buy that hook, line and sinker?
Percy Micro: Because she wanted to. Sluts go against better logic because they just want to fornicate. She ignored the fact that Slane was using her, she ignored the fact that he brutally elbowed her. She just wanted to fornicate with the WCF World Champion. She's as power hungry as she is phallus hungry.
Brent Alpine: That's it! You're correct again. Esther is the one using Slane! What imbeciles. She was so desperate to be with the World Champion. I bet, after Sunday, she'll be knocking on my door again! But I'll leave her out in the rain like the slutty dog she is.
Percy Micro: And she claims to be a Christian? Hypocrites, all of them! Neo Pharisees. It's really rather auspicious that you chose to terminate her services when my master suggested you do so.
Alpine sheepishly strokes Percy.
Brent Alpine: Look, I owe you a huge apology. I misread your boss' intentions. I thought he was threatening me in order to control me, using what happened in Cairns to hang over me like a noose. Now I see that your boss was simply trying to guide me using tough love. I completely appreciate this and am thankful. Sorry that Esther might have clouded my judgement temporarily.
Percy Micro: Apology accepted. My boss bears you no ill will, despite you frequently biting the hand that feeds.
Brent Alpine: I won't do that again.
Percy Micro: Ah Mr. Alpine, you always did shine more effervescently with us by your side. Now you are fully submitted to the truth and authority of my master, you are no doubt ready to hold the WCF World Title and take it to new, unfathomable heights.
Brent Alpine: I know. I can feel it with every exquisite fibre of my being. The time for sympathy is over. The Era of Domination is upon us.
Alpine briefly rewinds the footage to the part where Esther kissed Slane. He pauses on this frame and his fingers tense on the keypad.
Brent Alpine: You remember how I previously mentioned that Slane and I will swap titles at Ultimate Showdown?
Percy Micro: Indeed I do.
Brent Alpine: I've changed my mind. I've decided to viciously eliminate Slane immediately as he enters the ring. This will consign him to a nightmarish Tag Title reign with some other product of anal relapse such as Nathan Chambers or Zombie McMorris.
Percy Micro: That's deliciously cruel. I love it.
Brent Alpine: Hit the lights... because The Shine's... too...
He finishes his catchphrase by recklessly slamming his laptop monitor down with such force that the desk shakes.
Brent Alpine: Bright!
