Donald, You'll Want To See This (Slam RP#1)

[Deleted]

{{Night has fallen and you find yourself walking down a winding corridor in what appears for all the world to be an old Transylvanian castle. Cobblestone walls surround you on either side. There are torches on the wall to light your way with every step that you take. Under your feet is a polished marble floor that's cold to the touch. Upon closer inspection those feet are feminine in size and shape and painted with hot pink nails, the kind of feet that a foot-loving kind of man would eagerly get down with.

That marble floor IS cold, so you begin to walk faster. Your long, toned, tanned legs stride with each step that you take as you weave your way through a maze of hallways, coves and alcoves. Eventually your journey comes to a climax in front of a large, thick wooden door with blackened metal clasps and fixtures. You extend your hand. The door lets out a slight creak as you open it. The room that lies beyond the threshold of the doorway is spacious, sparsely decorated and lit by flickering candlelight. In that illuminating glow you see WCF Hardcore Champion Phillip Baines seated at a leather office chair in front of a hand-carved wood desk. In front of Baines on the desk is a computer with monitor, tower, and keyboard and mouse components. This modern technology contrasts the otherwise olden decor of your surroundings.

You walk into the room and approach where Phillip is seated. He has his back turned to you and does not acknowledge your presence. He seems unaware of you as he focuses on the image on the computer screen, which consists primarily of a blank Microsoft WordPad document. Within moments Phil's fingers go to work and the sound of the mashing of keyboard keys fills the room. Your eyes follow the words that appear on the screen.}}

Dear Donald,

I am writing you with regard to the act of heresy that you committed on Monday night.

{{Suddenly Phil's voice interrupts the sound of those clacking keys.}}

Phillip Baines: "No, no. This won't do at all."

{{Baines clamps his finger down on the backspace key, deleting all but the "Dear Donald" portion of his letter. He begins typing again.}}

Dear Donald,

I am nonplussed by your actions on Slam.

Phil: "Nonplussed? What the fuck is wrong with me? I sound like a douchebag."

{{Phillip once again mashes the backspace key, deleting all but "Dear Donald". He begins typing again.}}

Dear Donald,

I know that you enjoy a good letter and that's why I'm writing you about this most pressing WCF matter.

{{Baines ceases typing and releases an audible sigh.}}

Phil: "This isn't working. I'm a wrestler not a writer, damn it."

{{Phil x's out of the WordPad document and closes it without saving. He swivels around in his chair, suddenly facing you. He seems surprised at first to see you but he quickly smiles.}}

Phil: "Oh hi, Gina! I didn't hear you come in! How are you doing, baby?"

{{YOU are Phillip Baines's girlfriend Gina and, boy, is Phil ever happy to see you. He stands up from his chair and in doing so towers over you with the whole of his six-foot, five-inch frame. Phil's choice in wardrobe catches your fancy. He's shrouded in a wolf's skin robe and nothing else, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his ten-inch willie. You smirk because you know that ten inches belongs to YOU. How does it feel to be the girlfriend of one of the most dangerous men on the planet? How will THAT feel when it's inside of you? You smirk once again. Phil wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, pulling your face into his heaving man-bosom.}}

Phil: "I do not wish to burden you with my troubles, darling, but wouldn't you know that I've been sitting in front of this damned computer all night long, trying to type a letter to Deruty and I just can't find the words that I wish to say? I'm so good when I'm in front of the camera, but sit me down in front of a blank screen and my mind turns to mush. I'll never figure out how those people who write thousands of words per week in imaginary online wrestling federations manage to do it."

{{Phil frowns a bit... until he looks down at your feet.}}

Phil: "Oooh... hot pink tonight? Me like!"

{{Phil's spirits perk up considerably. He gives your pert bosoms a squeeze, one in each giant hamhock of a hand, causing you to let out a slight moan. He embraces you with a full-on bear hug and slides his hands down the rear of your lacy panties. He grabs your ass cheeks and then slides a finger into your crack, and jiggers it around in your hole. You close your eyes and let the sensations overwhelm you.}}

{{Within moments there's a flash of bright white light and then everything goes black.}}

--------------------------------------

{{Your vision stirs to life, but you feel different now than you did before. Your hormonal feelings have subsided and it seems as though you've switched perspectives. You are no longer inhabiting the body of Phillip Baines's girlfriend. No, no. You are now in your own skin, a spectator to the Phillip Baines show. Baines, the leading man and born entertainer that he is, is seated upon a solid gold throne that is encrusted with diamonds and rubies, and has crushed red velvet cushioning. In one hand Baines is holding a gold-handled goblet with a clear glass containing a bright green liquid. With your acute knowledge of obscure European alcohols you recognize this liquid as absinthe.

Your eyes scan the room. It's a different one than earlier. Heavy wooden torches hang on cobblestone walls in each corner of the room and there is no sign of a modern touch. Baines is however dressed in the same wolf's skin robe that he was before. Baines takes a cool, composed sip from his goblet, downing half of the bright green liquid from the previously full glass. After he's finished drinking he wipes his mouth on his bare forearm. Baines does not look at you as he begins speaking. In fact his eyes shoot downward, indicating not weakness but rather a solemn air.}}

Phil: "I am not going to make excuses for the fact that I was pinned on Monday Night Slam. It is plain for the WCF Universe to see that the match in question, Baines and Bundy versus Oblivion and D-Day, was an absolute farce. However this is WCF and nonsensical clusterfucks are part of the tapestry that binds us, part of the very fabric of this company. There's no rhyme or reason for ninety percent of the shit that happens here, so I'm not going to let that match bother me. I'm not going to let it get me down. I know that I can utilize my time and energy in a much more productive manner than that. Some people might think that I would be seething after suffering my first loss of any kind in WCF under a rather dubious set of circumstances."

{{Baines contorts his wrists and fingers, causing a voluminous series of popping sounds as the bones slide into place.}}

Phil: "Those people would be wrong. My spirits are high. I feel lively and vibrant. This morning I ran five miles before eating a breakfast of egg whites and diced tomatoes. That's productivity, my friends. Solid productivity. Do you know what else? I've slept better this week than I've slept in months. Since arriving in WCF my dreams had typically been shrouded in nightmares, the kind of lurid imagery that Stephen King might conjure in his writings. These days I'm dreaming about only positive things such as nature, joyous encounters with my girlfriend, and joyous encounters with my girlfriend IN nature. My mind is at ease and my conscience is at peace.

"I do know one man who shouldn't be sleeping so well, that man being WCF's reigning World Champion Donald "D-Day" Deruty. Young Donald already had a lot on his plate due to his upcoming title defense at Ultimate Showdown, a six-person bout featuring some of the top names in this business. For some reason Donald decided that it would be a good idea to shovel even more onto his plate, a rather foul-tasting cuisine at that, by agreeing to partner with Oblivion on Slam and in turn putting a damper on my Independence Day."

{{Baines flashes a skewed little grin as if fighting back a look of disdain. He takes a drink of absinthe, a long drink which empties the goblet. He then places the goblet down on one of the massive golden armrests to his side.}}

Phil: "It's funny how things turned out, D-Day. You were one of the last people that I ever expected to team with Oblivion in that match. After all you're a young man who had to work his way up the ladder, step-by-step, paying your dues and receiving a helping hand from some of the veterans of the roster along the way. I thought that you would appreciate me taking a promising young prospect like Buzzsaw Bundy under my wing, helping to mold and nurture him. I also thought that you, as a man who supposedly represents American values, would appreciate my campaign to erase the dangerous nutcase Oblivion from existence. After all Oblivion is an entirely unstable individual who threatens the lives and well-beings of every man, woman and child that he encounters.

"Apparently you did not see things my way, Donald. Apparently you reserved your compassion for a serial killer who feeds human flesh to his quote/unquote "children", those demented little munchkins known as The Gathering. I'm not angered by your actions so much as I'm disappointed by them, and more than a little frustrated. If you had been paying attention for these last few weeks, Donald, you would know that I've pledged my support for you in damn near every interview that I've done since you won the championship. I've commended you at every turn. I've called you an upstanding young man and a tremendous ambassador for this company and this sport. I even stated that I would not cash in the title shot that I won in the WCF Classic for so long as you were champion."

{{Phillip's eyes grow wide and his nostrils flare in unison with them. The psychodrama of the stress and frustration within Phil's brain is written on his face. This is not a man who's feeling happy. This is not a man who's feeling rational. This is a man with dangerous intentions on his mind. Suddenly Baines smiles, the same way that a crocodile smiles before chomping its massive jaws down upon its next meal.}}

Phil: "Obviously I placed my faith in the wrong individual, Donald. Obviously you haven't listened to a word that I've said. Obviously you could give a fuck about anything that anyone says or does outside of your own little world. That's Donald Deruty's world, where Donald Deruty is the center of Donald Deruty's universe."

{{All of the emotion fades from Phillip's face. His eyes grow cold, his stare turns icy and his fingers grip the edges of his solid gold armrests like talons. He arches his back and leans closer to YOU from his imperial throne.}}

Phil: "Let me tell you something, asshole: Your world is about to crumble. You are in for a world of pain and comeuppance. You have made yourself a target and when you're in Phillip Baines's crosshairs that means that you're as good as dead. I'm a stone cold sniper, D-Day. I'm a murderer. Check my rap sheet. I kill at will every chance that I get. I'm not going to beat around the bush and play a mystery game, a children's game like Oblivion. I'm going to lay it on the line and let you know exactly what I intend to do. I do not need to rely upon the element of surprise because when my plans are set in motion there is not a man in this world that can stop me. There is not an army in this world that can stop me."

{{Baines licks his lips, his tongue slithering like that of a serpent as his face shows a serpentine sneer.}}

Phil: "For all of your success as of late in WCF you seem to have forgotten that the only reason why you're living and breathing as the WCF World Champion is because I've allowed you to reign as champion. There is only one man who can challenge you for that championship at anytime, day or night, rain or shine, come hell or highwater. That man is Baines. You seem to be oblivious to this, D-Day. You seem to be oblivious to the fact that I've been protecting you in my own way by not challenging you. It's good to know that our World Champion is completely oblivious to what's happening in WCF, or maybe you just don't have time to pay attention to the "little people" like me, Donald. You are of course the big important man who wears a tuxedo everywhere that he goes, including places like the hospital and the cemetery. Kooky fashion sense there, Donnie boy. Maybe Oblivion isn't the only one with a screw loose around here, huh? Or maybe you're just a self-absorbed prick."

{{As Baines enunciates the k in prick, a slight bit of spittle flies from his mouth and lands upon your brow. Baines crosses his legs in a masculine fashion and leans back in his throne.}}

Phil: "Let me ask you something, Donald: Do you even comprehend that you partnered up with a man who's going to try and rip the World Title from your clutches at Ultimate Showdown? Are you aware that you partnered with that man against a man who had pledged not to cash in his World Title shot for as long as you're champion? Can you even begin to understand these facts? I mean I'm just trying to wrap my brain around how anyone could do something as mind-bogglingly stupid as what you did on Monday night. What was it all for, D-Day? The thrill of winning an inconsequential tag team match on Slam? Was that worth losing the World Title? Was that worth ensuring your demise?

"I used to have respect for you. I used to think that you represented WCF with honor and integrity, but all of that took a flying leap out of a tenth story window on Monday night. I now see you for what you are, Deruty. You spit in the face of honor. You piss in the face of integrity. You shit in the face of loyalty. You seek to slaughter the innocent and protect the wicked. Are these the values that your father and brothers, men who served and died for this country, raised you with? Are these the values that WCF's American Hero represents? With a hero like D-Day it's no wonder why America has gone down the shitter."

{{Baines scowls at you as he flips his long-flowing black hair to the side.}}

Phil: "I do have to thank you for one thing, Donnie: You've given me the green light to rip your fucking head off and take that World Title from you. Maybe that's what you want? Maybe you're suicidal. Maybe you figure that you're going to drop the World Title at Ultimate Showdown anyway, so you want to get it over with and just end it all. I can help you there, D-Day. If you want the sweet release that comes with death, I'll bring it to you in spades and in buckets."

{{Baines lets out with a hearty chuckle, in stark contrast to his harsh demeanor.}}

Phil: "Yeah, that's one school of thought. Of course there are other possibilities. The more that I ponder your actions, the more obvious your motivation becomes: Old blood protects old blood. You're a young punk but your head has become swelled and now you think that you're one of "the boys". You see a young man with swagger like myself and that just eats you up inside. You've got this ego about you. You can't have a young man thriving and succeeding under YOUR watch. That young man has to pay his dues and he ain't taking your spot from you, but for nothing. What you fail to understand, Donnie boy, is that what I do is completely out of your control. I only take orders from the men who are helping to shape my career down the right path, men such as Cairo and Quackenbush. When I am challenged by YOUR kind, I do not cower and I do not quake.

"I want you to think very carefully about what you've done, Durrr-Day. You've started a war that you are ill-equipped to fight. You attacking me is like Liechtenstein attacking the United motherfucking States of America, boy. You want a war? I'll bring Armageddon to your doorstep. You might have the world fooled, but you do not fool me. They think that you're great because you beat Torture. They think that you're great because you won the World Championship. I think that you suck. You're not anything special in my eyes, Donnie. You're little more than a poor man's Slickie T and you're a pale imitation of the genuine article. Nothing BUT NOTHING will give me greater pleasure than ending your charade of a World Title reign, and when you're finished processing that information I want you to tell your buddy Oblivion that he's still on my hitlist as well. I'm sure that Obi is very proud of himself after his awe-inspiring victory on Slam..."

{{Baines flashes a sarcastic smile that's quickly forced away by a sneer.}}

Phil: "Yes that must have been an awfully satisfying way to win a match, Obi. You flipped every switch in that old, abandoned lighthouse that resides inside of your brain and finally... you found clarity, enlightenment, the path to beating Baines. Too bad the euphoria of your victory will not last long. You should have known better than to screw with the man who killed your better half. You should have left well enough alone, accepted every last defeat that I've handed you and moved on to the next chapter of your life and career. Now, there is no such option. I will crack my tyrant's whip and you will feel the brunt of my wrath, you AND D-Day, and when it happens I will leave you as a mass of quivering flesh and nerves."

{{Baines cackles like a madman for several moments before his face turns deadly serious once again.}}

Phil: "That will be a most joyous occasion and it will come sooner than you think, but before I do that I have a task that beckons upon my agenda: I must end Michael Santiago's career on Monday Night Slam."

{{Baines closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, holds it in as if meditating and then exhales. His eyes twinkle as they reopen.}}

Phil: "That's right. Don't think that I've forgotten about you, Mr. Santiago. Quite the contrary. In fact the next time that you see me my attention will be devoted entirely to you. It is most unfortunate that you find yourself in my path a mere one week after I suffered a gross indignity, a miscarriage of justice as it were. As such I will not be in the mood to play any games with you on Monday night. I will be using your body as a vessel to drive home a statement. That statement will be written in blood and dotted with bullets. That's right I'll be breaking out the heavy artillery on Slam. It's about time that someone busted out automatic weapons in one of these hardcore matches. I speak of course in metaphors, Santiago, for you see my hands and feet are armor piercing bullets of the stealth variety and they strike with fleet force."

{{Baines cups his hand to his ear as if listening intently, not to you but to his opponent Santiago.}}

Phil: "What's that you say? What about my brain, the brains of Baines? That's a very good question. Here's the answer: My brain is what our former Texan hillbilly president would refer to as a "weapon of mass destruction". Oh sure my six-foot five-inch, two-hundred and thirty-two pound frame delivers the utmost in devastation to all who cross me, but it's my brain that sends those violent impulses to my body. In short you are fucked and you will be fucked in short order on Monday night."

{{Baines tips his imaginary cap to the doomed Santiago.}}

Phil: "Good day to you, sir."

{{Baines rises from his throne. You cock your head to follow with your eyes as he strides majestically toward the doorway. Phil waves his hands and beckons to a figure that stands beyond the threshold and beyond your line of sight.}}

Phil: "Gina, where are my fuzzy dinosaur slippers, babe? I can't find them anywhere!"

{{Baines wanders out of the room, shutting the heavy chamber door behind him. You sneak over to his throne and take a seat. You stretch your limbs and exhale in a pleasurable sigh. This is comfort beyond your wildest dreams, but you should probably evacuate the premises before King Phillip returns and finds you sitting upon HIS throne.}}