Post by Amok on Jun 11, 2016 15:39:29 GMT
June 10, 2016
Amok’s Apartment
Somewhere off the Las Vegas Strip
Breakfast Time
Despite the relative success Amok had achieved in Valentine Wrestling Syndicate, the Wyoming born big man was still living in the manner of a vagabond. He had no lease on his four room walk-up, and its spartan furnishings were all rentals. All of the belongings he owned could be fit in the two duffel bags he brought with him to Las Vegas. The drawstring sweatpants he wore while hunched over his small kitchen table eating breakfast would serve as his pajamas for the week. For the most part this was the way Amok preferred to live his life; as ownership forced responsibility on a person, and physical possessions could be an anchor for one whose profession and personality often forced him to pull up stakes when circumstances warranted it.
But Amok had plans now, big plans, and for them to succeed the nomadic routine he was used to was going to have to change. He would need to make commitments, and demonstrate he intended to remain part of VWS. One way he had done that was by finally breaking down an opening an account on Twitter. It was a concession to the modern age this ‘old school’ wrestler thought he would never do. But he had been advised by his co-worker and confidant Selene that having a social media presence would be ‘good for networking’. In between heaping spoonfuls of Rice Krispies Amok checked his feed for proof of that. He saw that his opponent for Tenacity, the equally enigmatically named Vossler, had posted a picture of himself with one eye swollen shut. After sending the Frenchman a terse threat (making sure to use the appropriate hashtags as he had been instructed) the giant took his bowl of cereal and walked to his bedroom to check on his guest.
Selene was still asleep; curled up in one corner of the king-sized bed that dominated the room. She might not have been too impressed when she had gotten her first look at Amok’s cramped living arrangements, but she seemed to have taken to them nicely. Amok watched her slumber, noting how different she looked when she wasn’t under the black lighting of the Butterscotch Giraffe, and her face was cleaned of the heavy make-up she wore in her role as Club Vamp. With her full cheeks, button nose, and horsey dentition, she looked far more like the girl next door, if you ignored the cherry red hair extensions and the augmented cleavage. Amok nudged her lightly with his toe.
“Hey,” he called, “Hey. Time to get up.”
There was a soft grunt from under the sheets, and Selene’s features took on a pinched cast. She turned away from the man attempting to roust her. He tried again, this time prodding her ample but firm backside.
“Stop,” was her reply.
“Come on, it’s 10:30,” Amok noted.
“I worked until 3,” she shot back, her ire muted by the swathe of blankets that covered her.
Amok sat on the edge of the mattress, “Me too.”
“Your job is to stand there is to look scary. I actually have to put some effort into what I do,” the exotic dancer said as she sat up. The tee shirt she had borrowed from Amok might as well have been a caftan the way it fit her, “Is there any coffee?”
“Nope. You can make some more if you want,” he noted before shoveling more of Rice Krispies into his maw and saying, “At 1 I’m taping the promo for my match. Thinking about getting a suit for it. What do you think?”
Selene combed her long black nails through her matted tresses, “That you’re going to have a hard time finding one that fits you in less than two hours. My advice; go to a tailor and get one custom made.”
“How much will that run me?”
“Depends on where you go,” she said, swinging her pale legs over so that she was sitting next to her host, “For something nice expect to pay at least a couple of grand. But you’re going to want to get something nice; you’re the Number One Contender for the Velocity Title now. In a couple of weeks you might be Velocity Champion. I see how your bosses dress; they’ll expect to see the same sense of high fashion from you.”
Amok nodded, “Yeah, I get that impression from them. That’s fine; anything to make the point I’m on ‘Team Jones’.”
The young woman rose “I need to pee,” she announced, and moved to the bathroom. After closing the door for some privacy, she continued their conversation, “Do you think they will choose you for the Wargames match?”
At the next Pay Per View there was to be a scheduled multi-man elimination match between those who supported VWS management (led by current World Champion Alex Jones) and those who did not (led by the man recently denied a chance at winning the same title, Avery Miles III). The winning side would have control of the promotion’s ‘book’ for a month. Needless to say, the fight was very important to all parties involved; Amok included, “Yeah. I’ve made it pretty clear I’m willing to stooge for them. And it isn’t like Jones and Valentine have a lot of other options on the roster. Most everybody hates them. So unless they plan on bringing in some ringers I’m one of the few soldiers they got,” Amok then expressed one of his concerns to Selene, “Thing is, it sounds like my title match with Cable Arcane is scheduled for War Games too. That could mean pulling double duty; which I’m not sure I’m up for.”
There was the sound of the toilet flushing, and a moment later Selene was back in the bedroom. She had ditched Amok’s shirt and had slipped back into the clothes she had worn over, a white peasant blouse and denim hip huggers. Smiling, she sauntered over to where Amok sat and plopped down beside him, “If it comes to that you can do it, Amok. You’re the Wolf at the Door, the One Who Eats First, the All-Business Bastard.”
“All Business Bastard?”
“Came up with that on the throne,” she quipped, “I think it’s catchy. Try and work it in to your promo later.”
Given how well Selene’s other material had gone over with the VWS viewers, Amok mentally agreed to do just that, “You’re coming to the taping?” he asked.
Selene shook her head, “I have things to do. Sorry.”
Amok shrugged. He stood and went to his dresser. Taking his wallet from the top he removed several hundred dollar bills to give to Selene. Accepting them without a word the young woman stuffed them in her purse by the bed and then slung the bag over her shoulder.
“See you Saturday?” she asked, rising on her tiptoes to brush her lips against Amok’s stubbly jawline.
“Yeah,” he said, walking the woman through his apartment towards its exit, “I’m outside, though; for the pool party.”
“Have fun,” Selene told her co-worker facetiously. Other than the opportunity to gawk at Z-list celebrities, the Butterscotch Giraffe’s poolside functions didn’t offer its employees much in the way of reward; mostly because being outside everyone was expected to be on their best behavior.
“The fun’s coming Tuesday,” Amok said cryptically, causing the woman to smile back in a manner that implied both understanding and agreement.
June 10, 2016
Las Vegas, Nevada
Athos Corp Studios
In front of a VWS logo backdrop
Amok was in his ring gear: long black tights with his name written down the sides in red and black tape wrapped up his forearms. The sleeveless leather jacket wore for his entrance was present as well. The Wyoming born big man addressed the camera.
“Last Sunday at All-In I did what I set out to do: defeat Night Rider and become Number One Contender for the Velocity Championship. I won’t blow smoke; it wasn’t easy. The Original Angel of Death made me work for it. He gave his all, which probably explains why he’s gone from the company; Night Rider’s an example of another wrestler who just can’t hang in Valentine Wrestling. Like Justin Harmony, like Jimmy Wicked, ‘Rider figured out that VWS just wasn’t for him as long as the company has me watching out for it.”
“And that’s what I’m here for. I’ve called myself The Wolf at the Door for a while now, but remember, that name works both ways. I’m not just the threat from outside you’re afraid will get in, but I’m also the guardian keeping the undeserving out. That’s the role I’ve been tasked with, and I accept that responsibility gladly. Valentine Wrestling Syndicate has been a target for outsiders since it opened. Wrestlers from all over the sport look at the promotion as a place where they can pad their records and bank accounts. I’m here to prove those opportunists wrong. You want to succeed in VWS? You want to use the Valentine name to polish up your resume’ and add a few titles to that list of accomplishments? You need to go through me first.”
Amok drew his arms across his chest; a gesture meant to physically exhibit his contempt towards those who would take advantage of Valentine Wrestling.
“Tuesday night at Tenacity another ingrate makes his in-ring debut in VWS: Vossler. Supposedly the hottest free agent in professional wrestling until he signed here, the so-called King of the City talked a lot of smack during his an appearance at a Valentine Wrestling house show. It was the standard, boilerplate speech all guys who think they’re better than they are make when they come to a new company; he is the best wrestler here; he doesn’t like how things are run; he is putting the entire locker room on notice. Vossler made sure to single out the current VWS World Champion, Alex Jones, during his little tantrum; as if the scrawny little weasel would last five minutes in the ring against ‘The Black Dragon’.”
The giant began to address his opponent for TNT directly.
“Vossler, you’re going to be facing a different ‘dragon’ Tuesday. Before you get what you think you want and deserve, you have to wrestle me. I’m the fire-breathing monster Valentine Wrestling uses to protect its treasured name. When some uppity fool wants to play the role of white knight of the VWS Kingdom, I’m the one sent to slay him. And that’s what’s going to happen when we fight. I don’t care who’ve you beaten before coming here. I don’t care about what championships you’ve held elsewhere. Those promotions you supposedly dominated? They might as well be imaginary, Vossler. The only thing that matters to me is how you fare inside a Valentine Wrestling ring, and boy, you could not have been dealt a worse hand for your inaugural match. You think our fight was booked randomly, or done to benefit you? You think Ana Valentine listened to your fit at the house show or see your digs on Twitter and decided, ‘Let’s give Frenchie a tomato can to kick around in his debut. Got to make him look strong!’? Of course not. You’re facing me because you committed the cardinal sin of VWS: you forgot your place. Actually, what you did was worse; because you’re so new to the company you don’t even have a place yet to forget. But I’m going to show you, Vossler. I’m going to teach you exactly where your spot on the card is by putting you there. It’s not at the top, facing Alex Jones for the World Title. It’s not where I am either. In a couple weeks I’ll be winning the Velocity Championship from Cable Arcane, and once that happens no one is taking that belt from me; especially not a sniveling, rat-faced piece of Eurotrash like yourself.”
Amok unfolded an arm and raised up its prehensile digit.
“This is your spot, Vossler: under the thumb of VWS’s All-Business Bastard. And that’s where you’ll stay until you either smarten up and tow the company line or until you quit. Personally, I’m fine with either outcome, though I suspect the Office thinks there is some money in keeping you around. But before you make the decision of whether or not to play ball with ‘Team Jones’ you’re going to have to take your lumps from me; and given that I’ve got seven inches and fifty pounds on you expect those bruises to be significant. You can learn from them, though, if you can swallow some of that unwarranted pride. The choice will come for you after I win our match at Tenacity. Choose wisely, Vossler, otherwise, the supposed ‘Fox’ is going to find himself forever at the mercy of The Wolf at the Door.”