PROMO: "The Means"

[HollywoodSpikeJenkins 0]

‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins sips his drink - mineral water - and looks around the club. It’s a Tuesday night but the SWF can always find somewhere to party, even with a show the next day. Spike suppresses a small smile at the thought of him being ushered into the club as a VIP, spared even the smallest possibility of him being searched and the tiny package in his pocket being discovered. However, it’s getting later and he still hasn’t done what he needs to do. It’s time to act, so he walks up to the bar and signals to the bartender, who makes his way over.

 

“I want a Coke,” Spike says, “lemon, no ice.”

 

“WHAT?” the barman bellows over the music. Spike sighs and leans closer.

 

“COKE!” he yells. “LEMON! NO ICE!”

 

The barman nods, wiggling one finger in his ear as he moves away and prepares the drink. Jenkins takes another sip of his mineral water and considers his next move. His gaze drifts around some more… and there, halfway across the crowded building, is the man he’s been keeping an eye on since he got here.

 

Toxxic is engaged in conversation with Scott Pretzler at another bar, grinning away like a madman in a way that sets Spike’s teeth on edge. How can he do that? What gives him the right to smile? He’s not World Champion anymore, he’s had his ass kicked by Ejiro and Spike busted him up in their hardcore match… it’s not even like Revolution Zero is the outfit it once was, Spike thinks. Him and Sean Davis compared to two Canadians, one as dreary as a librarian and the other some wheezing MMA-wannabe? No question, Jenkins decides. Davis was worth both of them together, and when he and Toxxic turned on him Spike snapped his ankle like that…

 

“HEY!” the barman yells. “YOU WANT THIS?”

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Spike mutters, digging in his pocket. The barman hasn’t got a clue what he just said but the coins satisfy him and he disappears to the other end of the bar. Spike picks up the Coke - Toxxic’s order - and goes to set off… then hesitates.

 

This isn’t going to work.

 

The plan was to give the drink to Toxxic himself. Profess sorrow, forgiveness, whatever. Claim that he’s seen the error of his ways, or maybe just offer it to his former leader as a mark of respect for the fact that he still can’t beat him… but Spike knows that it won’t work. Even if he can prevent his hands from wrapping around the Brit’s neck, even if Pretzler doesn’t go for him first - even if Toxxic doesn’t just attack him, come to that - he still won’t be able to pull this off. There’s no way that he’s going to be able to say anything civil to Toxxic, not even for the few seconds it would take to hand the drink over. And it would have to be longer than that, he’d have to stay around afterwards and at least pretend to make some sort of conversation, pretend to try and build the bridges again…

 

Fuck it. Spike thinks. After all that, I can’t do it. I hate him too much [/i][/i]to do it.[/i][/i]

 

And then, hoving into view come Hollywood’s saviours. Two girls, late teenage or perhaps just pushing twenty, probably from two of Johannesburg’s richer white families. Both in heavy eyeliner with a real rock-chick look; Spike’s seen girls like them many times before, at ringside during an SWF show. They always seem to get off on Toxxic’s pseudo-gay pretty-boy look, it’s so easy to forget that he’s only 22... and as Spike watches their line of sight he sees that these two are no different. Whether or not they follow wrestling, whether or not they have a clue who Toxxic is, both of them are looking at him. And giggling.

 

Bingo.

 

It takes only a few seconds for Spike to make his preparations and then he sets off again, angling himself on a trajectory to casually approach them from the rear. They turn around as he walks up and stifle a quick giggle again; Spike knows he’s good-looking, and he’s showered and washed his hair since he was tramping around Johannesburg’s darker streets earlier this evening. Even so, it’s a surprise when the blond one speaks.

 

“Hey, aren’t you Spike Jenkins?”

 

First drug dealers, now South African ‘It’ girls, Spike reflects. This is turning into a very strange evening. Momentarily stumped for anything else to say, he nods.

 

“My younger brother watches your show,” the brunette confesses. “Mom and dad don’t like it, though.” She pulls a face, although whether at the strictness of her parents or her younger brother’s folly remains unclear.

 

“Hey,” the blond one says, looking at Spike appraisingly, “why’ve you got two drinks?” Jenkins grins back, letting her expectation rise for a moment.

 

“Sorry,” he says, motioning slightly with the hand that holds the Coke, “this isn’t for you. It’s for my mate Toxxic over there.” He points clumsily, nearly slopping the carbonated beverage over the top of the glass. Maybe if I try really hard I can convince two braindead bimbos that I don’t hate him…

 

“I thought you guys hated each other?” the blond one says, tilting her head to one side. Spike grins in what he hopes is a disarming way, but the brunette nudges her friend in the ribs.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” she says scornfully, “wrestling’s fake. Everyone knows that… except my brother. They don’t even really hurt each other.” She pulls another face, this one definitely at her brother’s belief that two men hitting each other could be anything except fake.

 

I hope your brother Shoteis you when he grows up, Spike thinks venomously at her, but thank you. Sure enough, even the blond one’s scepticism seems to be dying down in the face of her friends’ aggressive disbelief.

 

“Hey, I saw you looking at him,” Spike says, taking the plunge. “You like him?”

 

“Well… he’s kinda cute,” Blond admits. Spike mentally renames her ‘Blind’, then proffers the Coke.

 

“Hey, this is what he likes,” he says. “Tell you what; you go and give it to him, get to know him a bit. But,” he adds conspiratorially, “don’t say I gave it to you, yeah? That’d ruin the fun.”

 

“OK,” Blind grins and takes the drink before looking back at him. “Aren’t you coming over too? I thought he was your buddy?”

 

“Nah,” Spike says, thinking furiously, “I wouldn’t want to cramp your style, know what I mean? I could try and get the blond guy he’s with out of the way too…” he adds, racking his brains for a way to distract Pretzler that wouldn’t end in instant violence, but Brunette unexpectedly comes to the rescue again.

 

“That’s OK - I kinda fancy him,” she giggles. Spike just looks at her for a moment, then with a lack for anything vaguely witty resembling ‘Brunette’ simply renames her as ‘Stupid’.

 

“Alright then; good luck,” he says, forcing his face into a grin. “Remember; don’t mention me, or the surprise will be gone!” The girls give him a vague acknowledgement, then begin to cross the floor towards the two members of Revolution Zero.

 

And that’s that. Spike forces back a surge of guilt at what he’s doing, fiercely reminding himself about what Toxxic’s done to him. No, the ends justify the means. Let’s see you laugh this one off, you smug motherfucker.

 

Blind and Stupid have reached Toxxic and Pretzler, who turn around in surprise to find themselves accosted by two attractive young women.

 

My work here is done.

 

No-one really notices Spike Jenkins heading for the exit, but that’s going to change soon. Before very much longer, everyone is going to know his name. And they won’t have a choice about noticing him.

[muzz 0]

Good promo.

[Angel_Grace_Blue 0]

Sporkulation be evil.

 

And stuff.

 

Niftastic promo, man.

[Ace309 0]

::applause::

[Above Average 0]

::Bows Down::

 

just plain good.