Toxxic

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JANUS. *pounce-huggles Janus* Bitch.

Yeah yeah, act all superior and make light of Sectarian violence. No, go on, do it.

Toxxic, the Straight-Edge Sensation, the leader of Revolution Zero and SWF World Heavyweight Champion sits on the stone steps of the Council House in Nottingham’s Old Market Square and suppresses a shiver as the cold air of this dark November evening bites at his skin. Beyond the edges of the square, half-hidden by other buildings, sits the shiny new Travelodge Inn at the head of Maid Marian Way, the location of his lodging tonight; his, and the rest of Revolution Zero. It’s changed since I was last here, not even a year ago. The building where I’m sleeping tonight was still being built. The flashy new tram system wasn’t running, although it was messing up traffic well enough. It’s changed... I’ve changed. Toxxic had decided to use Nottingham as his base of operations the moment he heard the SWF was coming to the UK. On Saturday night he and the rest of Rev-0 -minus Sacred, who had preferred to stay separate- had stopped in a hotel in Manchester, but not before Toxxic had introduced them to Jilly’s Rockworld. The club had seemed a perfect place to soothe tempers, but the measure had only partly worked. Sean and Marcus had been uncomfortable, although it had been amusing to watch a space clear for the Perfect Storm in the moshpit the moment the big man had showed an interest in joining in. Jet, predictably, had loved every minute, while Spike... had just seemed cold. Toxxic had taken it as nothing more than jet lag or unfamiliarity, but events backstage at Ashes 2 Ashes had made it very clear what Hollywood’s problem had been. Now the Straight-Edge Sensation is back in his home city, the only World Champion since Genesis IV to retain his title on Pay-Per-View, at the head of the most menacing force in the business, and all he can do is worry about if he’s made a mistake. It should have worked, bringing in Sacred. The guy’s a former World Champion, he’s gone toe-to-toe with the best including Edwin fucking MacPhisto, and even in the later parts of his career he was still a force to be reckoned with. He gave the US title a credibility matched by hardly anyone. But I didn’t tell anyone that he was joining us, and that came back to bite me. Sean’s unhappy and Spike’s went downright hostile, although he was a bit happier after both he and I won last night. But I know they’re going to blame Sacred for the tag loss. Sean spearing him was an accident, but still... Tomorrow, Toxxic knows, the plans are set. They don’t have to be in Dublin until Friday morning, although they’re planning on taking a flight over on Thursday. Tuesday is going to be a day of relaxation -just as well, considering the battering Annie gave him- when he will guide Jet and the others (assuming they want to come) around some of Nottingham’s sights. The straight-edger is looking forward to returning to some of his old haunts; Nottingham Castle; Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem, the oldest Inn in England; even wandering around the Broadmarsh and Victoria shopping centres will be a pleasant reminder of the past when a simple phrase wouldn’t set tens of thousands of people screaming for his blood, and being in possession of a belt wouldn’t make some of the most dangerous men and women outside of psychiatric institutions want to start hitting him. Oh yeah, thinking of psychiatric hospitals... I’ve got Carnage to look forward to. Lucky, lucky me. Still, better him than another match with Annie, I guess. Wednesday is lined up as well - a trip to Sherwood Forest (the Americans had been very insistent about that, despite his assurances that there was nothing of Robin Hood left there), and then he and Jet are going to visit his parents. His parents, who have never met their only son’s girlfriend before. His parents, still living in Radford and still refusing his offer of buying them a house in a more pleasant area of the city. His parents, who although not approving of wrestling had fully supported their son’s efforts to follow his dream. They’d only watched his first few matches, stopping after witnessing the gorefest that had been the 200 Lightubes HGC match of Toxxic vs Aecas at From The Fire. His parents, who as a result had no idea that he had subsequently fallen from the graces of the crowd and relied for news solely on what he told them. They’d been delighted to hear of his title wins, ecstatic when he had breathlessly informed them that he was now World Heavyweight Champion, recognised as the best in the business. I suppose I should probably leave Spike out of this one. It’s going to be bad enough making sure Naomi behaves herself... Toxxic looks around, at the various people still dotted around the square even this late at night. Up the road, he knows, Obsessions is taking place at O’Rileys. Tempting as it is to go clubbing again the thought of witnessing all those 16 year-olds pretending to be old enough to drink does not appeal, and he decides it would be best to wait until Rock City tomorrow night. Some things never change. The one time I spoke to Chris Card he told me he used to practically live at Rock City on a tuesday. Before my time, I guess. With a grunt, partly of effort and partly from the pain in his ribs, Toxxic hoists himself up off the steps and pauses to pat the stone lion next to him. Some things never do change. Earlier that day, when the others were out of earshot, Jet had asked him a simple question - how long can he keep proving people wrong? How long can it go before eventually, they’re proved right? His goal had been to retain the title on Pay-Per-View - where does he go now? She hadn’t been asking to mock him or get at him; she had simply wanted to know. And now, as Toxxic sets off across the paved area still being used (illegally) as a skate park by after-dark daredevils, he thinks he knows the answer. A bit longer yet. As long as I’ve got this place behind me and I know I can come back to it, I’ll remember who I am and who I was. And as long as I can do that, I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me. This is what’s real. Slowly, in some pain, but with a lopsided grin spread across his face, the Straight-Edge Sensation wanders across Old Market Square, across the tramlines and heads off towards his room where his girlfriend is waiting. It’s hard to be World Champion all the time. Sometimes you just have to be a 21 year-old who’s come home for a little while.

These people all rock in various ways, even though I have hardly seen any of them write. Congratulations to all, I fervently hope that I may too be admitted some day in the distant future. What's happened to the Awards Polls, btw?

I think Dagda might actually get a pop, since I believe I'm correct in saying that his second name is that of an old Irish god.

Just for noting purposes - as an Englishman in Ireland, I would probably be booed out of the building. So me and Rev-0 are back to being heels again.

I wrote to job, as Kibagami had earlier in the evening thrown me through the plate glass doors of the General Motors Place and Toxxic was barely able to stand, let alone wrestle. The plan was that Kibs would cost me the ICTV title, then I would hunt down and go for his World Title in revenge. Of course, Kibagami being Kibagami, he no-showed his defence that night against Danny and it went out of the window, so we faced off in a Last Man Standing while the new ICTV champ Janus faced World Champion Danny. Janus didn't even write for our match.

Uh-huh. One pinfall loss to Alan Clark One tag loss (w/ Jimmy Liston) vs Flesher and Grand Slam (FLesher pinned Liston) One strap match loss to Janus One pinfall loss to Kibagami One ladder match loss to Janus One tag loss (w/Jamie Drazon) vs Flesher and Landon (Flesher pinned me. With my own fucking move, the bastard ) One pinfall loss to Jonny Dangerous And a WHOLE LOT of wins via no-show.

10,870-ish, and done (barring edits). Sorry Mike.

Thoth just wants me.

I nominate Xero. Oh and Dace - I'm going to print out my match 1,000 time, drive down to Reading, find where you live and paste it all over the walls of your halls. Just to make you SUFFER~!

To clear up WC's question - no, I am not a ringer. And to make Spike feel better, I've only known Sarah's true identity for a few weeks. And to make him feel even better, I didn't even know who 'Sarah' was at first. However, I am Dace's father. He only found out after I'd cut his hand off and offered to rule the Universe with him. That's why he's absent from the fed you see, as learning how to type with a dodgy prosthetic welded to your body by a mobile trash can that speaks in Morse code can take a little while. Hope this helps.

Hey, I think he sounds fucking great. Then again, the moment La Res stopped being French and started being Canadian they were great too (but I have a decent reason for hating the French - namely, the history of wars with them rather than a minor tiff over invading another country).

MAIN EVENT WORLD TITLE BOUT STREET FIGHT Toxxic© vs Annie Eclectic ~I'm in fucking ENGLAND. If I can't retain the damn thing here, I don't deserve it. HELL IN A CELL "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens vs The Suicide King ~The feel of the feud, plus the WWE-influenced nature of the writers, leads me to believe that Mark will take this one and set it to rest. SINGLES MATCH Manson vs Nathaniel Kibagami ~If Kibs shows with his full force, he'll take it. If they double no-show after all the effort I went to setting this up, I will fly to America, track them down and anally violate both of them with anything that comes to hand. TAG TEAM MATCH Todd Cortez & ??? vs Sean Davis & ??? ~My ??? is harder than your ??? ICTV TITLE BOUT ROYAL BEATING MATCH "The Icon" Max King© vs Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix ~Maddix can take this writing-wise, but I don't know if he might job it to head after the World Title. WOMEN'S TITLE SINGLES MATCH Kelly Connelly© vs Megan Skye ~Whoever of Maddix and Max has more time. SINGLES MATCH Andrea Montgomery vs David Cross ~Cross is good, but Drea is Drea. So Drea. CRUSIERWEIGHT TITLE MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins© vs Austin Sly ~This should be very close indeed. But I doubt Sly will show (and I know he's got other shit going on at the moment anyway), so stable pride and common sense collide to give a prediction of Spike. HARDCORE TITLE MATCH Carnage© vs Christian Fury ~Ohh... I like Carnage, but I think Fury could take this.

Yeah, but as a United fan your opinion hardly counts. But then again you lost 2-0 to PORTSMOUTH, so maybe I should go easy. ...naaaaah. Oh, and Grand Slam - absolutely no-one gives a shit about baseball over here. Just an SWF cap will probably do it. Edit to add: Note for Americans and other aliens - Manchester United are similar to what I understand the New York Yankees to be. Annoyingly good at what they do, stinking rich, loved by loads of people who aren't from Manchester (or even Britain), and hated by everyone else in the country. There's no middle ground with Man U - you either love 'em or hate 'em

happy Birthday Raynor! And what is this, something like the fourth SWF'er in a row to have a birthday? IL, Supes, Drea and now Raynor?

Two points: first, it's the Manchester Evening News Arena. That's why it's so frustrating when JR says 'Fans in Great Britain! The WWE will be coming to the Manchester Evening News Arena in Manchester!' Secondly, as a general note: If you are trying to get face pops, do NOT wear a Manchester United shirt. Anyone wearing a Man U shirt in Manchester gets BOOED. Wear a Manchester City shirt and all will be fine.

That was ripped from Winnie-The-Pooh, i think. No, i'm serious.

Word. Give the WWF their money and help them save the planet, God knows it needs it.

Happy Birthday to THE craziest, weirdest and possibly hairiest (as in, has the longest hair) person in the SWF. BORT!

Mistress Sarah.

You know, Sarah, assuming that's you in your avatar, and I can vouch for that being me in mine... do you think that's Spike in his? *ducks* Just kidding, Spike...

Hippy pappy, birthithdath, thuftdth, bifirthday.

Scene: A hotel room in Toronto, Ontario Time: Just after Lockdown Toxxic collapses back on his hotel bed, exhausted. Beating Manson hadn’t been easy, and if it hadn’t been for that video going off... The video. Kibagami, again. It sounded like the sort of stunt he’d pull, but then again... I haven’t seen him in all this time. No-one has, except the guys in the production truck and I don’t know if I can trust them. It doesn’t feel like him to wait for this long without showing himself, without attacking me. Irritably, the Straight-Edge Sensation pulls his black holdall towards him and reaches into it for some paracetamol. He pulls the packet out and goes so far as to open it - then stops. For some reason, the thoughts of Kibagami going round in his head make him unwilling to resort to painkillers tonight. So let’s suppose it isn’t Kibagami. Who is it? Annie? I doubt it, doesn’t seem like her style and the vids have been turning up for longer than she’s had an issue with me. Cortez? Maybe, but he seems more likely to try and kick my head off than play mind games. I’d have said maybe Mike, but... Toxxic stops short. A memory surfaces, of a masked man running down when he and Sean were attacking Todd Cortez at ringside during Spike’s Cruiserweight Title match with Ryan Dustin. The masked man had used the Code Red, and at the time Toxxic had assumed that it was simply Mike Van Siclen having one last hurrah before he skulked off to dazzle the locals with his teeth in Shitsville, Idaho or wherever he’d crawled to in his retirement. But if that was Mike, and he was planning on making another appearance... ...it could be. Mike might not be as gone as he should be. It’s not like the SWF doesn’t employ masked weirdos without enquiring into their background, and besides, it’s not unheard of for wrestlers to come back under a mask. I know Birdman seemed awfully familiar, for one. Mike could slip in, get away with using his favourite moves by dedicating them to ‘the memory of Mike Van Siclen’ or some such bollocks, and try and get close enough to me to get revenge... and screw with my head in the process. A muffled beeping from his bag alerts the Straight-Edge Sensation to the fact that he has a message, and he plunges his hand into the holdall in search of his mobile phone. However, the first thing it encounters is a piece of paper, and Toxxic doesn’t remember putting any pieces of paper in his bad. Curiously, the World Champion draws it out and unfolds it. His eyes first widen, then narrow suspiciously as he reads a message in unfamiliar handwriting. ‘There is a coffee shop just off Toronto’s main square. Go there tomorrow morning at 10am and wait for me. Come alone - I will know if you bring a friend, no matter how well they hide.’ “Hey, what’s that?” Jet asks, emerging from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. “Someone’s playing silly buggers,” Toxxic tells her, screwing the paper up and throwing it neatly into the room’s wastepaper bin. “And tomorrow morning I’m going to find out who, and why.” ________________________________________________ Scene: A coffee shop in Toronto Time: Just after 10am Toxxic looks down at the crumpled piece of paper he rescued from the bin that morning. This is a coffee shop, certainly, but who’s to say it’s the one mentioned? He went into the first one he saw assuming it was the only one fitting the description, but you never know, there could be another. In fact, Toxxic realises, he’s been so concerned with whether he’s in the right place or not that he hasn’t been thinking about who he’s here to meet. Van Siclen or Cortez seems unlikely, unless they have a hankering to be detained in Canada on an assault charge. An ex-girlfriend is pretty much out of the question, unless one of them has emigrated since he’s been away from Nottingham. Whoever it is, they must have had access to the backstage area of the Air Canada Centre and been able to slip into his room undetected... so that at least rules Aecas out, Toxxic thinks with a wry smile as the mental image of the seven-footer with the black-and-white painted face attempting to sneak unnoticed past security flashes into his head. The notion so amuses him that it takes a second for him to realise that someone has sat down opposite. “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone,” Toxxic tells him, throwing the man a cursory glance. “Not anymore, you’re not,” a soft voice replies. The accent isn’t Canadian but the voice is vaguely - very vaguely - familiar, and Toxxic turns to see who has spoken. For a moment he stares blankly at the unremarkable face looking into his; then realisation dawns. “Well... I certainly wasn’t expecting you,” Toxxic says, setting his coffee down. The man smiles, a movement of the lips that never reaches the tired-looking eyes. “No-one ever does.”

Dude, ouch. I might show just in spite of you now, man. Good. It'd be great if you did. But let's face it, the last time you showed a competitive match was two characters ago when Insane Luchador beat David Blazenwing. And even that's stretching 'competitive' a bit... Go IL. Prove me wrong. Please?