PROMO: You've Got Mail

[Toxxic 0]

In warfare there is death, or there is triumph. But there are always the injured from both sides, the people who in some respects evaded either fate. The ones who got taken out before the end, who fell in combat but lived for another day. They will see either a new world, reshaped around them into a new image, or witness the end of what they knew and the birth of something foreign to them. Pity the walking wounded, for whatever side they were once on they are now removed from choice and cut off from the changes. They have swapped their weapons for beds, and the terrifying but exhilarating world of the Battleground for the sterile hospital ward.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” A voice is heard in the corridors of Albuquerque General Hospital. A woman’s voice, and one not convinced that the answer she is receiving is the correct one.

 

“Look; I feel alright, they say I’m alright, and when we get back to the hotel I’m gonna bloody show you I’m alright,” a male voice replies. The tone is light-hearted rather than angry, but underneath there is a hint of frustration.

 

“Then why are you still wearing the neck brace?” The speaker comes into view in the hospital reception area, a slim girl with black-and-red dreadlocks and wearing baggy skate pants, army boots and a cut-off black T-shirt. She is walking backwards in front of the owner of the other voice, a young man who is indeed wearing a neck brace and looking non too happy about it.

 

Toxxic stops and sighs. His hair is drooping down the sides of his head, his nail varnish is chipped and his eyeliner got washed off on sunday night after he was brought here in an ambulance from the University Arena. He doesn’t look like himself, and he doesn’t feel like himself. Irritably, the Straight-Edge Sensation goes to crack his neck from side-to-side like he always does - and the padded blue plastic of the brace stops him, although it doesn’t stop the painful twinge that shoots down his spine as a result. He reaches up to massage it, but his hand only encounters more blue plastic, cutting him off from himself.

 

“I’m wearing this because I got dropped on my head through a table by a seven-foot psycho,” he tells Jet with more patience than he feels, absent-mindedly massaging the neck brace as if it’ll help. Several people passing them catch the brief exchange and look round in surprise, but he ignores them. They either won’t know who he is and what he’s talking about, or they’ll know damn well and think Aecas shouldn’t have stopped there. Fuck them. “But I’m OK to leave here, as long as there’s no immediate risk that it’ll happen again in the near future.”

 

“So are you staying away from the fed until you’re cleared to wrestle?” Jet asks him, crossing her arms and fixing him with a stare.

 

“NO!” The word comes out quicker and louder than he meant it, and turns a couple more heads. Jet looks almost hurt and Toxxic modulates his tone before continuing, but there is an underlying bitterness there. “I’ve been in the SWF three months, and in that time I have been the only person to compete on every single show on which there has been a match. Aecas has stopped that, but I am damned if that oversized freak is going to keep me away. I am going to be there, and I am going to do exactly what I always do. Except wrestle.”

 

“So what are you going to do then?” Jet asks, falling in beside Toxxic as he starts to cross to the main desk. The right side of the straight-edger’s face quirks upwards in a grin.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. Annoy whoever the Commissioner is now.” They reach the desk and Toxxic attracts the attention of the duty nurse. “Michael Stephens,” he tells her, handing over the paper he’s holding. “I’m being discharged.”

 

“So you are,” the nurse smiles up at him. As she countersigns the bottom she notices the dreadlocked girl looking down at her and wonders whether her smile should have been quite so friendly... but the girl looks more thoughtful than jealous. As she starts to hand the discharge papers back the nurse seems to remember something, and turns round to rummage briefly before handing over a small brown paper parcel. “This came for you in the post this morning,” she tells the straight-edger.

 

‘She wasn’t bad, was she?” Jet murmurs thoughtfully as the pair cross the reception towards the door. The words don’t register with her boyfriend for a moment, as Toxxic steps through the doors and out of the hospital, pausing briefly to savour the fact that once again, he can go where he likes and do what he likes. Then Jet’s words catch his attention, and he turns a querying eye back at her.

 

“Nothing special, I’d say,” he replies, eying his girlfriend. “What in particular caught your attention?”

 

“I guess I like girls in uniform,” Jet shrugs, sticking her hands in her pockets and grinning up at him.

 

“So that’s why you kept the Girl Scout clothes,” Toxxic says in mock-realisation. Jet punches him playfully on the shoulder, then grabs his face and pulls it down to hers for a second.

 

“No, that’s so you can show me how well you are later,” she tells him. Her eyes flick down to the package. “What’s that?”

 

“Dunno.” Toxxic stops and looks at the package for a second. Who knew he was in hospital? Come to think of it, who in this country sends him things anyway? Wordlessly, he slips a finger in one end and tears the seal, then reaches in and pulls out a piece of paper. Toxxic frowns and unfolds it; the words inside are printed in a neat, slightly gothic hand:

 

“Until Next Time...”

 

With a bad feeling in his stomach, Toxxic upends the package over his hand. A small, long and thin object falls out and tinkles gently as it lands in his palm. The Straight-Edge Sensation and his girlfriend stare down at it, one in confusion and the other in abrupt realisation.

 

It is a plain cat’s collar. And, attached to the front of it, is a small bell.

 

“I still don’t get it,” Jet says, puzzled. “Why is someone sending you a cat collar?”

 

“It’s not the collar that’s important,” Toxxic answers. “And it’s a private joke.” He clenches his fist around collar and paper and shoves them into his pocket, before turning and setting off across the car park at such a pace that Jet has difficulty in keeping up.

[janusd 0]

Until Next Time indeed. Bwahahahahahaha. There there, Toxxic, Aecas just dropped you on your head. I'll send Janus over to finish the job.

 

Nice promo, playing up that Toxx is so full of himself he's not staying away from the show. And continuity, with the private joke about the belled collar. (Y)

[Guest Aecas]

Continuity never hurts my friend.

 

Another good promo Toxxic and I hope you enjoy your few weeks off.

[Dace59 0]

All good stuff. Gotta love the joke with the collar. And you ego centric bastard you

[Guest Suicide King]

I'm only midly ashamed to admit that I do not catch the collar reference. Could someone explain it to me?

[Guest Goodear]

Janus dresses up like a bit kitty in his spare time?

 

I dunno I think its FORESHADOWING!

[janusd 0]

I'm only midly ashamed to admit that I do not catch the collar reference. Could someone explain it to me?

In a series of backstage promos between Aecas and Toxxic, Aecas kept pulling a silent appearance/silent disappearance act. This prompted Toxxic to spit out, in one promo, that he should get Aecas a collar and bell so he could hear him coming. (Y)

[Guest Suicide King]

Ah. Now I feel compelled to let out a brief guffaw.