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Toxxic

PROMO: remote control

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Alexander Zenon sits in his office, staring blearily at the desk in front of him. Of the most immediate concern is the piece of paper informing him that the censors were markedly unimpressed with the Aecas vs Mike Van Siclen match on Smarkdown, but the day-to-day drudgery of the job and the seemingly incessant communiqués from James Matheson are hardly helping.

 

*BRING-BRING!*

 

Zenon jumps, startled out of his miserable reverie by the office phone going off. He reaches over to pick it up, grateful for the distraction.

 

“Zenon, what the hell is happening?” the distinctive tones of Toxxic bark down the line to the interim Commissioner. “Why the bloody hell did you take me out of the match against Dace Night and replace me with Stryke?”

 

Sighing, Zenon wonders why no-one ever phones him to say something nice or approve of the way he does his job.

 

“It’s absolutely bloody ridiculous!” Toxxic continues. “So what if I lost to bloody Kibagami, I’m still the goddamn ICTV Champion-”

 

“Tox-”

 

“-and you can’t screw me over like this! I’m not going to sit out like some bloody cripple just-”

 

“Toxxi-”

 

“-because Kibagami hit me with the Demonstar! I hit my head again this morning; I’m fine, I’m jumpin’ around!”

 

Sensing a break in the flow, Zenon tries to jump in.

 

“But-”

 

He should have saved his breath.

 

“If Dace Night wants me in a bloody cage, he’s gonna get it, alright! And if he don’t want it, he’s gonna get it anyway because-”

 

“TOXXIC, WILL YOU PUT YOUR EGO DOWN FOR A MINUTE AND FUCKING LISTEN!” Zenon bellows at the top of his lungs.

 

There is a momentary silence on the other end of the line.

 

“Good,” Zenon continues in a slightly calmer tone. “Now then; you are pissed because I originally booked a non-title match between you and Dace Night in a cage, and I have now replaced you with Stryke, correct?”

 

“Yeah,” the Straight-Edge Sensation confirms. “What I wanna know is; why the bloody hell have you done it?”

 

“Because since I originally booked the card I have received a doctor’s report that is sitting on my desk,” Zenon tells him, shuffling the papers around, “and that says that as a result of your neck injury which was reaggravated on Smarkdown you are not fit to wrestle under any circumstances. That’s as in not at all. No wrestling, no cage matches and CERTAINLY not against Dace Night. Most people would be grateful for getting out of that stipulation, I might add.”

 

“Look, I’m not scared of that bloody Brummie and you can tell him I said so,” Toxxic retorts angrily. “I’ve beaten him twice and I’ll do it again-”

 

“That’s not the damn point!” Zenon growls down the phone. “Listen; for all the fact that you are an arrogant cocksucker with an insufferably high opinion of yourself you are still my ICTV Champion, and if events had gone slightly differently you’d be the Number One Contender for the World Title right now. All in all, much as it pains me to admit it you are one of the most valuable talents we have in the SWF right now. We don’t exactly have a huge roster at the moment and I’d think twice before letting Edward James or Spike Jenkins wrestle if they were declared medically unfit, let alone you. So sit your straight-edge backside back down, crack open a Pepsi Max or whatever the fuck it is you drink, rest your neck and just maybe you’ll be cleared to wrestle for Lockdown. Whereupon if you so wish it I will book you in whatever fucking insane match you want and, should it come to it, watch the premature end of your egotistical career with an entirely clear fucking conscience.”

 

Before the Brit can make any reply Zenon slams the phone down and turns back to his paperwork. A phrase catches his eye and he pulls the piece of paper out, then begins to skim-read it. It’s from Matheson about the match Duran wrestled against Tom Flesher on Smarkdown.

 

“I hate lawyers,” Zenon mutters, slumping in his seat.

 

_____________________

 

 

Back in his motel room, Toxxic stares angrily at the receiver of the phone and then slams it down in turn. The straight-edger picks up a pillow, hefts it in his hands for a second, weighs it carefully - then turns and hurls it at the door as hard as he can with a wordless snarl of rage before collapsing back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. The textured paper fails to capture his interest and he pulls himself up into a sitting position, back resting against the headboard, and picks up the remote from the bedside table. One flick of a black-nailed thumb turns the TV on, a second starts the video playing.

 

Toxxic comes off the top, looking for a top-rope hurricanrana that will send the Silent One flying across the ring as he wraps his legs around the throat of the former Clansmen...but Kibagami manages to stop Toxxic’s momentum as the Straight-Edge Sensation leans back, catching Toxxic’s arms with his own at the elbow. He tries to struggle, but Kibagami’s grip is sure. He knows that he has the match, now.

 

Toxxic feels his opponent take a step backwards...then another, and another.

 

He doesn’t need to look down to know that he’s in the middle of the ring.

 

 

 

BAM!

 

 

 

Dead center.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

 

Stop.

 

 

Rewind.

 

 

BAM!

 

 

 

Dead center.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

 

Stop.

 

 

Rewind.

 

 

BAM!

 

 

 

Dead center.

 

 

 

ON-

 

 

Stop.

 

 

Rewind.

 

BAM!

 

 

Stop.

 

 

Rewind.

 

 

Slowly, unconsciously, Toxxic’s left hand reaches up to massage the back of his neck.

 

 

BAM!

 

 

Stop.

 

 

Rewind.

 

 

BAM!

 

 

BAM!

 

 

BAM!

 

...

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SWANK~ Promo, dig the dialouge and the way both characters were shown. The replaying at the end was a great bit especially.

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The parallels are frightening, I tell you.

Well now - that's an unintended but very useful piece of information.

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