PROMO: Proving Them All Wrong...

[Toxxic 0]

(Set in the bowels of the Xcel Center days before 'Burnout' and just after the PPV has ended)

 

===

 

"Bollocks..."

 

Hunched over in a chair, towel draped over his face, Toxxic sits, briefly replaying the match in his mind. Facts come back hazy and blurred. Moves and sequences jumbled together; still indesernable. He can't analyze a match that he can't remember, action by action. If he doesn't just relax he's going to drive himself nutters in the process. He'll have to look over the tape at some point during the week. Suddenly, some guy strolls into the room. He gives a last glance to the Revolution Zero name plate on the door, before looking around as if he's searching for something. Or someone.

 

"Who the bloody hell are you?" the straight-edge sensation asks, with a hint of, well, edge to his voice. Clearly, this bloke didn't get the memo. After his stablemates dropped him off, Toxxic made it known in no uncertain terms that he needed a few to collect himself.

 

"Me?" responds the guy, pointing to himself in a self-assured manner. "Nobody important. Just a fan." the one true Hot commodity looks him over out of the corner of his eye. Oddly, there's this niggling feeling that he should know the guy. Apparently not finding what he was looking for, the intruder attempts to shoot the breeze. "I was watching the matches from the skybox with Applewhite, though. Wouldn't shut up about the new generation. He thinks you're a marketing goldmine." Toxxic acknowledges this with an insincere nod of the head. Blue dress shirt, a loose silver tie. Oakly shades. Clearly American. So clearly self-important. But clearly, just another suit talking about money.

 

"I'd tend to agree. I am the hot commodity around this joint. The franchise to build this company around!" The suit looks mildly amused by that statement, which is odd. Toxxic isnt saying anything King hasn't already said to Landon Maddix. "And if there's one thing I'm not, it's a quitter. I'm the fastest rising star in fed history. I'll be three time champ too, and even better than the rest! Maddix can run--he can try to hide. But I'll burn him out if he burrows too deep! Hell, there are a lot of people out there that don't even have the drive to win one World title, let alone do what I'm going to do!"

 

The American bristles slightly, clearly a little put out, and then just nods his head in agreement. "So, anything you think you could have done differently? I saw a few things that I might have changed--like, not tapping out. That'd be one of them."

 

Is this wanker serious! "Are you serious?". Toxxic proclaims, experiencing something akin to his own shock syndrome. He pauses for a second, incredulous to the sheer gall of this American. "Sunshine, you must not be quite right in the head." It's comes out more as a statement than a question. He could kick this guys arse all over the lockerroom, but he doesn't. Toxx reminds himself he isn't the type to just jump a random twat. He's also not the type of guy to go into a fight without all the facts. That's definitely not his style. Plus, there's something about this fellow that's hovering on the tip of his brain. Until he figures it out, it's best to bait this character along and bide his time. Let him talk.

 

"Don't take me serious. I was just kidding--mate." Toxxic didn't even realize he was standing until now, after the guy motions for him to simmer down. "Honestly, I've been watching your matches recently. You're good--no great, no doubt about that. You wouldn't be... ahem, the fastest rising star in fed history, if you weren't." He pauses, a smile threatening to form on his lips. "But that was a little different from your normal game plan out there. Fast as hell, yeah. High impact, yes. Slow and methodical--nah."

 

What's he getting at, Toxxic wonders.

 

"No, you're not quite the ground and pound type. Or one that makes rookie mistakes. But you did. Not pinning Maddix and asking the ref for a KO? Seemed like you were more cocky than confident out there. That works for some people, but--"

 

Time to regain control of this chat.

 

"You're mighty chatty for a fan, know that?" mentions Toxx semi-cautiously, looking the businessman up and down. Probing his visitor for some kind of tell. Something isn't quite right about this conversation. "You gotta' point?"

 

The guy considers the statement for a minute. "I'm just saying, you're a fighter not a wrestler. But first, you kinda got drug into a wrestling match, kicking and screaming." He chuckles. "Then Maddix out fought you in the end? It's cool if you weren't up for the match. Hell, even the best of us gets a little complacent. Next generation or not. Well, not me, but I'm special. Still though, you kinda lost to your own move basically. That sucks."

 

Okay. This guy must be a stark raving lunatic to talk to him like this and about this now. And he's smirking. This is one cocky sonnuva' bitch. He could have been a wrestler to break down his match like that. That or an internet mark a little too big for his britches. Toxx needs something that'll get him to reveal who he is. Something that could push a button... "Mate, you're barking up the wrong tree. I'm not the guy to be discussing this with right now. You think you can do better--get your arse in a ring and back up all that chatter with a World title or two!"

 

Ooh. That hit a sore note. Clearly a wrestler that hasn't won a World title. He saw that tell earlier in the convo. Toxxic presses the issue.

 

"Now, I've tried to be civil, but I'm not one to take shit from anybody--let alone some random prick." Toxx flashes a crooked grin, sure to get a response. "A right arrogant prick too, if you don't mind me saying. Not that I care if you do, mind you. Being American, I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but I'm at the end of my bloody tether."

 

Hearing two distinctly different voice from down the hall, Jet wonders just what the hell is going on. Toxxic isn't really well liked backstage, so it's doubtful anyone would come for a visit. Spike either doesn't hear or doesn't care, as he continues strolling towards the lockerroom. He's blissfully unaware, talking about beat Kaine and staying the longest reigning Cruiserweight champ...

 

"Now, Mr. Nobody. I'm gonna come right out an ask. Who--"

 

Spike pushes the door open, interrupting the final question of the conversation. Toxx and his guest catch the movement out of the corner of their eye. Jenkins stops mid-word and then Hollywood's eyes go wide.

 

"Fuck me..." Toxxic hears Spike mumble out.

 

The intruder pushes his shades down his nose and speaks, quickly covering up the quiet. His brown eyes lock with Toxxic's grey ones. "I like your style. Shame I don't really like you. At all." The rest of the Revolution pile to a stop behind Spike, standing impatiently. Toxxic doesn't acknowledge them just yet. He's not backing down from this confrontation. "Or your merry little band of men in tights."

 

Hearing this Sean Davis powers around Jenkins looking at the black guy in formal wear standing with Toxxic. Toxx notices his new friend hasn't taken his eyes off the straight-edger even after they've all entered the room. "Especially your merry little men. One in particular." Clearly he knows they're there though. "But enough about that. You think you're hot shit--clearly, you're not as hot a commodity as you thought! But hey, you proved them all wrong. Right? You got your respect. Right?"

 

"Wrong. You don't have everybody’s respect."

 

Toxxic guffaws at that one, but his new acquaintince is dead serious. "Hey Toxx, everyone taps out eventually. I know. Boy, do I know! But if you're going to be the person they build this company around. When they say you won't do it--when they say you can't come back..."

 

Toxxic finally takes his eyes off the guy. Spike Jenkins stands still eyeing up the guest with caution. The straight-edger knows something is up now. Spike looked like he'd seen a ghost earlier. Clearly his suspicions that he's a former SWF wrestler are dead on. Davis and Washington have no clue. Jet looks like she can't quite place who this is either. A quick look to Andrew Blackwell reveals nothing, since he just raises an eyebrow. After a careful look, though, he picks up a barely audible comment. Odd. Sacred is always cool under pressure, this being no exception, but "well, this is a surprise" wasn't exactly what he was expecting to hear...

 

"You've got to prove them all wrong, again."

 

Toxx prides himself on knowing his opponent. Research. He's always prepared, since he's continuously got somebody to prove wrong. He didn't underestimate Landon Maddix tonight. For one brief moment, the unthinkable happened again. He got proven wrong. But just like when he lost to Johnny, it was never a question of if he'd get the belt back, but when. He will prove them all wrong again. It's been right there on his tongue who this guy is, but damned if he couldn't remember. The guy is cocky. He could see it in the way he walks. In the way he talks. The way he went from amused to angry after what Toxxic said earlier. The respect thing should have been an easy tell. He'd seen him rant and rant about it on the telly, numerous times. But it finally hits him--finally hits him, when he spies the look he's giving Sacred.

 

"Spike."

 

Toxxic watches Jenkins numbly nod his head. There's history between them and Toxx knows it. But its been at least a year since they've seen each other. Probably more.

 

"Sacred." adds the visitor, glaring at Blackwell. He turns away, now flipping his ice blue Oakly's across his eyes and walks for the door. "I'll be seeing you. Soon." The growl of soon can't be missed by anyone in the room and as he leaves, he can be heard saying over his shoulder... "next generation my ass."

 

"I will... look forward to it." regards Sacred, still showing surprise in his own way. Toxxic remembers him now.

 

 

 

 

The 'self-proclaimed' Franchise.

 

 

 

 

"Mak."

 

 

 

"Who's Mac?" Davis asks Sacred, looking at his three stablemates that seem to know this guy, quizzically. Toxxic ignores him though and flashes a half-grin at the retreating figure of the quote, unquote, franchise. Apparently, Mak Francis wants to prove them all wrong, too. Still though, that doesn't mean he won't get proven wrong himself…

[King Cucaracha 0]

OMG!

 

Cool stuff Toxx, as per usual.

[Toxxic 0]

Credit Mak, he wrote it. And is the only other person in the fed who can write Toxxic, or so it seems. Which is odd, considering.

[Ace309 0]

I'm probably Mak's biggest fan. Color me happy.

 

Toxxic and Maddix may feel free to colour me happy.

[Toxxic 0]

Maddix is a little arse-kisser, so he'd drop the 'u' as well. Dace and Zed will be with me though.

[HollywoodSpikeJenkins 0]

Oh my fucking God.

[Above Average 0]

Oh my fucking God.

It would have been funnier if you said:

 

"Fuck me..."

[Ace309 0]

Is it wrong for me to picture Davis and Francis as a Nation of Islam/Domination-style tag team with Marcus Washington as their Farrakhan analog, and Spike just getting more and more confused as it gets more and more intense?

[Above Average 0]

Yes.

 

+1