Post by Mr. Showtime on Feb 1, 2016 22:47:46 GMT -5
What brings people together? Common likes, common dislikes, common goals. Common friends? But what happened when these commonalities cease to exist. How can enemies stay allies without that glue that held them together? Is there truly a higher purpose that binds them? Have they grown enough to not fall into old habits? It has been proven that history repeats itself.
A haze fell over “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght. Flashes of his past jolt before his eyes. The moment that Phinehas blew the powder in his face changing the course of events that would lead them to the present. He sat by and watched, for the first time that is, why he disintegrated into a shell of his former pompous ass self. He watched his transformation into Phinehas Grimm and all of the horror that it brought.
He knew that he was dreaming. It was the only way that he could watch these events unfold, especially as hazy as they remained in his mind. He recalled what had happened leading up to the end of (arguably) the most legendary feud in wrestling history. It spanned nearly twenty years. The last moments of this epoch in time was not a truce to bury the hatchet, but a common friend.
It was William Dillinger that was able to come out and bridge the feud between these two men. Of course it also had much to do about The Black Hand orchestrating their entire lives as it would seem. Though at this common place in time these two men were allies, dare it be said possibly even friends.
It was true that these two tried to sign a cease fire on their own, but the powers that be in Pure Class Wrestling couldn’t have that. Immediately when the tensions began to thaw, not only did the PCW brass pit these two men against each other, they also threw in the PCW World Title to boot. A history like this does not just go quietly into the night.
His visions began to accelerate. He found himself torturing Justin Michaels. There was just something about Stormm that Showtime could not get enough enjoyment out of his torment. It happened while a member of Marshall’s Law and again when they were leading Michaels into their brotherhood. Very few men had received this kind of attention from Showtime. He enjoyed winning over all else, that was no secret. But getting inside the mind of an opponent and beating him from the inside out was something special.
Stormm was one of those people that would let Showtime in freely. It was almost too easy, but no less enjoyable. A good mind-fucking could always put that shit eating grin on Michael Wryght’s face. This was something that he had to stop, and the beginning of their alliance was probably even harder to get over. Stormm was not very interested in being friendly with the man that snuck into his twin’s room just to send a message. Showtime had crossed the line in a few occasions here, regardless if he was ordered to or not. Though by the end of it all they too were able to reach an accord.
But where did this leave the three of them?
“So where does it leave you?” came a voice, pulling the very thought out of Showtime’s mind. Showtime’s dream began to fill with smoke and the aroma of tobacco. He knew who it was even before he saw that red ember glowing in the haze. The smoking man came out of his own fumes and walked right up to Michael Wryght.
“I don’t see how any of this changes anything,” replied Showtime. Trying to sound more confident then he really was.
“Funny, because I see this changing everything.”
“It doesn’t really matter who is in attendance for The Black Hand. It doesn’t waiver our dedication,” said Showtime, as he glared at the man. “Billy was the face and now that can be Phinehas. No difference. It’s Mr. Grimm’s turn to be champion for a year.”
“What about you Michael? Shouldn’t you have that chance?”
“You know,” Showtime started, then pausing to collect his thoughts. “If you would have asked me that after the Deadly Rumble I helped Sadistic win I would have agreed. Things change though. I was able to call myself champion almost the entire time Sadistic was. It took nothing away from me. I was just as successful, hell even more so if you count me winning two titles in the same night. Though no one else seems to think that was much of a task.”
“You don’t really think that you were more successful than William, right?”
“Of course not, but I was trying to make a point dammit.”
“So you are willing to play second fiddle to both Dillinger brothers?”
“Who’s playing second fiddle? Just because I’m not going after the PCW World Championship doesn’t take away the legacy that I am building. None of them have a shot at becoming the next President of the United States, do they? I am about to reach an echelon that few have even come close to. I’ve transcended the wrestling world, Hollywood and potentially every other American at that. What else do I have to prove?”
“Considering that none of this is real, it seems to me that you have an enormous chip on your shoulder. So why don’t you tell me? What else do you have to prove?”
It was a good question, and not one Showtime had expected to be thrown back into his face. He sat there and thought about it seriously. So deep in thought he didn’t notice that the dream that surrounded him began to fade away. The smell of smoke vanished and the darkness was replaced by a subtle light. Before he knew it he was upright in his bed with his face buried in his hands.
“What is it?” asked Perfection, as Showtime shifted in their bed.
“Nothing go back to sleep.”
“Seriously, tell me,” she implored.
“What do I have to prove?” he asked in a trance like state.
“Nothing,” she said with a sleep filled smile.
“If only that were true,” he said looking at her deep in her eyes. “If only…”
A haze fell over “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght. Flashes of his past jolt before his eyes. The moment that Phinehas blew the powder in his face changing the course of events that would lead them to the present. He sat by and watched, for the first time that is, why he disintegrated into a shell of his former pompous ass self. He watched his transformation into Phinehas Grimm and all of the horror that it brought.
He knew that he was dreaming. It was the only way that he could watch these events unfold, especially as hazy as they remained in his mind. He recalled what had happened leading up to the end of (arguably) the most legendary feud in wrestling history. It spanned nearly twenty years. The last moments of this epoch in time was not a truce to bury the hatchet, but a common friend.
It was William Dillinger that was able to come out and bridge the feud between these two men. Of course it also had much to do about The Black Hand orchestrating their entire lives as it would seem. Though at this common place in time these two men were allies, dare it be said possibly even friends.
It was true that these two tried to sign a cease fire on their own, but the powers that be in Pure Class Wrestling couldn’t have that. Immediately when the tensions began to thaw, not only did the PCW brass pit these two men against each other, they also threw in the PCW World Title to boot. A history like this does not just go quietly into the night.
His visions began to accelerate. He found himself torturing Justin Michaels. There was just something about Stormm that Showtime could not get enough enjoyment out of his torment. It happened while a member of Marshall’s Law and again when they were leading Michaels into their brotherhood. Very few men had received this kind of attention from Showtime. He enjoyed winning over all else, that was no secret. But getting inside the mind of an opponent and beating him from the inside out was something special.
Stormm was one of those people that would let Showtime in freely. It was almost too easy, but no less enjoyable. A good mind-fucking could always put that shit eating grin on Michael Wryght’s face. This was something that he had to stop, and the beginning of their alliance was probably even harder to get over. Stormm was not very interested in being friendly with the man that snuck into his twin’s room just to send a message. Showtime had crossed the line in a few occasions here, regardless if he was ordered to or not. Though by the end of it all they too were able to reach an accord.
But where did this leave the three of them?
“So where does it leave you?” came a voice, pulling the very thought out of Showtime’s mind. Showtime’s dream began to fill with smoke and the aroma of tobacco. He knew who it was even before he saw that red ember glowing in the haze. The smoking man came out of his own fumes and walked right up to Michael Wryght.
“I don’t see how any of this changes anything,” replied Showtime. Trying to sound more confident then he really was.
“Funny, because I see this changing everything.”
“It doesn’t really matter who is in attendance for The Black Hand. It doesn’t waiver our dedication,” said Showtime, as he glared at the man. “Billy was the face and now that can be Phinehas. No difference. It’s Mr. Grimm’s turn to be champion for a year.”
“What about you Michael? Shouldn’t you have that chance?”
“You know,” Showtime started, then pausing to collect his thoughts. “If you would have asked me that after the Deadly Rumble I helped Sadistic win I would have agreed. Things change though. I was able to call myself champion almost the entire time Sadistic was. It took nothing away from me. I was just as successful, hell even more so if you count me winning two titles in the same night. Though no one else seems to think that was much of a task.”
“You don’t really think that you were more successful than William, right?”
“Of course not, but I was trying to make a point dammit.”
“So you are willing to play second fiddle to both Dillinger brothers?”
“Who’s playing second fiddle? Just because I’m not going after the PCW World Championship doesn’t take away the legacy that I am building. None of them have a shot at becoming the next President of the United States, do they? I am about to reach an echelon that few have even come close to. I’ve transcended the wrestling world, Hollywood and potentially every other American at that. What else do I have to prove?”
“Considering that none of this is real, it seems to me that you have an enormous chip on your shoulder. So why don’t you tell me? What else do you have to prove?”
It was a good question, and not one Showtime had expected to be thrown back into his face. He sat there and thought about it seriously. So deep in thought he didn’t notice that the dream that surrounded him began to fade away. The smell of smoke vanished and the darkness was replaced by a subtle light. Before he knew it he was upright in his bed with his face buried in his hands.
“What is it?” asked Perfection, as Showtime shifted in their bed.
“Nothing go back to sleep.”
“Seriously, tell me,” she implored.
“What do I have to prove?” he asked in a trance like state.
“Nothing,” she said with a sleep filled smile.
“If only that were true,” he said looking at her deep in her eyes. “If only…”
