Post by Stormm on Jul 5, 2016 21:34:04 GMT -5
Dusk had fallen over Greenville, and the city lights had been on long enough to attract the attention of the bugs of Summer. The Pure Class Wrestling Enterprises headquarters, however, was not contributing to illumination of the cityscape. Sure, the big blue PCW on the side of the building was lit up per the norm, but only one office's lights were still on.
One man in particular was burning the midnight oil, for one reason or another, and had stayed long enough that even the sanitation crew had finished up and gone home for the evening. Michael Wryght was sitting at his desk in the Presidential Suite, sifting through paperwork, rolling his eyes at emails, and somehow managing to keep his sanity while running a company and an election campaign all at the same time.
It was a night like any for the one they call Mr. Showtime, a moniker that might not be heard as often as it once was. The sounds of traffic in the street and planes flying above were his only real distractions until the fluorescent lights in his office started to flicker. "If it isn't one thing, it's another." He scoffed.
A slightly overcast sky accompanied the city lights that evening but Michael kept the curtains drawn, it helped with the claustrophobic feeling he got from his current post. The office itself was of good size, but the duties he was performing once again in his life seemed to weigh on him more heavily this time more so than before.
The lights flickered again, this time nearly leaving the office in darkness before returning to their original brightness. Mr. Wryght calmly picked up his phone, but a quick scan of his wristwatch assured him that there'd be nobody to call until the morning; he'd just have to grin and bear it.
As if by some freak coincidence, though, as soon as Michael set the phone receiver back down, his phone rang. He pondered letting it ring, but didn't follow through and answered. "Yeah?"
No response.
"Hello?!"
Dead air.
Slamming the phone back down, he had taken just about as much as he could, and tried to immerse himself back into his work. Most people would have left hours prior, but the Potus candidate was not most people. He had a lot to do, and very little time to do it in, so he kept on.
That is, until the lights finally went out. It wasn't just his office but the whole building. He glanced out at the city, but no other buildings seemed to be affected. Letting out a heavy sigh Michael picked up his cell phone, and did a quick once over of any texts and emails he had gotten recently, and after the lights hadn't come back on for a few minutes, finally decided to call it a night.
"Not yet!" A gruff voice called out to Michael from the shadows. He blinked and pressed his eyelids tight, trying to get his eyes to focus in the dark. The annoyance he felt from someone else's presence at that time had caused his heart to start racing. "We need to talk."
PCW’s interim President assumed his usual casual demeanor, seemingly without a care in the world despite another pitch black pursuer. "Great someone else in the shadows needs something. When did this become a trend?"
"You've always been so god-damned dramatic!" The shadows responded back. "Who said I needed anything?"
"You wouldn’t be lurking around my office at this time of night if you didn’t." Michael snapped back. "Maybe you should man up and show your face."
"You already know who I am, and you don’t need the lights to confirm anything." As Mr. Showtime's eyes began to focus, he could see the figure off in the corner. The illumination from the city was beginning to shed some light on the subject. "It’s better if we keep our dealings in the dark anyway."
"Whatever makes you feel more comfortable Justin, but this seems to be a trend for me nowadays." He had grown accustomed to his stalkers, if not expected them anymore. However, Justin Michaels was not the man he would have expected at that time. "What do you want?"
"I wanted to know why I got forced back into PCW when I wasn’t ready?" The Force of Nature questioned. "Who told you I was ready to be booked, and why the hell did you think it was a good idea to put me against that lunatic and his psychotic following?"
"You’ll need to take that up with your doctor Justin. We were sent your clearance and it is standard practice to book workers after the doctor’s permission is granted. Nothing outside of normal protocol." Mr. Showtime replied quite matter of fact. "As for you match back, it was you that I recall saying that when you came back you wanted a shot at the International Title. Granted it was something promised to you by former management, but I saw to getting you that shot. Nothing here seemed shocking to me." His response, per the norm, were pretty much by the book.
"I should have known you’d be one to come up with excuses." Stormm was frustrated at the response he was getting, despite not being surprised. "My doctor doesn’t speak for me when it comes to whether I want to wrestle or not, but I could hardly fight it after you opened your big mouth and announced my return on national television." Justin began to shuffle about the room, but Michael was not phased, and did not waver. "I also never specifically said I wanted a shot at the title, I said that I wanted a shot at you, and taking the title from you was just going to be a bonus."
"There are no excuses here, Justin. Only facts."
Knocking something off of one of the nearby bookshelves, on purpose, Justin continued through his anger despite Michael ignoring it completely. "You know what, Mikey, I liked you a lot better before you cut your hair, grew out that stupid facial hair, and decided to run for President."
"Don’t lie to me, you’ve never been all that fond of me, nor I you." They both nodded their heads at that statement, as it might have been the only thing in the conversation they both agreed on. "The truth of the matter is that the only time in our history that we ever really got along was when it benefited the greater good. During that year I would have done just about anything to reach our final goal."
"You’re right, you’ve always been a piece of shit in my mind, but that doesn’t change the fact that you were a better piece of a shit a year ago than you are now. Can’t polish a turd though." Justin continued to stalk about. "And let’s not talk about that time in our lives, I’d just assume forget about it. The only thing that matters right now is getting along enough in a few nights to beat these women you booked us against, why, I’m foggy on those details."
Mr. Wryght wasted no time in his response, which started to sound more like some lawyer talked to Justin than Michael himself. "I have the power to book, but I’m not in charge of the bookings. When this match came across my desk it was a little too late to change it; and I won’t lie, I considered switching your name with Kelli’s on more than one occasion."
Justin chuckled. "The suits need to pull their heads out of their asses and figure this shit out, is what it sounds like you are saying. I was kind of hoping for a better situation than that when I came back, but I guess that’s not the case." He paused before leaning up against the wall, and the two could almost make eye contact through the darkness. "I also think you made a mistake by not switching names. Beating you and Kelli would have done well to make up for the fact that I let Willard..." Justin cleared his throat. "I mean Seromine, pin me two weeks ago."
"If the suits on the board had any sense then I wouldn’t be in the role I was forced to usurp." The Force of Nature could only think about the irony in the statement, assuming that suits in any corporation had any real sense to them. "This is never something I wanted, but the way they were letting things go, Pure Class Wrestling would probably be dead now." If they weren't headed down that path already, Justin thought. "I wasn’t going to let that happen. This may be all self serving for you, but I am doing this for the people. I never asked for any of this, but I’ll step up and take the responsibility when it is needed; something maybe you should take my lead on rather than blaming me for your loses."
"I never blamed anyone, in fact, I just told you the loss was my decision. I didn’t need your over-anxious decision to put me in a number one contenders match my first show back to get to what I’m after. I’ll do that on my own." Conversations between the two of them had always been long-winded, and they both would fire their shots, but it felt like Michael was reading from queue cards at times to Justin. "But, you know Mikey, sometimes you have to stop thinking about other people, and being a lemming to the masses, and just do shit for yourself. You are naive if you don’t think I’ve never been in your shoes, I’ve worn through them, and decided to go my own way this time!"
"What do you know of my shoes? You can’t imagine the pressure of running for the President of the Uni..." Showtime was stopped mid-sentence as the lights in his office came back on, and he found himself all alone. Stormm had had enough of his babbling, and got Michael to show his hand to him. He might not have gotten exactly what he wanted out of the man, but he had gotten enough.
The two of them were going to have one hell of a time coexisting on Trauma later that week, but two of the best technical wrestlers in the industry on the same team, they would be hard to beat, even for a team like Kelli Starr and Brenna Gordon, who would be more on the same page than those two. What bothered Stormm the most out of his conversation with Mr. Showtime was, nothing was really his doing, and he knew it. Justin wasn't in the Black Hand long, but long enough to know that higher powers were dictating his actions, and he refused to admit it.
Despite the fact, it wasn't any of the Force of Nature's concern, he just needed to get back on the right path inside of the squared circle, and the upcoming tag match was as good as any to do that in.
One man in particular was burning the midnight oil, for one reason or another, and had stayed long enough that even the sanitation crew had finished up and gone home for the evening. Michael Wryght was sitting at his desk in the Presidential Suite, sifting through paperwork, rolling his eyes at emails, and somehow managing to keep his sanity while running a company and an election campaign all at the same time.
It was a night like any for the one they call Mr. Showtime, a moniker that might not be heard as often as it once was. The sounds of traffic in the street and planes flying above were his only real distractions until the fluorescent lights in his office started to flicker. "If it isn't one thing, it's another." He scoffed.
A slightly overcast sky accompanied the city lights that evening but Michael kept the curtains drawn, it helped with the claustrophobic feeling he got from his current post. The office itself was of good size, but the duties he was performing once again in his life seemed to weigh on him more heavily this time more so than before.
The lights flickered again, this time nearly leaving the office in darkness before returning to their original brightness. Mr. Wryght calmly picked up his phone, but a quick scan of his wristwatch assured him that there'd be nobody to call until the morning; he'd just have to grin and bear it.
As if by some freak coincidence, though, as soon as Michael set the phone receiver back down, his phone rang. He pondered letting it ring, but didn't follow through and answered. "Yeah?"
No response.
"Hello?!"
Dead air.
Slamming the phone back down, he had taken just about as much as he could, and tried to immerse himself back into his work. Most people would have left hours prior, but the Potus candidate was not most people. He had a lot to do, and very little time to do it in, so he kept on.
That is, until the lights finally went out. It wasn't just his office but the whole building. He glanced out at the city, but no other buildings seemed to be affected. Letting out a heavy sigh Michael picked up his cell phone, and did a quick once over of any texts and emails he had gotten recently, and after the lights hadn't come back on for a few minutes, finally decided to call it a night.
"Not yet!" A gruff voice called out to Michael from the shadows. He blinked and pressed his eyelids tight, trying to get his eyes to focus in the dark. The annoyance he felt from someone else's presence at that time had caused his heart to start racing. "We need to talk."
PCW’s interim President assumed his usual casual demeanor, seemingly without a care in the world despite another pitch black pursuer. "Great someone else in the shadows needs something. When did this become a trend?"
"You've always been so god-damned dramatic!" The shadows responded back. "Who said I needed anything?"
"You wouldn’t be lurking around my office at this time of night if you didn’t." Michael snapped back. "Maybe you should man up and show your face."
"You already know who I am, and you don’t need the lights to confirm anything." As Mr. Showtime's eyes began to focus, he could see the figure off in the corner. The illumination from the city was beginning to shed some light on the subject. "It’s better if we keep our dealings in the dark anyway."
"Whatever makes you feel more comfortable Justin, but this seems to be a trend for me nowadays." He had grown accustomed to his stalkers, if not expected them anymore. However, Justin Michaels was not the man he would have expected at that time. "What do you want?"
"I wanted to know why I got forced back into PCW when I wasn’t ready?" The Force of Nature questioned. "Who told you I was ready to be booked, and why the hell did you think it was a good idea to put me against that lunatic and his psychotic following?"
"You’ll need to take that up with your doctor Justin. We were sent your clearance and it is standard practice to book workers after the doctor’s permission is granted. Nothing outside of normal protocol." Mr. Showtime replied quite matter of fact. "As for you match back, it was you that I recall saying that when you came back you wanted a shot at the International Title. Granted it was something promised to you by former management, but I saw to getting you that shot. Nothing here seemed shocking to me." His response, per the norm, were pretty much by the book.
"I should have known you’d be one to come up with excuses." Stormm was frustrated at the response he was getting, despite not being surprised. "My doctor doesn’t speak for me when it comes to whether I want to wrestle or not, but I could hardly fight it after you opened your big mouth and announced my return on national television." Justin began to shuffle about the room, but Michael was not phased, and did not waver. "I also never specifically said I wanted a shot at the title, I said that I wanted a shot at you, and taking the title from you was just going to be a bonus."
"There are no excuses here, Justin. Only facts."
Knocking something off of one of the nearby bookshelves, on purpose, Justin continued through his anger despite Michael ignoring it completely. "You know what, Mikey, I liked you a lot better before you cut your hair, grew out that stupid facial hair, and decided to run for President."
"Don’t lie to me, you’ve never been all that fond of me, nor I you." They both nodded their heads at that statement, as it might have been the only thing in the conversation they both agreed on. "The truth of the matter is that the only time in our history that we ever really got along was when it benefited the greater good. During that year I would have done just about anything to reach our final goal."
"You’re right, you’ve always been a piece of shit in my mind, but that doesn’t change the fact that you were a better piece of a shit a year ago than you are now. Can’t polish a turd though." Justin continued to stalk about. "And let’s not talk about that time in our lives, I’d just assume forget about it. The only thing that matters right now is getting along enough in a few nights to beat these women you booked us against, why, I’m foggy on those details."
Mr. Wryght wasted no time in his response, which started to sound more like some lawyer talked to Justin than Michael himself. "I have the power to book, but I’m not in charge of the bookings. When this match came across my desk it was a little too late to change it; and I won’t lie, I considered switching your name with Kelli’s on more than one occasion."
Justin chuckled. "The suits need to pull their heads out of their asses and figure this shit out, is what it sounds like you are saying. I was kind of hoping for a better situation than that when I came back, but I guess that’s not the case." He paused before leaning up against the wall, and the two could almost make eye contact through the darkness. "I also think you made a mistake by not switching names. Beating you and Kelli would have done well to make up for the fact that I let Willard..." Justin cleared his throat. "I mean Seromine, pin me two weeks ago."
"If the suits on the board had any sense then I wouldn’t be in the role I was forced to usurp." The Force of Nature could only think about the irony in the statement, assuming that suits in any corporation had any real sense to them. "This is never something I wanted, but the way they were letting things go, Pure Class Wrestling would probably be dead now." If they weren't headed down that path already, Justin thought. "I wasn’t going to let that happen. This may be all self serving for you, but I am doing this for the people. I never asked for any of this, but I’ll step up and take the responsibility when it is needed; something maybe you should take my lead on rather than blaming me for your loses."
"I never blamed anyone, in fact, I just told you the loss was my decision. I didn’t need your over-anxious decision to put me in a number one contenders match my first show back to get to what I’m after. I’ll do that on my own." Conversations between the two of them had always been long-winded, and they both would fire their shots, but it felt like Michael was reading from queue cards at times to Justin. "But, you know Mikey, sometimes you have to stop thinking about other people, and being a lemming to the masses, and just do shit for yourself. You are naive if you don’t think I’ve never been in your shoes, I’ve worn through them, and decided to go my own way this time!"
"What do you know of my shoes? You can’t imagine the pressure of running for the President of the Uni..." Showtime was stopped mid-sentence as the lights in his office came back on, and he found himself all alone. Stormm had had enough of his babbling, and got Michael to show his hand to him. He might not have gotten exactly what he wanted out of the man, but he had gotten enough.
The two of them were going to have one hell of a time coexisting on Trauma later that week, but two of the best technical wrestlers in the industry on the same team, they would be hard to beat, even for a team like Kelli Starr and Brenna Gordon, who would be more on the same page than those two. What bothered Stormm the most out of his conversation with Mr. Showtime was, nothing was really his doing, and he knew it. Justin wasn't in the Black Hand long, but long enough to know that higher powers were dictating his actions, and he refused to admit it.
Despite the fact, it wasn't any of the Force of Nature's concern, he just needed to get back on the right path inside of the squared circle, and the upcoming tag match was as good as any to do that in.
