Post by Stace Matthews on Mar 22, 2021 11:13:19 GMT -5
CRASH!
THUD!
Backstage, Stace Matthews stood in the center of the corridor redfaced, with her arms crossed, and her hip cocked to the left. She bit her lip hard in an attempt to keep her boil at a simmer just beneath her skin.
SMASH!
BOOM!
Moments prior, Hunter Benjamin had scolded and then blamed her for his loss.
CRUSH!
BANG!
Now, he was destroying their locker room at the PCW Arena. Two chairs had already been thrown through the doorway and laid mangled in the hall. The wall buckled several times as he threw a bench and set of lockers smashing into it.
“Ain’t we done this before?” ‘Big’ Dave Brandt, longtime head of security for PCW, approached on Stace’s right.
“Well, at least he isn’t pissing on anyone’s desk.”
Their shared laugh drew The Kodiak from the room out into the hallway.
“Whoa!” Brandt’s eyes widened, “He’s, uh, much bigger than ol’ Johnny, ain’t he?”
“You gonna stand out here and laugh at me now,” Hunter was in Stace’s face quick.
“Son,” Brandt laid his open palm on Hunter’s shoulder, “I’m going to ask that you step back a few paces.”
“I’m gonna tell you to get your damned hand off me,” Hunter glared, “now.”
Brandt removed his hand but didn’t stand down, “Alright now, step back.”
“You said you were gonna help me win!”
“I can’t do that,” Stace admitted. “I can get you the opportunities that you deserve, but you have to deserve them. This was a gift.”
“And I lost it,” Hunter threw his hands into the air, turned his back to her for a moment, and then snapped back around to face her. “If you were Buddy Winchester, you would have made sure that I won. He would have done whatever it took…”
“So, you want to cheat your way to a championship?”
“I had it, you know,” Hunter shouted! “I didn’t have to cheat! I dumped Showtime, turned around and I had Majors right where I wanted him, you know?”
“Yeah,” Stace nodded.
“I could have just picked him up and squeezed that title away from him.”
“Yep!” Stace agreed emphatically.
“So,” Brandt unwittingly stirred, “why didn’t you?”
Every bit of understanding settling on the young man’s face went furious, Hunter shoved the point of his finger into the security chief’s chest, “You stay out of this. What was Showtime doing there anyway,” back to Stace, “you said it would be me challenging the champion and low and behold…”
- - “PCW pulls another one,” she attempted. “I tried telling you to expect both everything and nothing coming back here.”
“So, what’s next then?”
“I’m going to work on getting you another shot,” Stace assured. “Until then, though I’m going to go find my best friend and watch with her as her husband defends the PCdubya World Championship. I want you to take a shower and put that room back together, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hunter gathered the twisted chairs from the hallway and disappeared back into the locker room.
“There’s probably going to be a cost,” Brandt warned, almost embarrassed to have to do so.
“That’s nothing new either, Dave.”
Though neither match at Mass Destruction worked out the way she had imagined, Stace Matthews had stuck to her word in the days that followed. Between calls to her sister-in-law and mother, she was on the telephone with executives at Pure Class Entertainment. She advocated for a rematch where Hunter Benjamin would challenge Rick Majors for the PCW Genesis Champion, one on one. She argued about Michael Wryght showing up to compete, citing the complex rules of the open challenge.
A week later, she may not have received the match that she was looking for, but it was hard to argue the angle that PCW put on it. Hell, maybe it would work out some of the frustrations and help The Kodiak focus.
That same afternoon, it was “promo day” at Boneshaker’s Gym, a frustrated Hunter Benjamin stood in the center of the ring with a microphone in hand.
“Okay,” Boneshaker instructed, “knowing what you know of Michael Wryght, cut one wide open on him.”
Hunter paced the center of the ring, looking to the mat and then the rafters. He fumbled the microphone hand to hand, unsure of how to hold it.
“Listen up, Michael Wryght,” he spoke, but the microphone wasn’t on, “-dammit!”
“Always check the microphone,” Boneshaker clued, speaking to everyone watching around the ring, “the ring announcer is trained to turn it off immediately after use. Even if they are to hand it directly to you. It will be off ninety-nine percent of the time.”
Feedback buzzed the room briefly and again as Hunter breathed heavily now through the gym’s speakers. No one noticed Stace Matthews sneak in as the attention of the crowd was his.
“Listen up, Michael Wryght,” Hunter began again, “I ain’t seen not one of your D-movies and
don’t plan to neither.”
“D-movies?” Boneshaker interrupted.
“You said he had three of them,” Hunter retorted.
“No,” Boneshaker shook his head, “he has three 3D movies.”
“I’m never going to get this,” Hunter dropped his chin into his chest.
“Not starting there,” Boneshaker agreed with a sigh.
“Michael Wryght,” Stace turned heads, as she does, “it doesn’t matter how many accolades you’ve stacked up on the silver screen.” She stepped forward, no microphone, looking directly at Hunter, “I understand you have held multiple championships, not only here in Pure Class Wrestling, but worldwide. You are truly a global superstar in every meaning of the word.”
Climbing the ring steps, she doesn’t take her eyes off of her client.
“I have seen all three of your blockbuster movies,” she continued from the apron; “and I have seen you put down some of the very best PCdubya has to offer, right here, in this ring. I was in the crowd when you were inducted into the Hall of Fame.”
Hunter holds the ropes allowing Stace to enter the ring.
“I’ve watched you hold every PCdubya championship over your head,” she stops in the center of the ring; “in fact, I was there the night you became a Grand Slam titleholder. I’ve also seen you lose and, Showtime, you have lost some big ones. See, you no longer hold any of those titles, you’ve lost them along the way. Close losses? No closer than your Deadly Rumble attempts and none closer than the Icemann Invitational against Non Compos Mentis. Now, there is a guy that I have managed a win against and, well, he’s beaten you.”
Maneuvering around Hunter, Stace nudges the large, young man to the center of the ring.
“The list of accolades, in and out of the ring, goes on and on,” she circled around Hunter’s left as she speaks, “but how long ago was that? Do you even remember your last match, prior to Mass Destruction, because I don’t. I remember you making a mess of things as an executive for a while, but really, when was the last time you competed?”
Stace glances up at Hunter briefly, but way up exaggeratively, before returning her focus.
“I’ll tell you this, for certain” she smirked, “on Sunday, April fourth, you will compete again, but at what level? I only ask because looking back at Mass Destruction, it didn’t seem you were, as Johnny would say, up to snuff. You were slow. Several times, you were off the mark. And, in the end, you were coddled up in Perfection’s arms when the decision was made. You had no right to be there and, let me tell you, when you step into the ring at Trauma, it just might be for the very last time because you are stepping in the ring one on one with my Kodiak.”
Kodiak raises his arms out to each side, dwarfing his manager in his massiveness.
“Hunter is every bit of six-seven and two-hundred and eighty-five pounds and he has an insatiable appetite for gold,” she lays it on, “not to mention he is DECADES younger than you. Not five years, not ten or so years, decades. Whereas you are deep in your twilight of yours, this is the GENESIS of his career. Sure, he’s suffered some early pitfalls, but I am here to ensure that he gets exactly what he deserves and you, Michael Wryght, will not stand in his way.”
She drops the microphone to her side.
“This is where you ROAR!”
THUD!
Backstage, Stace Matthews stood in the center of the corridor redfaced, with her arms crossed, and her hip cocked to the left. She bit her lip hard in an attempt to keep her boil at a simmer just beneath her skin.
SMASH!
BOOM!
Moments prior, Hunter Benjamin had scolded and then blamed her for his loss.
CRUSH!
BANG!
Now, he was destroying their locker room at the PCW Arena. Two chairs had already been thrown through the doorway and laid mangled in the hall. The wall buckled several times as he threw a bench and set of lockers smashing into it.
“Ain’t we done this before?” ‘Big’ Dave Brandt, longtime head of security for PCW, approached on Stace’s right.
“Well, at least he isn’t pissing on anyone’s desk.”
Their shared laugh drew The Kodiak from the room out into the hallway.
“Whoa!” Brandt’s eyes widened, “He’s, uh, much bigger than ol’ Johnny, ain’t he?”
“You gonna stand out here and laugh at me now,” Hunter was in Stace’s face quick.
“Son,” Brandt laid his open palm on Hunter’s shoulder, “I’m going to ask that you step back a few paces.”
“I’m gonna tell you to get your damned hand off me,” Hunter glared, “now.”
Brandt removed his hand but didn’t stand down, “Alright now, step back.”
“You said you were gonna help me win!”
“I can’t do that,” Stace admitted. “I can get you the opportunities that you deserve, but you have to deserve them. This was a gift.”
“And I lost it,” Hunter threw his hands into the air, turned his back to her for a moment, and then snapped back around to face her. “If you were Buddy Winchester, you would have made sure that I won. He would have done whatever it took…”
“So, you want to cheat your way to a championship?”
“I had it, you know,” Hunter shouted! “I didn’t have to cheat! I dumped Showtime, turned around and I had Majors right where I wanted him, you know?”
“Yeah,” Stace nodded.
“I could have just picked him up and squeezed that title away from him.”
“Yep!” Stace agreed emphatically.
“So,” Brandt unwittingly stirred, “why didn’t you?”
Every bit of understanding settling on the young man’s face went furious, Hunter shoved the point of his finger into the security chief’s chest, “You stay out of this. What was Showtime doing there anyway,” back to Stace, “you said it would be me challenging the champion and low and behold…”
- - “PCW pulls another one,” she attempted. “I tried telling you to expect both everything and nothing coming back here.”
“So, what’s next then?”
“I’m going to work on getting you another shot,” Stace assured. “Until then, though I’m going to go find my best friend and watch with her as her husband defends the PCdubya World Championship. I want you to take a shower and put that room back together, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Hunter gathered the twisted chairs from the hallway and disappeared back into the locker room.
“There’s probably going to be a cost,” Brandt warned, almost embarrassed to have to do so.
“That’s nothing new either, Dave.”
Though neither match at Mass Destruction worked out the way she had imagined, Stace Matthews had stuck to her word in the days that followed. Between calls to her sister-in-law and mother, she was on the telephone with executives at Pure Class Entertainment. She advocated for a rematch where Hunter Benjamin would challenge Rick Majors for the PCW Genesis Champion, one on one. She argued about Michael Wryght showing up to compete, citing the complex rules of the open challenge.
A week later, she may not have received the match that she was looking for, but it was hard to argue the angle that PCW put on it. Hell, maybe it would work out some of the frustrations and help The Kodiak focus.
That same afternoon, it was “promo day” at Boneshaker’s Gym, a frustrated Hunter Benjamin stood in the center of the ring with a microphone in hand.
“Okay,” Boneshaker instructed, “knowing what you know of Michael Wryght, cut one wide open on him.”
Hunter paced the center of the ring, looking to the mat and then the rafters. He fumbled the microphone hand to hand, unsure of how to hold it.
“Listen up, Michael Wryght,” he spoke, but the microphone wasn’t on, “-dammit!”
“Always check the microphone,” Boneshaker clued, speaking to everyone watching around the ring, “the ring announcer is trained to turn it off immediately after use. Even if they are to hand it directly to you. It will be off ninety-nine percent of the time.”
Feedback buzzed the room briefly and again as Hunter breathed heavily now through the gym’s speakers. No one noticed Stace Matthews sneak in as the attention of the crowd was his.
“Listen up, Michael Wryght,” Hunter began again, “I ain’t seen not one of your D-movies and
don’t plan to neither.”
“D-movies?” Boneshaker interrupted.
“You said he had three of them,” Hunter retorted.
“No,” Boneshaker shook his head, “he has three 3D movies.”
“I’m never going to get this,” Hunter dropped his chin into his chest.
“Not starting there,” Boneshaker agreed with a sigh.
“Michael Wryght,” Stace turned heads, as she does, “it doesn’t matter how many accolades you’ve stacked up on the silver screen.” She stepped forward, no microphone, looking directly at Hunter, “I understand you have held multiple championships, not only here in Pure Class Wrestling, but worldwide. You are truly a global superstar in every meaning of the word.”
Climbing the ring steps, she doesn’t take her eyes off of her client.
“I have seen all three of your blockbuster movies,” she continued from the apron; “and I have seen you put down some of the very best PCdubya has to offer, right here, in this ring. I was in the crowd when you were inducted into the Hall of Fame.”
Hunter holds the ropes allowing Stace to enter the ring.
“I’ve watched you hold every PCdubya championship over your head,” she stops in the center of the ring; “in fact, I was there the night you became a Grand Slam titleholder. I’ve also seen you lose and, Showtime, you have lost some big ones. See, you no longer hold any of those titles, you’ve lost them along the way. Close losses? No closer than your Deadly Rumble attempts and none closer than the Icemann Invitational against Non Compos Mentis. Now, there is a guy that I have managed a win against and, well, he’s beaten you.”
Maneuvering around Hunter, Stace nudges the large, young man to the center of the ring.
“The list of accolades, in and out of the ring, goes on and on,” she circled around Hunter’s left as she speaks, “but how long ago was that? Do you even remember your last match, prior to Mass Destruction, because I don’t. I remember you making a mess of things as an executive for a while, but really, when was the last time you competed?”
Stace glances up at Hunter briefly, but way up exaggeratively, before returning her focus.
“I’ll tell you this, for certain” she smirked, “on Sunday, April fourth, you will compete again, but at what level? I only ask because looking back at Mass Destruction, it didn’t seem you were, as Johnny would say, up to snuff. You were slow. Several times, you were off the mark. And, in the end, you were coddled up in Perfection’s arms when the decision was made. You had no right to be there and, let me tell you, when you step into the ring at Trauma, it just might be for the very last time because you are stepping in the ring one on one with my Kodiak.”
Kodiak raises his arms out to each side, dwarfing his manager in his massiveness.
“Hunter is every bit of six-seven and two-hundred and eighty-five pounds and he has an insatiable appetite for gold,” she lays it on, “not to mention he is DECADES younger than you. Not five years, not ten or so years, decades. Whereas you are deep in your twilight of yours, this is the GENESIS of his career. Sure, he’s suffered some early pitfalls, but I am here to ensure that he gets exactly what he deserves and you, Michael Wryght, will not stand in his way.”
She drops the microphone to her side.
“This is where you ROAR!”