Post by Sahara on Aug 31, 2022 11:14:58 GMT -5
PREVIOUSLY
~~~~~
PRESENT DAY
People can be so fucking exasperating at times…
Ever since my abduction by the New York underground over some ancient as fuck gambling debt – that we paid, no less – my husband has it in his head that I need a ‘round the clock’ security detail. I know, right?! And now that it happened to our son on this past Massacre, he went from paranoid to mega-fucking-out-of-his-mind conspiracy theorist level paranoid. I’m talkin’ some real, ‘it wasn’t aliens, but it was aliens’ kinda shit. I’m sure if it were up to him, we’d both be locked in a vault, surrounded by six feet of solid concrete which was surrounded by fucking Marines and bad ass fighter jets…
Okay, the fighter jets thing was all me… I’m still all coked up on Top Gun Maverick right now, and it’d be cool as shit if my husband could scramble some F-18 Super-Hornets to come to my rescue at the drop of a hat.
A girl can only dream…
Be that as it may, I mean, I get it… first your wife gets abducted, then your son gets kidnapped by an overzealous wrestler that’s just tryin’ to get his job back?! Imagine if that was you… I mean, honestly; put yourself in my husband's shoes and tell me… what would you do in that situation?
Well, we all know what he did at the Mix, and now I gotta do what I gotta do…
So… I acquiesced to his demand as only I could! That’s right, I said acquiesced! I know some fuckin’ words, too, ya meatheads! But I also argued that we have to keep a level head here… this is wrestling after all, and I have a career to think about! I also have a life, and I have to be able to live it, so Frankie aside, the deal we struck was I get to dress them, and I get to name them. Oh, and because it pertains to wrestling… I get to scour the independents and find some idiots that have no regard for their own well being so long as they’re on camera and get to dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge… you know, the five D’s of modern day wrasslin’?!
Anyway, I’m ramblin’, but let’s just say I’d be more than happy to give some indy “talent” an opportunity… and if they fail?
I’ll replace ‘em.
Simple as that.
Okay, maybe not so simple. Turns out, this task was a bit more daunting than I anticipated…
After like twenty minutes of scouring r/SquaredCircle for “talent” nobody’s ever heard of – prolly from Japan – I rolled my eyes and decided I’d wasted enough of my precious time… after all, I'm rich, and surely could afford to hire someone to do this sort of thing…
Yeah, I’ll spare you the nitpicky details of my hiring process…
Let’s just fast forward a few days and say I found someone backstage at OCW that convinced me they have an eye for talent, and so I hired ‘em to hire me a handful of Indy darlings that could join forces and become my incredibly invincible security detail that Thaddeus Leander Duke the Second insists I have…
I figure if this person is wrong, and they hire a bunch of idiots that fail… I’ll fire them for being shit, and then I’ll fire my hiring manager for hiring shit.
Not just a hat rack my friends…
~~~~~
SOME TIME LATER…
“Lemme make a few things crystal clear. If you have a problem with any of this, there’s the fucking door. You’re an indy idiot, and nobody knows your name. Nobody even cares what your name is. Hell, I don’t care what your name is. So you’ll take the name I give you, you’ll wear what I say you’ll wear, and you do what I tell you to do…”
“I got no problem–”
“Stop talking–” Without turning toward him, I lifted one of my perfectly manicured hands, wagging my index finger, as if scolding an unruly child. “Did I ask you a question? No. I didn’t. So stand there and shut the fuck up while my tailor finishes his work…”
He grunted, but didn’t speak. I could tell this neanderthal wanted to say something…
“Fine. SPEAK!”
“I uh, Miss Lauren… I already have ring gear.”
I literally felt the sigh leave my lips. I turned toward this indy idiot that had the steak, but none of the sizzle he’d need to accompany me anywhere, let alone at an OCW presentation. I looked him up and down while my personal tailor smoothed the bright pink fabric over his chiseled form.
“No, you had shitty tights or whatever that was, and it simply highlighted how indyrific you were. Lemme be blunt; you looked like a moron. A carbon copy of… I don’t know, PIC? Not that he looks like a moron, but whatever… you do. And that’s not even the point. So from now on, this will be your ring gear.”
“But… it’s pink.”
I nodded as I approached him, standing up there on that block that allowed my tailor to do his job. I shooed the tailor aside for a moment as I checked out his work, smoothing my hands over the bright pink suit jacket that covered his shoulders. I could feel his adonis like muscles ripple beneath it. Specimens like this are so rare on the indy scene, I just had to have him. So… I smoothed my hands over his shoulders a second time. And a third.
So nice…
“It’s pink because you’ll be called Mr. Pink from now on. The color is how I’ll know your name… because otherwise your name isn’t important enough to know. That’s your uniform now. Your required uniform. And it probably costs more than everything you own, so listen up; it’ll be yours to take care of. I’m having two of these made for you, in case anything happens to one of them. If it gets damaged, you’ll take it to Mr. Schneider here…”
“Who?” He looked at me with a confused expression.
“The fucking tailor you fucking imbecile! You’ll be required to have it cleaned, fixed… and taken care of. All expenses paid by me. You’ll be seen on camera with me from time to time, so make sure it’s in perfect condition on every fucking Massacre you appear on. Anything less, and I’ll replace your ass–” I snapped my fingers for emphasis, “--just like that. There’s a million more just like you waiting for an opportunity like this. I know it, and so do you.
“You represent wrestling royalty now. So you’ll act like it. And look the part.”
He straightened up a bit, puffing out his chest.
“That’s better, Mr. Pink. This is your character now… your sole purpose will be to protect me, and stand in the line of fire willingly and graciously. And trust me when I say you’ll be more over than you’ve ever been toiling around in those bingo halls just by standing next to me, saying nothing…”
I backed up a few steps checking over my tailor's work.
“You’ll be joined by others, also color coded just like yourself, with custom tailored suits and names to match. Let’s call you guys… I dunno… my Reservoir Dawgz.”
I nodded, loving my own idea far too much…
“Aww, man… why do I gotta be Mr. Pink?”
I rolled my eyes, “Don’t do that. I’ve seen the movie, and we aren’t having that same argument again. Besides, if anything, you’ll stand out more than the others… and that’s what wrestling is all about.”
“I thought it was about the wrestling–”
“That’s because you’re an idiot. Though you are a rare idiot… most of you indy bums are outta shape fat asses, so at least you got that goin’ for ya.”
I took a step back and looked at the fabric hanging down over his waistline–
“Hmm. Mr. Schneider, bring in the waist a bit more, I want it to show off his form, and no undershirt for this one, I kinda like lookin’ at his muscles–”
“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Duke,” the tailor nodded.
“Perfect… and yeah, I am lookin’ at you like a piece of meat… a very… savory one. So welcome to my world, Mr. Pink… and trust me, we’re gonna have us some fun.”
I couldn’t help but flash a bit of a devilish smile…
~~~~~
THE BRONX ZOO
The largest zoo in New York, it spans more than 250 acres and contains over 700 different species of animals for tourists and city dwellers to gawk at. Which I’m sure is fun for them… but on this particular day, I’m dropping by for a visit at the Lion Habitat.
My name is Sahara, and I’ll be your guide for this evening.
Why?
Sometimes… people need is a visual representation of what’s right in front of their fucking faces… so here we are, at the Lion’s Pride.
Now open yer eyes and take a look. No, not at the hot guy wearing the bright pink suit that’s watchin’ over me… look at the fuckin’ lions, ya morons!
Lions are like the Duke family spirit animals, with my Thaddeus being king.
Your king.
A position the OCW roster seems reluctant to accept… but a position they will come to respect, one way or another.
A lion’s pride isn’t much different than what we have in OCW. Just look at them. Truly majestic creatures. Powerful. Intelligent. Cunning. Well, some of ‘em are, anyway. Definitely not the Strader’s, though. But if you pay attention and watch as the alpha’s roam – when they feel like roaming – take note of the obvious hierarchy at play. We alphas move where and when we want, and the rest of you step aside and fall in line when we do. But every so often, there’s a member of the pride that needs to get his ass kicked in. To be reminded of his place in the hierarchy. Because when he steps out of line and starts Tweeting bullshit, a lesson needs to be learned…
And yeah, I’m not talking about actual lions at the moment, but my upcoming opponent, Cypher himself. The hacker-go-lucky soon to be former TransAtlantic Champion.
The little bitch that can’t shut the fuck up and fall in line.
And thus the king of our pride has tasked me – his lovely queen – to either put the motherfucker back in his place, or to remove him from the pride entirely.
And that’s exactly what I plan on doing…
We went for broke at the Mix, Tyler… exactly as we should have, and the deal was we let the chips fall where they may. That’s how friendship works. That’s how family works. Thats. How. This. Fucking. Pride. Works.
So I ask, was the juice worth the squeeze?!
Was it?!
I ain’t even talkin’ about the match anymore… I’m talkin’ about you firing off those Tweets tryin’ to lay the blame on me. I wasn’t about to play the blame game when we lost, which you seem keen on playin’ on Twitter like the keyboard warrior you are, but if that’s how you wanna go about this?
Fine… let’s fuckin’ play.
You say I didn’t have my eyes on the prize?!
I did my job, Cypher… it was you that failed to do yours.
...and that’s why you got crushed by my Venon Drop, and why I was left alone out there and lost.
You don’t have to believe me, just go watch the damn tape! I’m not the one that tossed PIC up and let him counter my move into a DDT that left you layin’ in the exact spot he was supposed to be in when I came down off the top. There’s this little thing called gravity, I think the guy that invented fig newtons discovered it or something, and while I know you think I should be able to defy the laws of physics cuz I’m an empty headed blonde, that’s not how it works.
You fucked up, Tyler… not me.
You.
And when a member of our pride starts playin’ the blame game instead of mannin’ up and apologizing to his queen for fucking up?
That member needs to get his balls cut off.
So let the castration begin.
Make no mistake, Cyphie, the only king in this pride is my husband; the young lion with the biggest mane, the most ferocious set of teeth, and the biggest set of cojones you’ve ever seen… and trust me, as his Queen… I’d know.
You shoulda’ just apologized and moved on after you fucked us at the Mix… but ya didn’t, so now I gotta make an example of you.
On Monday night, in front of millions… when all is said and done, and the world is growin’ hazy as you slowly black out, the last thing yer gonna hear is…
…and newwwwwwww…
