Hoyakillah

Wild Card
« on: October 29th, 2001, 1:07am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Backstage, after EFWO Helloween 2K1.  A big show, to be sure... you might say it's kind of like EFWO's answer to InVasion, but it's more than that.  Helloween is a NAME in pay per views.  Like the Royal Rumble.  Survivor Series.  WrestleFest.  The Brawl for it All.  You get my drift.  No matter what, things HAPPEN at Helloween.  And tonight was no exception.

A lot of great matches, don't get me wrong.  But the main event was where all the focus was.  El Bastarde versus Jay Vrmanicek.  EFWO versus EWA.  And EWA won.  El Bastarde, your EFWO/EWA World Champion.  Hell, at this point, someone should drag out the LWN World Title, turn it into E-Wrestling's version of the Triple Crown... but that's a different story for a different time.

And of course, just like all other Helloweens, something happened...

El Bastarde won in a great match.  We saw the Theater of Pain make a big comeback.  And the Rebels got back together - that's wonderful.  And everyone could have maybe predicted that.  So the "EWA invasion" was getting stale.  Fine.  So things were probably a bit logical, people figured they'd have a pretty good idea of what was going to happen, or at least the different alternative.  But no one really factored in the original wild card.

No surprise there.  If anything has been consistent in Hoyakillah's career, it's been a bit of a "wild card" nature.  He's never exactly been known for being predictable... of course, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun if you knew what he was going to do.

The question now, after "What the FUCK?" has to be "Why?"  Why would Hoyakillah get involved?  Isn't he retired?  Is he back?

Well let's find out, shall we?

Our cameras switch to backstage after Helloween.  The halls are deserted and dark... except for a small pinprick of orange light.  As we see it move closer, it's a cigarette.  And Hoyakillah is smoking it.  Dark suit, as always.  Walking down the hallway.  He sees the camera, and stops in front of it.

Hoyakillah:  Well, I guess I should start by saying that it's good to be back.  And it is, I have to say, it is good to be back, it was good to shock the world, yet again.  My specialty, I suppose.  But I guess I should make my introductions first, for those of you unfortunate enough not to know me.

The name's Hoyakillah.  I'm a bit of a veteran around these parts.  LWN.  EWA.  EFWO.  Whatever.  I've been gone for a while, barring a brief return I made last July, in case any of you remember that.  I've been working on my tan, pumping up... yeah, right, whatever.  Suffice it to say that I've been keeping myself a bit busy.  And that's enough to say for now.

I'm known around these ways as a pretty fair wrestler.  Now when I came back in July, I said I was retired, never coming back.  Yeah, right.  I'm not saying I'm going to be wrestling right now.  Probably not.  Don't have time for it - got some things to take care of.  In the future, well, I have some past debts that need to be paid.  Some old issues that need to be resolved.  But that's the future.

Last time I left, it was over politics.  And it seems like every time I leave, it's always politics.  Some kind of fucking backstage bickering, it's constant in this business.  We all know that.
There are probably some youngsters out there, who saw me show up in that ring tonight, who probably said to themselves, "Who the fuck does he think he is?  I can take him."

Don't waste your breath.

First of all, I'm not some rank amateur.  I've lived and died by this business for years, I've bled, sweat, loved and lost for this business.  I've seen the lights in more cities and towns than you've probably ever heard of.  So think about that.  And also, I want you to think about something.
I'm not walking in here with a bunch of gold around my waist.  And I'm not coming in here yelling and screaming about "wanting my shot."  It's useless, it's played out, it's typical... frankly, it's predictable.  But I will tell you something.

I've been crossed before a lot in my career.  A lot of people have tried to stop me from doing what I want to do.  Shall we take a trip down memory lane?  Over two years ago, a guy named Derrick Flippin tried to cross me.  Tried to keep me from doing what I wanted to do.  We'll get back to him in a minute.  Then, a guy named JPac tried to take me down.  Then, there was a guy by the name of ScottiePP7.  Knocked me out of the business for a while.  Then I came back, and last time I was here, there was a guy by the name of Dan Downtown who tried to take me out.  Tried to tell me what to do.

Let's go back and look at these people.  Derrick?  Out of the business.  JPac?  Out of the business.  ScottiePP7?  Out of the business.  Dan Downtown?  Out of the business?  And where am I?  Right here.

Moral of the story:  Don't fuck with me.

Now, as to tonight's match.  Interesting times.  A lot of you are probably asking, "Hoya, why did you count the pin for El Bastarde?  Does this mean you're here with EWA?"  Frankly, that's insulting my intelligence.  Yeah, I was in EWA.  Yeah, I left EWA.  Yeah, EWA was my home, but I want you to look very carefully at what I did in EWA.  I was the king of EWA.  I ran the Most Dangerous Faction.  I carried EWA.  What reward did I get?  What favor did I get?  I didn't wear a single belt, my entire time in EWA.  Some thanks.  When I left, how many people asked me to come back?  How many people cried at night because Hoyakillah wasn't in EWA?  That's what I thought.  So don't jump to conclusions.

At the same time, think about EWA.  Think about the lineage.  Think about the history, the fans, the wrestlers.  Did El Bastarde deserve to win tonight?  Bet your ass.  Did I need to be there tonight to make sure he won?  I don't know about that.  But I will tell you one thing.  Slapping my hand on that mat tonight, three times... it felt good.  It felt good to have that power coursing through my veins.  I liked it.  And frankly, I think the fans liked it too.  I think they liked the fact that the good guy really did win for once.

And then there's EFWO.  It's funny, everyone automatically assumes that because of the Flate Incident, I hate EFWO.  Then why did I come back in July?  Why did I join the booking team?  Why did I book Fallout, where Jay Vrmanicek went over for the world title, huh?  Think about that, and think about that really well.  I.  Put.  Jay.  Over.  Chew on that.  No, I wasn't in the ring.  But I might as well have been.  Politics, baby.  Ain't it wonderful?  But then I left EFWO.  Why did I leave?  Did I resign?  Or was I... forced out?  Why don't you think about that, to.  Don't jump to conclusions.

But at the same time, EFWO is a hell of a place, don't get me wrong.  I'm no ingrate.  It's got the best fans, bar none in the world, and it's got the single best talent pool I have ever seen.  More than anything else, EFWO has potential.  And I don't mean that in a denigratory way.  EFWO is probably the best federation in the world right now.  But that doesn't mean it couldn't be better.  Now, is that why I'm here?  That's a good question.

And the Rebels.  Ahh, the Rebels.  A group that, without me, wouldn't exist.  A quick history lesson for you guys.  The Rebels were formed in October/November 1999, after Derrick crossed me at the Brawl for it All.  Who was the head booker in LWN when they formed?  That's right, me.  Who put them in the matches they wanted?  That's right, me.  Who took Kayfabe and Hexane under his wing in EWA, put them in the Most Dangerous Faction in Wrestling, and made their careers?  That's right, me.  So what if I'm with the Rebels?  What if your calculations don't work at all, and maybe I'm with them, not EWA, not EFWO?  Did you think about that?  I'm not saying that I am.  But I'm not saying that I'm not.

Of course, the fact that I fostered the Rebels, and the fact that I recruited Hex and Kay into my fold should say something for how talented they are.  They are a world-class unit, a group I would be proud to be affiliated with... but that doesn't mean I am affilated with them.  I'm just saying, is all.

Hoya lights another cigarette and continues in the shadows.

Hoyakillah:  Fact is, I'm not the nicest guy.  And I don't always wear a white hat.  I do what I do for a very good reason... power.  Power is what matters in this world.  Power means that you can control a man's fate by a twist of your wrist.  Power means that a look ends a career.  Power's what it's all about... and yes, how you use power matters as well.  Don't get me wrong.  But power's where it's at.

In LWN, in EWA, and in EFWO, I had power.  Was it enough?  Of course not.  If it had been enough, then LWN wouldn't have crashed and burned like it did.  If it had been enough, I wouldn't have been forced out of EWA.  If it had been enough, I wouldn't have left EFWO.

But those obstacles are out of the way now.  So what?  So what, you may say?

Tonight was just the start.  It's a new time in EFWO... and I've heard more bullshit about New World Orders, and shit like that... this is different.  I'm not going to condescend to you and tell you I'm on a mission or something.  You people are better than that.  You know better.  None of us here are on messianic crusades - we're here to get ahead.  We're here to win.  We're here for power.  At least I'm honest about it.

So what does this mean to you?  It means watch your ass and hold on to your hat.  What is coming is something that, like tonight, you never would have expected.

Oh, and about power.  You know that old saying about how power corrupts.  Well, what about absolute power?  Does it corrupt?

Hoya looks at the camera, and a smile flits across his face.

Hoyakillah:  Absolutely.

With that, Hoya walks away from the camera, down the darkened hallway, as the camera fades to black.

Healius

The General Lee is now accepting passengers
« on: October 29th, 2001, 12:48pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wait, didn’t that son-of-a-bitch just retire?

Facades….mere facades…

It’s a brisk and sunny Monday afternoon in Washington, DC. The scene opens on the Georgetown waterfront, at Sequoia’s portable bar on the edge of the dock, overlooking the Potomac River. Roosevelt Island, the Key Bridge, the Memorial Bridge, Rosslyn and the Kennedy Center frame the scene in the distance, as we hone in on Healius seated at the bar, fiddling with his cell phone. He sports a quizzical look, somewhat unsure, almost…something seems to be bugging him as he glances at his watch for a bout the tenth time in three minutes, aggravated.

Healius: Damnit, where the bloody hell is he?

Bartender: Another Manhattan, sir?

Healius: No…make it a Cosmopolitan this time.

Bartender: Moving up in the world.

Healius: You could say that…

Bartender: What’s on your mind, might I ask?

Healius stares coldly at the bartender with a scowl and looks at his watch again.

Bartender: Nevermind, then…

Healius: Ever have one of those situations where everything starts off rosy…y’know, an idea pops into your head and you’re all gung-ho about it, so you go out there and put pedal to the metal in getting the ball rolling….then a week into it you begin to think hell can’t be much worse than what you’ve gotten yourself into?

Bartender: Oh yeah, I know the feeling…that happened to you?

Healius: Yeah…I’m a professional wrestler and—

Bartender: I know who you are, I’m no bin Laden.

Healius: You don’t live in a cave? Well, that’s good. Anyway, I had been retired for a while, devoting time to my wife and children. Didn’t need to wrestle, had all the wealth, power and prestige I needed….but my sister, whom I’m sure you also know…she and I had a major rapprochement on our relationship after a very bitter falling-out. She convinced me to come out of retirement and give it another run, so I did. I assembled a small group of wrestlers who had been affiliated with my EWA promotion and we staged a small invasion of the EFWO—of course it went nowhere—mostly because I lost heart about a week into the thing. I guess I forgot how much I’d come to despise the business. Call me Andrew Leigh 2K, the Neo Jaded E-fed Icon, or something. That whole return was hell on earth, so instead of enduring the crap I so despised, I walked right out, rode off into the sunset in disgrace, like a selfish prick…leaving my men high and dry. They’ve done remarkably well without me, as I expected they would. The EWA invasion is dead and buried, thankfully, and now they’re just fighting for their own individual causes and dominating. El Bastarde recently regained the EFWO World Title to become the first EWA-EFWO unified champion. The SuperNovas SHOULD be tag team champions, save for the worst conceivable ending I have ever seen. But they will get their comeuppance—real talent cannot be denied forever.

Bartender: I love those two! MOCKU! MOCKU!

Healius: But getting back to this…so here I am, home again for two weeks, retired again…but I am not content. Not by a long shot. I wanted to come back…I came back…I regretted it….I left again and thought I’d be happy, having regained my sanity….I was for about seventy-two hours…now I’m regretting that I regretted coming back!

Bartender: Oy ve….so now you want to return again?

Healius: Yes…but given my latest track record, the conditions must be absolutely perfect, to my complete liking and satisfaction. Face it, the EFWO is an extremely unhealthy place to work. Internal politics and bickering conspire to make the EFWO more dangerous than continuous exposure to radiation at Three Mile Island. I simply don’t want to risk getting engulfed by that oppressive pall again…my time in the disjointed and insignificant pile of festering crap known as the Unification was a joke, and the EWA was handled no better. So here I am now, desiring for a REAL return, with decisive impact, on my own terms. No meaningless factions for me---I will tolerate neither the cheesiness of the TOP nor the kitschy anti-establishment of the Rebels. No EWA, either—bad idea from the start better left to receive the piss that slams its grave.

Bartender: Sounds like you want to be a one-man wrecking crew.

Healius: Being a man unto myself has its merits, for sure. That would be almost perfect.

Bartender: Almost? What could be more perfect that being a man without alliances, owing allegiance to no one save himself, calling all his own shots, doing things for himself and himself alone, unencumbered by messy entanglements and all the headaches that flow from them?

Healius: Enticing, to say the least…but you see good sir, an opportunity has arisen in the EFWO, for the first time. A path which has presented itself before, but which has never truly been taken. It has been teased in the past in federations far and wide, from LWN to ICW to EWA. In LWN it was a reality of sorts for a time, but if I had to make a comparison, it was like The Who’s 89 and 96 big-band tours…a cast of characters, too many in fact, obfuscating the real meat of the matter. Here in the EFWO, it would be like the scaled-back Who, the real deal…just two men on an absolute march or terror and destruction.

Healius looks at his watch again.

Healius: At one time we were inseparable, almost brothers…it’s been nearly two years since we saw eye-to-eye on even the most miniscule of matters, but it’s time for that to change. Our destiny is waiting for us in the EFWO. We have conquered everything else…now it is time to reign again. I hope he agrees. You should feel privileged…if this actually happens, you can tell all your friends that the Southern Gentlemen reformed at your very bar.

Healius again glances at his watch with a scowl and lets out a deep sigh. Grabbing his Cosmopolitan, Healius down it in one feel swoop as the bartender stares in disbelief. Wiping his lips, Healius swings around as a deep smile immediately crosses his countenance—an almost devious grin. In the distance, a smallish man in a long black trenchcoat walks slowly towards the bar, crossing around the large fountain in the middle of waterfront square.

Healius: It’s about damn time.

The man slows to a stop several paces in front of Healius and stares coldly at him, as Healius returns the glance with one of his own. The scene slowly fades….

To be continued….

Hoyakillah

To quote Shakespeare... "Is't possible?"
« Reply #1 on: October 29th, 2001, 1:27pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Waterfront square.

Hoyakillah: (puffing on a cigarette):  Howdy.

Healius:  You made it.

Hoyakillah:  When I got your call... let's just say I was able to secure supersonic transport from the Visegrad to Andrews Air Force Base.

Healius:  Show-off.

Hoyakillah:  Insolent punk.

Healius:  Know-nothing.

Hoyakillah:  Pants wearer.

A silence between the two of them.

Healius:  It's been a while.

Hoyakillah:  How's Ethan?

Healius:  He's good... he'd probably like to see you.

Hoyakillah:  Yeah, I've been thinking about it.

Another silence.

Healius:  You really have changed.

Hoyakillah:  We both have.  We're both older.  More beaten up.  Changed.  I mean, look at how the world has changed around us.  The Efed world.  I mean, the legacy is gone.

Healius:  Is it really?

Hoyakillah:  Shit, who would have thought that the two of us would have outlasted James Elmo, Derrick Flippin, Scott Pearson, JPac and Nonz?

Healius:  I dunno... a year ago, I would have figured... but not since then.

Hoyakillah:  Amen.

Healius:  So... how are things?

A bit of a silence.

Hoyakillah:  Things are... ok.  Different.

Healius:  No...?

Hoyakillah:  Nah, too busy for that right now.

Healius:  I can't believe that the Great and Mighty Hoya is too busy for women.

Hoyakillah:  I can't believe that the craziest man I ever knew in terms of women settled down, and with Kallista.

Healius:  I'll drink to that.

Hoyakillah:  ...Good idea.

And so the two head over to the bar.  Healius orders a Bombay Sapphire and tonic.  Hoyakillah, Jack Daniel's, rocks.  The bartender delivers their drinks, and they take them away from the bar, away from the restaurant, down on the waterfront boardwalk.

Hoyakillah:  I have to ask...

Healius:  Why?

Hoyakillah:  Yeah, kinda... why so long?

Healius:  (walking silently, sipping from his drink)  I guess because I didn't know what your reaction would be.

Hoyakillah:  Hell, I didn't know what my own reaction would be!

A shared laugh.  The first shared laugh, really, in years.

Healius:  Fuck, man... it's been too long.

Hoyakillah:  Seriously, man.  You got pussy-whipped.

Healius:  And you went fucking nuts.

Hoyakillah:  Touche.  But at least I don't listen to The Who.

Healius:  Touche yourself.

The two keep walking down the boardwalk, now down to a grassy knoll under the Whitehurst Freeway.  Across the river, Rosslyn... former home of many an exploit between these two.  In the middle of the river, Theodore Roosevelt Island.

Healius:  What do you think did it?

Hoyakillah:  Divergence of interests.   At first, I became the pussy, the wimp.  You knew what you were all about, and I was farting around, pretending to be tight with the mWo, trying to be cool, trying to be a face.  And then later, it switched again, and then it was you trying to be the face, while I was interested in power.

Healius:  Fact of the matter is, it's always been an equilibrium.

Hoya looks at Healius, and takes another sip of his drink.

Hoyakillah:  Good point.

Healius:  A balance, so to speak, between the two of us.

Hoya finishes his whiskey and reaches for a cigarette.  Looking for Healius's consent, and getting it, he lights up with a familiar object.

Healius:  The lighter.

Hoyakillah:  Yeah, I found it a couple weeks ago in storage.  Been keeping it around for good luck.  Figured it would be appropriate tonight.

Healius:  May I?

The lighter in question is a Zippo.  With the Jack Daniels logo imprinted on it.  It was always a reference to the Southern Gentlemen, like the "belt buckles," or Rebel's verbiage.

Hoya:  How's Tony?

Healius:  Don't know.  Really don't talk to him anymore.

The two look at each other, Hoya puffing on a cigarette, Healius taking a slug of his drink.

Hoya:  You know -

Healius:  (at the same time)  I think -

The two look at each other.

Hoya:  After you.

Healius:  Well, you bring up Tony.

Hoya:  Yeah.

Healius:  And it just...

Hoya:  It wouldn't be the same without him?

Healius:  Well... yeah.

Hoya:  First of all, Rob, it'll never be the same.  We both know that.  But fact is, we've got a convergence of interests here.  I mean, you heard my promo last night, right?

Healius:  Yeah, it's why I called.

Hoya:   I figured as much.  Anyway, you know and I know that I'm not the most popular person here.

Healius:  True.

Hoya:  And you know and I know that we work best in a... well, let's just call it, a certain environment.

Healius gets a particularly malevolent grin on his face.

Healius:  I know exactly what you mean.

Hoya finishes his butt and flips it into the river, and looks at Healius, wind whipping around them, his hands in his pockets.

Hoya:  I must say, I'm surprised to hear you say that.  I figured you'd be talking about us trying to be the good guys, fight the good fight, all that bullshit.

Healius:  Oh, come on.  I'm talking about stirring shit up.  I'm talking about having fun, REAL fun, for the first time in I don't know how long.  I'm talking about doing what we do best.

Hoya:  Rum, sodomy and the lash?

Healius:  Yes, exactly, I mean... NO, I DON'T MEAN THAT!

Hoya laughs as Healius collects himself for a moment.

Healius:  Bastard.

Hoya:  Oh, lighten up, will you?  Come on, let's walk.

The two head up Wisconsin Avenue, which dead-ends into K Street right where they are standing... heading up, over the C&O Canal, they hit M Street, and keep walking up two blocks, past Third Edition, past Benetton.... to an old, familiar place.

Healius (with a grin on his face)  You son of a bitch.

Hoya:  C'mon, when was the last time we were here?

Healius:  Fuck if I know.

The two walk inside Martin's Tavern... an old haunt, of course.  Heading through the doors, Hoya nods at one of the waiters, who recognizes him.  They head past the bar to their left and the booths to the right, into a back room.  No one else is back there, but they take the back booth, Hoya with his back to the wall, as always.  The same waiter comes in with two pints of Bass, then departs.

Healius:  You planned this, didn't you?

Hoya:  For once, I didn't.  Figured we'd see what happens.

Healius:  Almost kinda... fatalistic.

Hoya:  I swear to God, if the Sillicon Toad walks through that door, I'm leaving.

Healius:  I'll be one step behind you.

Hoya:  Cheers.

They clink glasses and drink.

Healius:  What was that to?

Hoya:  To the past.  To the past being the past.  And staying there.

Healius:  Not going to be easy.

Hoya:  Do you think the point of this is to be easy?  Hell, if it's easy, it ain't fun.

Healius:  So how are we going to do this?

Hoya:  How many white hats do you own?

Healius:  None anymore, one of your ex-girlfriends took my golf hat.

Hoya:  Shit, I almost forgot about that!

Healius:  Look, we're doing this for ourselves.  We're not doing this for EFWO.  I could give two shits what EFWO thinks.  What Tommy Jacobs and his "Old School Icons" group thinks, whether they get back together or not.  What the Theater of Pain thinks. What the Rebels think...

Hoya:  Yeah, the Rebels.

Healius:  Buncha freaks.

Hoya:  At least we didn't face 'em at WinterWar.

Healius:  Who did we put in that spot?

Hoya:  Fuck if I know.

Healius:  Fuck if I care.

Another drink.

Healius:  You think there'll be bandwagoning?

Hoya:  Of course.  Even before you joined LWN, there was bandwagoning... as soon as the SG started, people like Kareem were asking me if they could join.

Healius:  Fuck that.

Hoya:  Amen.

Healius:  You know, I just have one fear.

Hoya:  Shoot.

Healius:  I'm not packing.

Hoya:  I am.

Healius:  Am I supposed to be surprised?

Hoya:  Of course not.

Healius:  I just... I just don't want this to turn into some Undertaker-esque Brothers of Destruction ego ride.  Can we pull this off?

Hoya:  You been working out?

Healius:  Yeah, I mean, I could stand to lose a couple pounds, but other than that...

Hoya:  No, what I mean is, have you been working out?

The two look at each other, and a knowing glance passes from one to the other.

Healius:  I've still got a full bag.

Hoya:  Black, I hope.

Healius:  Can a bag of tricks be any other color?

Hoya:  Of course not.

Healius:  You know, I think this is getting more and more interesting by the second.  Would you have expected this?

Hoya:  Of course not.  But isn't that why this is fun?

Healius:  I'll drink to that.

Just as he says this, the waiter delivers two shot glasses and disappears again.

Healius:  (sniffing the liquor)  Oh, this is too perfect.

Hoya:  Had to be SoCo, bro.  Had to be SoCo.

The two hoist their shot glasses.

Healius:  So what do we drink to?  To running over EFWO in our tracks?  To complete and total destruction of our foes?  To rape and pillage?

Hoya:  To the future.

Healius:  To the Southern Gentlemen.

Clink.

Drink.

Fadeout.

Healius

Re: The General Lee is now accepting passengers
« Reply #2 on: October 29th, 2001, 4:41pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Evening now, as we dissolve into the dugout at Martin’s Tavern. The sweet scent and cloud of cigar smoke fills the room, nearly obscuring the Southern Gentlemen from view. Healius and Hoya have been reliving old times, talking strategies, politics, philosophy and the like. The seventh round has come and gone, along with several bowls of crab bisque and plates of filet mignon.

Living it up once again…what a life.

Hoya: Ok, here’s one…my best pure match.

Healius: Hmmm….there’s been so many, but I’ll say the IP Title defense against L-Mo, Heatwave 1999.

Hoya: You got it! Best old-school match I’ve ever wrestled. Jacobs WISHES he could have a match like that. What an overrated sack of shit.

Healius: Amen to that! Alright, now mine….

Hoya: Pure?

Healius: Nah…I don’t think I’ve wrestled a pure match in my life. Not my style.

Hoya: True. You’re not really mat-based, nor a high-flyer….you’re more a brawler with a good technical background that you don’t use nearly enough….but I’ll say Wickit, NitRAW summer 1999.

Healius: Oh yeah, I suplexed him through the windshield of the General Lee!

Hoya: And if memory serves me, we then fined him some egregious amount for the damage.

Healius: Hell yeah! We were such bastards back then.

Hoya: But that match with Amalek at Wrestlefest III—that was something else there. In fact, that might take it just for the historical impact.

Healius: The Wickit match was just sheer brutality, more hardcore than the stuff Leigh and Hey Kid were doing at the time. The Amalek match was the perfect equilibrium between hardcore and technical—proved I could be a submissionist.

Hoya: Funny though…for being the technical one, I’ve had two matches that make your hardcore outings look like child’s play.

Healius: Elevator. To. Hell.

Hoya: Bingo. And what else?

Healius: I’d guess Hell In A Cell…but I was in that match too, you know.

Hoya: Well I wasn’t counting THAT cell match, although I derived a certain satisfaction from throwing you off the top…

Hoya grins, taking a sip of his drink.

Healius: (returning the grin) Oh, I bet you did.

Hoya: What an exhilarating feeling!

Healius:  Bet it didn’t feel as good when Kayfabe sent YOU crashing through the roof into a flaming table a few weeks later.

Hoya: HA! That was the other match!

Healius: Oh I know…I remember watching it from my hospital bed, twiddling my fingers and cackling with a certain Burnsian mischieviousness.

Hoya: Exxxxxxxcellent…

Healius: That’s all water under the bridge now, I think. All friends—brothers--must endure a trial of fire. It’s a rocky road, with lots of bumps and turns. We never have it easy.

Hoya: Ours just took a little bit longer than most. To be tied by a certain bond for so long, moulded into killers by a common mentor…following the same path…there came a point where we desired to break out and form our own identities and our trails diverged at the edge of the woods. We were naturally set against each other as we fought for dominance in the guerilla warfare of the wilderness. But now, our paths have converged again and we have come out of darkness better men. Focused.

Healius: Stronger.

Hoya: Wiser.

Healius: United.

Hoya: The skirmishes of the past, the constant one-upsmanship, the power struggles, building our own armies to pilot against another…all of that is irrelevant now. The last two years were a necessary course of events to lead us to this point—

Healius: A cleansing, if you will. A baptism.

Hoya: --Precisely. It is as if some higher power is telling us that the time of preparations has drawn to a close, and it is now time to move in for the kill. We have had a taste of conquering before. But that was given to us to see how we could handle it, and wet our palates for more pressing times later on—and we fell apart just as fate deigned we would. (pointing to the bisque) Our LWN reign was simply—

Healius: An appetizer….while the road that lies ahead (pointing to the mignon)…is the main course.

Hoya: (smiling) You know you’re meant to be together when you can complete your partner’s thoughts.

Healius: Only you and I could have this conversation, methinks.

Hoya: Bet you ten bucks Rocky calls us tonight and complains about all the big words we use.

Healius: Nah, I’d lose. (holding up his cell phone) He’s already left a message, see?

Hoya: Are you serious?

Healius: No, but he is.

Hoya: I can’t believe you recycled that joke. Besides, no one in EFWO will get it.

Healius: So the fuck what? What do we care about EFWO? Pretty soon we’ll own the thing anyway.

Hoya: Good point.

Healius: I mean, look at the competition. I’m expecting the TOP to file out of a small car in clown suits one of these days. After all, the only ring they belong in is Ringling Brothers. Cleaning elephant shit, at that.

Hoya: The Rebels are no better. I think we could rename them “Luscious Lynds’ Circle O’ Cocks”, or something.

Healius: Damn…harsh!

Hoya: I don’t really mind those fools, but they better know their place. We taught them EVERYTHING they know. Hexane and Kayfabe were NOTHING before I came along. Lone Wolf was your project, another nobody until you made him into a champion. He rebelled against you and look what happened to him: he fell off the face of the earth. I’m amazed he’s managed to come back.

Healius: And Lynds…she thinks she’s earned her way to the top, but she’s sadly mistaken. Her fame and fortune came from a steady stream of men. Witness…Lone Wolf--

Hoya: Made by you.

Healius: X-Dude—

Hoya: Made by me.

Healius: Deion Nonz Arelli--

Hoya: Self-made, I suppose, but revived and saved by us.

Healius: So basically, Lynds owes her entire career to us. Funny how that works, eh?

Hoya: Amazing.

Healius: And what about the rest of the lot? El Bastarde--

Hoya: Lame-duck. Placeholder. Tremendous, HELL of a guy, don’t get me wrong…but not destined for greatness, as long as we’re around.

Healius: Jay Vrmanicek-

Hoya: Respectable, yet overrated. His general goofiness and lack of focus has never been a bigger liability than now. Chad Hartl-

Healius: Irrelevant. That’s the only way to describe him. Either that, or Arquette 2K1.

Hoya: Archangel-

Healius: If I could choose one guy to be with us, it’d be him. But not now, anyway. We can go easy oh him, as long as he realizes I gave him his big break. Respect is key, my friend. Mocku-

Hoya: We kicked Wombi’s ass, didn’t we? Same thing.

Healius: Hehehe…the king of 1-800-COLLECT, Mad Dog-

Hoya: Take the receiver, dial down the center, then ram the thing so far up his ass it comes out his mouth.

Healius: Conscious-

Hoya: Keep an eye on him—he’s the next rising star. Hardcore champ or not, he hasn’t begun to see what real hardcore is. A night and day experience is about to come his way.

Healius: (taking the last swig of his Bass) Another round, good sir?

Hoya: Yeah, why not? We’re just getting started here.

Healius motions to the bartender for an eighth round as Hoya pounds the remainder of his beer, then looks wide-eyed past Healius.

Hoya: Motherfucker, look who it is!

Healius turns around and follows Hoya’s glance to the end of the bar, where a small fragile older man sits—a man who just exudes an aura of power and prestige..

Healius: Well I’ll be…Dean F’N Gordon! Let’s go say hello.

Healius and Hoya walk out of the dugout and cross over to the bar, stopping in front of the man, a Georgetown legend and distinguished professor of entertainment law at the GU Law Center. He takes a sip of his Jack sour and looks up at the duo.

Gordon: (in a booming voice) DO YOU CARRY THE KEYS?

Hoya: No comment.

Gordon: Then where do I know you from? You look familiar.

Healius: Perhaps the Philodemic, sir.

Gordon: Ah yes, that must be it…I believe you are….William…and you…I’ll get it…Robert!

Hoya: Wow, you remember us.

Gordon: Of course, I never forget a face. Hawhawhaw! What are you two gentlemen up to these days?

Healius: Among other things, we’re professional wrestlers.

Gordon: (his face lighting up) Ah! Grapplers in the business of sports entertainment! As you know I’m a scholar of entertainment law and it just so happens that I have a set of clients looking to sue one of the biggest professional wrestling companies in the United States.

Hoya: …Oh?

Healius: It wouldn’t be the EFWO, would it?

Gordon: Why, yes! Turns out that a block of shareholders are rather upset at the sharp decline in the value of the stock and they’d like to force something to be done about it. I’ve taken a preliminary look at the company and I must say, it’s leadership is fairly inept!

Hoya: Truer words have never been spoken…but hey, if you’re looking for the stock price to rise, look no further. Rob and I will singlehandedly cause it to soar to levels it has never enjoyed.

Healius: We are the answer to EFWO’s ratings woes. The moment we step into the arena—hell, right now as we speak before the masses—EFWO will recover from the slump in which it’s been mired for months. You can tell your clients a suit won’t be necessary. Give it two weeks and they’ll be turning a bigger profit than they could ever have predicted.

Gordon: That’s very confident, Robert. Perhaps a bit too confident, but I like your hubris.

Hoya: We have that luxury, sir. One cannot fight against the truth…now is the time to embrace it, and stake claims. What’s ours is ours, what’s EFWO’s is ours. You cannot go wrong with the Southern Gentlemen.

Healius: I’ll drink to that!

Gordon: (guffawing) Hawhawhawhaw! Get these men a drink, Seconds tab!

Dean Gordon winks at the men as the bartender slides their beers down the table.

Healius: This is surreal.

Hoya: Isn’t it though?

Healius: I’ll tell you one thing that’s real—the future of EFWO, forever altered.

Hoya: Oh man, I’ve had some dark times, times when I was close to death, but hell, it’s good to be alive!

With that, the men continue their conversation with Dean Gordon as the camera pulls back, and slowly fades…

Healius

Major development, and Smokey Green jokes
« on: October 30th, 2001, 2:25pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
You declared you would be three inches taller
You only became what we made you.
Thought you were chasing a destiny calling
You only earned what we gave you.
You fell and cried as our people were starving,
Now you know that we blame you.
You tried to walk on the trail we were carving,
Now you know that we framed you.
                     --The Who, The Punk Meets The Godfather
~~~~~



Healius’ voice: This is just BEGGING for our involvement.

Papers rustle as we dissolve in on Healius and Hoyakillah in Healius’ Washington, DC consulting office. It’s a rather disheveled space, with hordes of documents piled high against the cream-white walls, cigar-filled ashtrays and beer cans strewn across the desk, an extra two suits hung on an already-saturated coat rack—you get the picture.

Hoya monotonously tosses a tennis ball against the television screen, and turns to Healius as he reads the papers currently churning off the fax machine.

Hoya: So what exactly do you consult on?

Healius: A bunch of securities-related stuff. Took it up about a year ago and started my own little service here—been able to balance it with EWA and EFWO pretty well. I tend to bring a lot of my work on the road with me.

Hoya: I’d think this was more law-related…you’d need to be steeped in securities law to be effective.

Healius: Well of course. I’m working on a law degree ever so slowly—once I have it, that’s what I’ll practice, but this is good experience for the now. It’s still something on the side, really. The night of NetMania, I had a major teleconference with clients, counsel and underwriters—I’m sitting here on my fucking cell phone hammering out details while I’m lacing up my boots. This goes right down to the wire-I mean, I’m hearing my introduction as the Masked Stranger as I’m talking about 10b-5 issues. Real tedious crap—but nearly killing Paul Tonic with the pedigree on the damn chair twenty minutes later changed my mood considerably.

Hoya: As well it should.

Healius: I wonder when that bastard’s coming back. I’m sure I’ll be on the top of his hitlist for almost ending his career. No worries though, I’ll kick his sorry ass again.

Hoya: I’m still at a loss as to why he ever became world champion. EFWO was REALLY scraping the bottom barrel then.

Healius: Nah, Tonic was somewhat respectable. Skeletor, however…jeez, and I thought Hartl was bad. Skelly simply had no business being the world champion. That is completely and totally unjustifiable. That’s worse than the NWA putting the title on Ronnie Garvin.

Hoya: And THAT’s pretty bad.

Healius: Anyway, take a look at this. (hands Hoya the fax, flashing a devious smile) Like I said, doesn’t it just beg for our appearance?

Hoya: (looking it over) Vanquish versus Hexane in the main event at Fury…(pondering) Yeah, EFWO, way to boost the rating there. What a fucking MONEY MATCH!

Healius: I booked that crap in EWA, didn’t come NEAR the top.

Hoya: No, you booked Masked Warrior versus Hexane, not Vanquish.

Healius: Same bloody thing. At least I’m smart enough to know shit when I see it, and give it three minutes tops so we can forget about it quickly.

Hoya: Welcome to Rebels/Theatre-O-Pussies snoozefest number one in a series of 164,546!

Healius: I’d love to read a Scott Keith review of THIS abortion.

Vanquish v. Hexane—Slugfest to start, won by V-Man. V-Man S-L-O-W-L-Y wears Hexane down and shouts “cretin” a lot like a big dumb oaf. Glad to see V-Man use his own material. Chokeslam blocked with a weak ballshot and now Hexane takes over with sloppy high-flying offense that goes nowhere, because V-Man, the big overrated and talentless lug he is--RETIRE ALREADY, YOU FAT PIECE OF SHIT, AND PUT THE YOUNGER GUYS OVER—doesn’t sell anything. Rebel Chemicalana is reversed into a powerbomb for two. Hexane comes back with the AAD, but V-Man gets right up and hits a chokeslam. He gets Hexane maybe three inches off the ground. Fatass legdrop gets two. This is so bad. Crowd is DEAD here. V-Man goes back on the slow offense. Lots of stomping and choking. Hexane hulks up and we go into a lovely kick, punch, kick, punch exchange with all the excitement of a Kamala-Giant Gonzalez ladder match. Yawn. More of that. And more. And more. Kill me now, it’s the only humane thing to do. Match dumps outside as the ref gets bumped. Yeah, like we needed THAT. Hexane finds a fire extinguisher and knocks V-Man silly—but he doesn’t go down, of course. It take three more shots to do it see, because V-Man is immortal, or something like that. Or maybe he's just a fatass. Whatever. Back in, Hexane gets a jackhammer and goes up for the swandive, but V-Man sits up. Piledriver gets two as the ref wakes up. And heeeeeeeeeeeeeere’s the Rebels! Followed by the rest of the freaks, and the thing is thrown out at 13:23, which is 13:23 too much. Hexane deserves better than this. Please EFWO, don’t insult my intelligence with this shit anymore. DUD.

Hoya: That about sums it up.

Healius: But we can of course save something like that from happening. The moment we appear, all is well with the world.

Hoya: I hope Smokey Green has enough to go around, the crowd is gonna need it!

Healius: There’s another goof I don’t get. He wanted an EWA contract once upon a time. I took one look at him and had to turn away to contain my laughter. Is this guy for real? How is someone whose entire gimmick is based on 4:20 supposed to get over as anything BUT a joke? Everyone knows RVD, Sean Waltman and Jesse Armstrong live that lifestyle, but they don’t play it up as their only dimension! This guy will NEVER be taken seriously. He’ll never be successful. I am ashamed that one of my own proteges would be so fucking stupid to think recruiting this guy would be a good idea!

Hoya: I give him two-three weeks, tops.

Healius: Team him with Cheech and consign them to an eternity fighting ATF agents in a compost heap.

They laugh, as Hoya drops the fax back on the desk, cracks his knuckles and places them behind his forehead as he leans back.

Hoya: So, what do you have in mind for this little disruption of EFWO’s surefire bankruptcy match?

Healius: Oh, I dunno, we’ll figure it out.

Hoya: As always.

A knock at the door. Healius looks up past Hoya as the door slowly opens.

Jessica’s voice: Hey it’s me, you in here?

Healius: Yeah, c’mon in.

Healius and Hoya stand up to greet Jessica Hagan, who saunters in wearing a sexy beige business suit, her hair up in a bun and wire-rimmed glasses hanging off her nose—a look close to Stacy Kiebler in the Miss Hancock phase. Hoya takes a deep breath and whistles, albeit inaudibly, and slightly shakes his head in awe.

Healius: Well this is a surprise, Jess.

Jessica: Just thought I’d stop by and say hello before heading off to Diva Day.

Healius: You remember Will, yes?

Jessica: (to Hoya) Yes, yes indeed. Nice seeing you again.

Hoya: Likewise, I’m sure.

Jessica: Glad to see you two on the same page again. If LWN is any indication, EFWO is in for a revolution.

Healius: And YOU don’t have any problem with that, do you Ms. CEO?(smiling)

Jessica: Not a thing. It’s a welcome change…the men’s division is so sad. I’ve seen better wrestling in front of twenty grandmothers in a dank high-school gym in Central Islip.

Hoya: How’s your division holding up?

Jessica: Barely, to tell you the truth. We’re going strong, I suppose…but it’s not a good sign when a guy wins a women’s title. What the hell kind of crap is that? It really cheapens the Intercontinental Title’s prestige—and I’m not just saying that because I lost it. I didn’t really want it to begin with. But a guy? It’s a female title on the line in a divas match…why the hell were men even in it?

Hoya: Well isn’t that your call? You’re the CEO, after all.

Jessica: The Board made the call. I just announced the match using the term “whosoever” to imply all women on the roster had an equal opportunity because, y’know, that’d make SENSE. But no, our Russoian friends said I meant everyone. I said no I didn’t, but they said “it’ll be fun!” Yeah, ok, dumbshits. Frankly, if they’re that stupid to book a match that leaves that scenario a distinct possibility, I’m gonna leave it alone and use to post-PPV negative reaction to show them how ridiculous some of their decisions are.

Hoya: A big “told you so”, then.

Healius: Interesting…though that doesn’t really help you, sis. As CEO, the shareholders and the public will look at you as the fall-person because you could have prevented that. I’d concentrate on making the product good, not making The Board look like a bunch of Dudleys—I mean, faggots—even though that’s what they are.

Jessica: True enough—and that’s actually the real reason why I’m here. To discuss the CEOship…

Healius: (furrowing his brow) Oh?

Jessica: Yeah. I’m starting to tire of it, you see. I’m at a point where I am reassessing my life. I’m nineteen years old, I’m a corporate whiz kid, the top female wrestler on the planet, the keeper of a beast-

Hoya: A beast?

Healius: Sanctum.

Hoya: Ah.

Jessica: It’s starting to take a toll on me. I certainly want to wrestle some more, focus on that without the encumberances of politicking and paperwork…think about starting a family eventually…travel the world, see all the great sites. I look at all the things I have in front of me, what I have accomplished, and I cherish it all. But right now, I don’t want the headache of the day-to-day operations of running a multi-million dollar enterprise anymore. I’ve done it for eight months, which is nothing compared to the Jack Welchs and Bill Gates’ of the world, but for me at this age and this stage in my life, it’s plenty. I’ve had my taste of power, wealth and glory and I can always come back to it at a later time if I desire—provided the opportunity presents itself.

Healius: Damn…so you’re resigning the position?

Jessica: Basically, yes. However, there’s a catch…the position isn’t vacant. I’m not so much resigning the position as I am transferring it…to YOU.

Healius’ is shocked, staring wide-eyed at Jessica. He is in total disbelief—didn’t see this coming at all. Jessica grins and nods in affirmation.

Hoya: Are you kidding me? This is HUGE! The SG just became that more powerful! We had the LWN commissioner, now we have the fucking CEOship of EFWO!

Healius: Wait, wait, this CAN’T be legal. You can’t just transfer the top position to anyone!

Jessica: Oh c’mon, I won the position in a match! It was created from nothing based on me nailing X-Dude between the eyes with a camera and getting a three count. If that ain’t arbitrary, I don’t know what is.

Hoya: She has a point. If the position can be transferred or filled based on a match, it can surely be filled via simple transference backed by a contract.

Healius: Alright, that’s good enough for me. I can’t believe this.

Jessica: It’s a real windfall for the Southern Gentlemen cause.

Hoya: You’re telling me!

Jessica reaches into her pocket and pulls out an envelope. Opening it, she produces a sheet of paper and points to the signature line opposite her own. Healius reads the document through, then executes with his chicken-scrawl John Hancock.

Jessica: Well, there you have it. I am relieved of my duty after long last, Mr. CEO. Use the post wisely!

Healius: Unbelievable. And really, I’m informally giving half of it to Hoya since I value his judgment so highly.

Hoya trots over to the small refrigerator in the corner and grabs three Sam Adams Octoberfests, flipping one each to Healius and Jessica.

Hoya: Rob, do you realize what has just transpired here? Do you understand what the Southern Gentlemen have just gained with a simple stroke of the pen?

Healius pops open his brew and takes a swig, then clinks his bottle to Hoya’s. Another swig. Healius licks his lips and nods his head…

Healius:…….EVERYTHING.

Fadeout…


Healius

Pulling weeds
« on: October 31st, 2001, 2:31pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Healius’ Voice: (the sound of fumbling video-cassettes) “Healius beats Taz Giant Once More, Volume IV”….wonder whatever happened to that goof…

Hoya’s Voice: Fuck if I know.

Healius’ Voice: Aha! Here it is!

Hoya’s Voice: Shouldn’t that be “Here ‘Tis”?

Healius’ Voice: Why?

Hoya’s Voice: Obligatory Who reference.

Healius’ Voice: Not a Who song. Just a cover.

Hoya’s Voice: Whatever.

The sound of Healius inserting the tape into his VCR, and now the static filling the screen explodes into a shot of Healius and Hoya beating the abject crap out of Kareem and Shatterstar to win their first and only Tag Team titles, back in the old LWN.

Hoya's Voice: Jeez...this is like sanctioned murder.

Healius' Voice: I told you this was good stuff!

Surprisingly enough, it was the first time Healius and Hoya had ever teamed up—this after three months of separate singles careers as the top two proteges of Rebel Yell’s Southern Gentlemen. It’s thus a common misconception that Hoya and Healius were ever a true tag team before…they weren’t. In fact, Healius achieved his later tag-team fame with Andrew Leigh in the Southern Strain, while Hoya remained fairly clear of tag team experience except for occasional random pairings here and there.

Hoya's Voice: Now that's gotta be one of the sweetest pescados I've ever hit!

Healius' Voice: Just watch what happens next........BAM! Another one! CRACK! There goes his skull!

Hoya's Voice: That's some fucking chairshot....he's at 0.8 Muta, at least!

Healius' Voice: That Kareem...what a trooper.

But on that one glorious September evening, Hoya and Healius reigned supreme. In his all-consuming greed to control every major LWN Title, Rebel Yell had momentarily grabbed Hoya from the Interpostal Title ranks, and Healius from the SMD race, and charged them with annihilating the anti-hero Team 4:20 for good. Functioning as a well-oiled machine, isolating the popular champions away from their corner, plastering them with a dizzying array of double-team and aerial maneuvers, confining them to the ground where they could not use their own high-flying arsenal and finishing it off with a blitz of hardcore brutality, Healius and Hoya dominated the veterans and left them barely conscious, looking up at the lights, their blood staining every quadrant of the ring as the Southern Gentlemen raised the gold high.

Healius' Voice: Shatterstar never wrestled another match after this.

Hoya's Voice: Nope, we took his career away from him. Nice little involuntary retirement.

That single fifteen-minute performance epitomized the glory days of Southern Gentlemen stardom, dominance and power. The fans in attendance, the announcers, those watching at home and the rest of the boys in the back watched with awe, a newfound respect and fear of these men consuming their hearts, minds and souls. These were the men who could destroy you with a single glare, burn a hole right through you and tear your guts out for breakfast. For months, people knew who the Southern Gentlemen were, what they were about….but perhaps they didn’t believe all the hype, or convinced themselves that the situation borne by these men was not nearly as dire as one might imagine. They were but two men. They could be stopped and cast into the pit of all the old trash-talking-with-nothing-to-back-it-up has-beens.

Hardly.

On that night, the Southern Gentlemen arrived for real. All bets were off. All notions were rethought. Fears were founded, worst thoughts confirmed.

The hype was real. Right there in that very ring, two of the most technically-gifted aerial artists the LWN had ever seen were systematically decimated by a force heretofore unseen—or at least untapped. The moment the official’s hand came slamming down for the three, Rebel Yell cast a glance to the back, his demonic smile telling the story.

“Fuck y’all, you have no chance.”

Of course, it was just a tease. After another month of even greater domination, infiltration and seizure of all things LWN, Healius and Hoya had their monumental falling-out, leading to the necessary trial of fire to emerge stronger-minded, iron-willed individuals, united like never before, with only one goal in mind.

Control. EFWO at their knees. Do not doubt their ability to do so…

Healius: (as the tape freezes, and dissolves to Hoya and Healius in a close-up of their rugged faces, grinning deviously) Who will play Kareem? Who will play Shatterstar?

Hoya: Does it really matter? They’re all the same…faceless names, nameless faces…sacrificial lambs.

Healius: Goodnight, EFWO.

Slow fadeout…


Hoyakillah

The Mile High Club
« on: November 1st, 2001, 5:52pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
La Guardia Airport, Queens, NY.  The scene of much higher security in the last couple of months, after 11 September.  Our camera focuses on the Marine Air Terminal, a bit more remote than the main terminal for LGA (for those of you who know the airport, you know what I'm talking about).  Focusing on the terminal, we see a limousine parked out front, with a man standing in front of the back door in a dark suit and sunglasses.  Now, inside the terminal (which is relatively small, all things considered - it only services two airlines) and a plane pulls up to the terminal.  Delta Shuttle from Washington, DC to New York City - the first planes to fly into Reagan National after September 11, and they're still flying.  The doorway opens in the terminal from the plane, and a man in a suit walks down the corridor... not a Delta employee.  What about security, you say?  Keep reading.  The man comes back, flanking a man we all recognize... Hoyakillah.  Our "hero" looks a little bit fried, but otherwise fine.  Sunglasses on top of his head.  Suit, shirt, no tie.  He's not carrying his bags, of course - that's what the flunky is there for.

Yes, there are additional security around LGA.  National guard in camouflage.  Security personnel, both uniformed and plainclothes.  They all stiffen when Hoya walks past, but he pays them no attention.  A metal detector?  He just walks around it.  One of the security guards starts to say something, but one of her partners puts his hand on her arm, stopping her.  Down the exit way.

The flunky:  Sorry to have you flying commercial, sir.

Hoyakillah:  It's fine.  For now, it's really the only way to fly between DC and NYC.  This is actually faster than a private jet.

flunky:  Yes sir.

Hoyakillah:  Situation report?

flunky:  Well sir, things seem to be fine.

Hoyakillah:  When and where's my flight to Portland?

flunky:  Ummm, in about an hour and a half, from JFK.

Hoyakillah:  Kennedy?  Fuck.  Ok, that's not enough time to get back to Manhattan, not at this time of night... we can just drive around for a while.

flunky:  Very good.

Hoyakillah:  Is -

flunky:  Yes, sir.

Hoyakillah:  Excellent.  We'll want some privacy.

flunky:  Of course.

We?

Hoya walks outside, and the other flunky opens the door to the limo.  Hoya stops at the door for a second... seeing a very interesting sight.

Hoya:  Hubba hubba.

I guess we never mentioned that Hoya has a mistress, did we?

Her name?  Jenocide.  You might have heard of her, but maybe not.  Remember JPac?  No... ok, anyway.  Former first lady of e-wrestling.  Wrestled in most of the major feds, including if I'm not mistaken, EFWO for a very brief stint.

What, you thought Hoya was some kind of celibate or something?  Please.

Anyway, I don't know if we've laid this down or not, but Jenocide is hot.  Excuse me, I don't think that came across properly.  HOT.  We're not talking Rena Mero hot.  We're not even talking Torrie Wilson or Stacy Kiebler hot.  We're talking Miss Elizabeth in 1990-1991 hot.  In other words, drop dead fucking gorgeous.

Jenocide:  What are you waiting for?  Get in here.

Hoya: (with a bit of a roguish smile on his face)  Yes ma'am.

He gets in the car, and it takes off.

From inside the backseat:

Jenocide:  Can we go back to the apartment?

Hoya:  No, unfortunately, we can't.  I've got to fly up to Portland for an EFWO show.

Jenocide:  Jesus... I knew this kind of shit was going to happen.

Hoya:  Jen... look.  We discussed this, on the phone, after Rob called me, and even before that, when I decided to head out to Europe for the pay per view.  We both knew what I was getting into - it's not like you haven't been in the business before.

Jenocide:  (pouting)  Fine.  A smile crosses her lips.  How long until your flight out of here?

Hoya:  An hour, hour and a half.

Jenocide:  Oh, good.  We'll have plenty of time.

Hoya just smiles and sits back as Jenocide cocks her head back for a moment, then reaches back, covering the camera with what appears to be a Pop Rocks package.

Cut back afterwards, Hoya and Jenocide sitting back in the limo cruising around.

Jenocide:  So, you're flying out of JFK?

Hoya:  Yeah.  Should be back late, late tonight.  If at all tonight - I don't know when and where the next show is, I may have to fly direct.

Jenocide:  Fine.  That's no problem at all.

Hoya:  O...k... you're hiding something.

Jenocide:  Me?  Hide something?  Never.

Hoya:  Fess up, woman.

Jenocide:  Oh, it's nothing.  Just... an idea.

Hoya:  Say it.

Jenocide:  I want to come with you.

Hoya:  What, you want to fly to Maine with me?  Trust me, you don't.  It's the armpit of the Northeast... no, wait, that's Rhode Island... no, you know what, the entire Northeast is an armpit.  You don't want anything of it.

Jenocide:  That's not what I mean.

Hoya thinks about it for a moment, then sits back and closes his eyes.

Hoya:  Are you sure about this?

Jenocide:  Oh, I'm very sure.

Hoya:  Well, it's not entirely my decision...

Jenocide: (now a little pissed off)  Will, don't feed me that bullshit line!  Since when does anyone tell you what to do?

Hoya:  Since I joined back up with Healius, that's when.

Jenocide:  Oh.

Hoya:  Yeah... baby, you know I want you there.  Hell, the more protection I have watching my back, the better.

Jenocide:  That's not what I'm going to be watching...

Hoya:  Knock it off.  Anyway, you know I'd never object.  But Healius has to give the ok.

Jenocide:  I can't believe this.

Hoya:  Look, this is the way it works.  Tell you what, why don't you fly up to Portland with me?  We can't put you on the show, not now, not yet.  Just wouldn't work.  But we'll sit down with Rob, we'll talk about it.  How does that sound?

Jenocide:  And you're not going to try and block me from joining up?

Hoya:  What do you think this is, I Love Lucy?  You'll do your thing no matter what.  It's just... well, let's just call it mutually beneficial if we're working together.

Jenocide:  Mmmm... you've got that right.

Hoya just smiles, as the limo slows down, pulling into a closed section of John F. Kennedy International Airport... pulling onto the tarmac, in fact, in front of a Gulfstream G-V, painted dark grey.

Hoya:  Well, I'm sorry to spring this on you like this, considering you didn't have time to pack anything.

Jenocide:  Who said anything about needing clothes?

Another smile on Hoya's face.

Hoya:  Alright, let's get going.  If we can't get back to Manhattan after this show, I'll have some things sent along.  Didn't exactly have time to pack much myself, anyway.

Jenocide:  Ok.  She looks out the limo window.  What, no armed guards?  No army of security personnel flanking the plane?

Hoya:  Eh, people are used to that.  No need to flaunt it, not anymore.

Jenocide:  Let's get going.  I don't want you missing the show.

The car comes to a stop, and the flunky in the front seat gets out and gets the door.  The two walk out of the car, to the jetway of the G-V.  Hoya stops for a moment at the top of the staircase (no mics near him, unfortunately) and reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out one of those omnipresent cell phones.  He talks for about a second or two, then immediately turns it off as Jen grabs him by the collar, and pulls him into the plane.  The staircase retracts, and our last shot is of the plane on priority approach, running down the runway at JFK, then lifting off.   Destination:  Fury.

Fadeout.

Healius

Re: The Mile High Club
« Reply #1 on: November 1st, 2001, 7:18pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
6:45pm, Portland, Maine. We slowly dissolve in on Healius’ locker-room in the arena, just hours before Thursday Night Fury. Having just exited the shower, Healius is in the process of dressing for his pending appearance—tonight is a night the nines will be in full effect. Presently a rap on the door, as Healius fiddles with his cuffs.

Healius: Yeah, who is it?

Hoya’s Voice: It’s-

Jenocide’s Voice: (cutting him off) ME!

Healius stops dead in his tracks and looks up at the door, his face telling the story of his disbelief.

Healius: (under his breath) Oh hell…

Jenoice: Well, are you decent?

Healius: Oy ve…..yeah.

The door swings open as Jenocide bounces in, with Hoya in tow. Healius casts a quizzical glance at his partner as Hoya just shrugs and chuckles a bit, rather sheepishly.

Jenocide: Didja MISS me?

Healius: (as Jenocide pats him on the shoulder) Um…no comment.

Hoya: Of course he did, baby.

Jenocide: I want to hear him say it!

Healius: (dramatically) Oh, sooooooo much. I died seven-thousand HORRIBLE deaths without seeing your splendid face or hearing that ear-wrenching voice of yours for a year. HowEVER did I survive?

Hoya: Be nice…

Healius: So why are you here anyway? Won’t your madame be rather upset? After all, you’ve gotta rake in triple whatever the rest of her girls make a night…

Jenocide: (Steph McMahon-Helmsley glare)Why I oughta…(raises her hand to strike, caught by Healius)

Healius: I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

Hoya: Damnit, will you two grow up?! Get over it people!

Hoya pries Jenocide from Healius’ grip as Healius smirks with condescension.

Healius: (to Hoya) I thought I told you NOT to bring her here.

Jenocide: What gives you the right to tell him what he can and can’t do?

Healius: Didn’t ask for your opinion, thanks very much.

Hoya: I didn’t really want to bring her until we talked, but she insisted.

Healius: And they say I’m the one controlled by a woman.

Jenocide: (smiling) Speaking of, just how IS Kallista? I haven’t seen her or heard word one since she had me run out of LWN.

Healius: Lovely revisionist history there. She didn’t run you out.

Jenocide: Yes she did. I was too good for her so she used her clout to get rid of me.

Healius: (ignoring her) However, the same can’t be said for J'Pac…haven’t seen him in about a year now…since I ran the prick out of the ICW.  Now THAT run-out is fact. I’m the only guy he could never defeat so he ran away crying.

Jenoicide: That’s bullshit!

Healius: No, it’s TRUTH!

Hoya: SHUT THE FUCK UP! BOTH OF YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Healius and Jenoicide stop abruptly and turn to Hoya…his teeth and fists clenched, his face beet-red.

Hoya: I KNEW this was going to happen. As much as I want it, this is a BAD idea, Jen. You two cannot co-exist! (to Healius, as he pulls at his hair) Look, I brought her here to get your approval for her to be my valet. Obviously you’re not gonna give it, so after tonight she won’t be with me at any further shows. I’ll keep it strictly personal like it should be. (grabbing Jenocide by the arm) C’mon Jen, I’ll-

Healius: Hold up…

Hoya stops as Healius looks at Jenocide, staring a hole right through her.

Healius: Can you be professional about this, Jennifer?

Jenocide: (returning the glare) You bet I can. Can you?

Healius: I don’t see why not. You and Will, that’s personal. Me and you, it’s just business as usual. You stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours. I see you undermining the Southern Gentlemen and trying to drive a wedge—like you’ve done before—I’ll have your head. You got that?

Jenocide: Don’t worry, I don’t have any intention of that. And besides, Will would probably kick my ass—I know how close you two are.

Hoya: Look, you have a history. It’s there. It lingers. But it doesn’t have to float to the surface, and it won’t. Just tread lightly and stay professional.

Healius: I will. Anyway, now that you’re here, I figured we could grab a bite at Mortons.

Hoya: (surprised) There’s a Morton’s in Portland?

Healius: Shocking, isn’t it?

Hoya: Not sure it’s the best meal before wrestling…but what the hell?

Jenocide: Can I-

Healius: Yeah—but really, we’re gonna need to get you some less-revealing threads. (sizing her up) I don’t think that would pass the “must wear shirts on premises” rule in about thirty states.

Jenocide: Fiiiiiiine, are there any chicks around here with good taste?

Healius: Dunno…ask around, there are some women’s locker-room at the end of the hall.

Jenocide nods and leaves the room in search of more appropriate clothing, as Healius sighs.

Hoya: Thanks.

Healius: Yeah, well…you know I don’t like it, but it’s just business.

Hoya: What we do best.

Healius: Like kicking an ass or two tonight. Just business.

Hoya: You read my mind.

The Southern Gentlemen slap hands as the scene fades…

Hoyakillah

Re: The Mile High Club
« Reply #2 on: November 1st, 2001, 9:03pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hoya turns to leave the locker room before leaving for Morton's.

Hoya:  Why is it that I always get stuck playing diplomat?

Healius:  Hey, you choose your friends.

Hoya:  Fair enough.  Just do me a favor.

Healius:  Shoot.

Hoya:  No more mentioning your family to her, ok?

Healius:  As long as she doesn't mention them to me, I won't mention them to her.

Hoya:  Fine.  And no JPac references either, clear?

Healius:  What?

Hoya:  Look, this is an uneasy enough partnership as is.  We both understand the importance of this, the history.  We understand the sacrifices we're both making here, right?

Healius:  Yeah, I suppose so.

Hoya:  Well, Jen's part of the package.  I'll talk to her, don't worry.  Just lay off, and I'll make sure she lays off, ok?

Healius:  Yeah, fine.  Go meet her, I'll meet you guys out front.  You got a car?

Hoya:  Service.  It's out front.

Healius:  Good.  We'll take that over.

Hoya:  Ok.  I'll meet you out front.

Hoya walks out, leaving Healius in the locker room.

Healius:  Yeah, like she'll listen to him.  If she does one thing that negatively affects the SG...

Hoya heads down the hallway, not exactly knowing the way around the arena.  He hears a woman yelling, stops for a second, and heads for the sound.  Down a couple corridors, he turns, and he's in the women's dressing area.  One door is open, and he hears some yelling from behind it.  Pushes it open, and...

Jenocide: (irate) - FUCK IS THIS?  THERE'S NOTHING HERE!  THIS IS ALL GARBAGE!

Jenocide is standing there, screaming at one of the wardrobers for the women's division.  Hoya just walks in, looks at the woman, and nods to the door.  The woman takes the clue, and leaves the two alone in the locker room.  Jenocide turns to Hoya, furious.

Jenocide:  WHAT?  WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?  DO YOU HAVE TO FUCKING TAIL ME WHEREEVER I GO?

Hoya just stands there, hands in his pockets, silent.

Jenocide:  WHAT?  I HATE IT WHEN YOU DO THIS!  JUST FUCKING SAY SOMETHING!

Jenocide starts beating her fists into Hoya's chest.  He just stands there.

Hoya:  This isn't about the clothes, is it?

Jenocide:  NO, OF COURSE IT ISN'T!

Hoya:  You're frustrated.

Jenocide:  Well no shit.  You're a fucking genius.

Hoya:  Yeah, and yelling at me's going to make it better?  SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Jenocide:  WHAT?

Hoya:  YOU HEARD ME!

Jenocide:  WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Hoya:  WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

Silence between the two.

Hoya:  Are you done?

Jenocide:  (now more upset than enraged)  You never take my side.

Hoya:  Bullshit.

Jenocide:  You never defend me.

Hoya:  Where you do think I was?

Jenocide:  I hate him.

Hoya:  No you don't.

Jenocide:  I hate you.

Hoya: (moving to her, putting his hands on her shoulders)  No you don't.

Jenocide:  I hate him, and I hate his wife, and I hate everything about him.

Hoya:  Look, this is business.  Remember the deal we made?

Jenocide:  I don't talk about them, you don't talk about her.

Hoya:  Yeah.  What happened to that?

Jenocide:  It's just... seeing him, it all came back.

Hoya:  I talked to him.  If you don't bring it up, he won't.

Jenocide:  Yeah, right.

Hoya:  Babe... trust me.

Jenocide:  ...ok.

Hoya:  No mentions?

Jenocide:  No mentions.

Hoya kisses her lightly on the lips.

Hoya:  Thanks.  Now come on.  Let's go get something to eat.

Jenocide:  But my clothes...

Hoya:  Look, I don't care what Rob says.  You look fucking hot.  Now come on.

Jenocide:  Do we... have to?...

A sly smile flits across her face, and Hoya, seeming to have the same idea, smiles as well...

Hoya:  It may not be a steak dinner... but ok...

Jenocide starts unbuttoning her blouse as Hoya removes his jacket, and closes the door on the camera.
Fadeout.
Jenocide

Peace Offering.
« on: November 2nd, 2001, 2:21am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Backstage, Portland, ME.  Thursday Night Fury has just ended... but with no appearance from the latest "femme fatale" of EFWO, Jenocide.

Of course, considering she just showed up in the fed, might be kinda hard to see her on the show immediately.  But you get the idea.

Jenocide is shown pacing back and forth inside Healius' dressing room with a determined look on her face..  as the door creaks open and Healius enters.  Staredown.  Jenocide stiffens up and stares him directly in the eyes..

Jenocide : Heal-

Healius: (cutting her off angrily)  What the hell are you doing in here?

Healius stomps over to the closet.

Jenocide: (sarcastically) I'm looking for a three-way.  No, actually I'm here to discuss business with you.

Healius:  There's nothing to discuss.  You've bulldozed your way into Hoya's and my alliance.  I have no choice other than to accept that.

Jenocide:  You always did have that special way with words when it comes to me.  Seriously though, I know you accept that I'm part of your alliance...but I want more than that. Pauses, takes a deep breath. I want you to be happy about it.

Healius:  How could I?  You're no better than JPac.  I've already given you a chance.. you blew it.  Remember Clash of the Titans?

Jenocide:  Of course I do.  But you see, I'm different now.  Back then, as much as I've tried to deny it..I lived in JPac's shadow.  He used me for shock value.. I had the choice of either going along with what he wanted, or facing the consequences.. which were never pretty.  Things have changed.  We don't speak, he doesn't even know where I am.  And he most certainly doesn't control me anymore.

Healius:  You've always talked big, Jen.  You twist the truth around to suit your needs.  You have so many faces, I don't think YOU even know who you really are.  I don't think I could ever trust you.

Jenocide:  You could try.  I just want what will be best for the three of us, and that's for us all to get along.. there's a lot of strength in that.  Right now we're divided.. it's so obvious.  However, if the three of us truly united..  the results would rock EWFO's world.  We would be unstoppable.  So let's work on peace for that, and for Hoya.. who I know we both truly care for.  You know the way we act towards each other troubles him.. and I hate that more than anything.  So, what do you say?  Truce?

Healius:  For now, I suppose.  I swear though Jen.. if you cross me again..

Jenocide:  I know, I know.  I won't let you down.

She extends her hand.  Warily, hesitantly, Healius extends his own.  The two shake.  Without a further word, she walks out of the dressing room, leaving Healius standing, shaking his head.  On the other side of the door, the door closes, and Jenocide leans against it for a moment... smiling?  Who knows?  After a moment, she turns and heads down the hallway toward Hoya's locker room as the camera fades to black.

Hoyakillah

Working out the kinks.
« on: November 4th, 2001, 1:28pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
We find ourselves at an undisclosed gym and workout center in Vermont, south of Stratton Mountain - a very exclusive ski area.  The gym is empty except for three people... and you can probably take a guess as to who the three of them are.  At a punching bag, Healius.  Working on his strikes - punches, knife-edge chops, and kicks.  He's giving the bag a pretty substantial pounding, too.  Hoyakillah's at a weight bench.  Working on some lifts, getting his upper body back in shape.  Jenocide's on the other side of the room, talking on her cell, watching Hoya with some interest.  Hoya puts back the weight bar, and pulls off his t-shirt.  Jenocide switches off the cell phone, and winks at him... he just grins, and turns to Healius.

Hoya:  Looks good.

Healius:  You like the impact?

Hoya:  Kawada-esque.

Healius grins, as Jenocide walks over.

Jenocide:  Are you guys ready for tonight?

Hoya:  Well, it's kinda hard to be...

Jenocide:  What do you mean?

Healius:  Well, we still don't know exactly who we're facing tonight.

Hoya:  Aside from the fact that Vrmanicek can dopplegang into whoever he wants...

Healius:  He asked El Bastarde to partner with him.  We haven't heard back.

Hoya:  So it's a little uncertain.

Jenocide:  Oh, come on!  Like that matters!  Like you can't beat them!

Hoya grins.

Healius:  Exactly.

Hoya:  But there's one more element of the workout regime left to go through...

Healius winces.

Healius:  Not again.

Hoya:  Look, how did we used to work out on S Street?

Healius:  I'm going to regret this...

Healius heads over to a ring on the other side of the gym.  Jenocide walks over to Hoya for a moment.

Jenocide:  What are you guys doing?

Hoya:  Back when we first started out, Rob and I used to work out by wrestling each other.

Jenocide:  Makes sense... wait, there's something more.

Hoya:  We worked stiff.

Jenocide:  How stiff?

Hoya:  Nothing was worked.

Jenocide:  Jesus!  I swear, if he hurts you... (chuckling)

Hoya: (smiling)  You'll defend me?

Jenocide:  Bet your ass.

Hoya:  Don't worry.  We tend to click.  You should watch this - it can be fun.  And honestly, with the talent in the ring, it'll be a better show than you'll get with any EFWO show.

Jenocide:  Good point.  She smacks him on the ass.  Now get going.

Hoya:  Yes ma'am.

Hoya walks over to the ring, rolling in.  He moves his head to the left and right, getting the stiffness out of it.  Healius has already stretched out.  Jen leans on the apron from the floor, displaying an impressive amount of... well, you can guess why Hoya likes spending time with her so much .

Hoya :  Ok, let's run some of the moves.

Healius:  Gonna be kinda hard, with no person here to try the double teams on... nah.

Hoya:  Oh, she could take the bumps.

Healius:  Nah.  Besides, it would be completely different... Jen's not the right size for some of these moves.

Hoya:  Yeah.

Jenocide climbs up, standing on the apron, hands on the ropes, leaning... yep, leaning over.

Jenocide:  Are you saying I can't handle it?

Healius:  Oh, hell no.

Hoya:  We're just worried that you'd kick our asses.

Healius grins, making Jenocide grin as well, as she leans back and climbs back down to the floor to watch.
Having worked the stiffness out of themselves, Healius and Hoya start off facing each other.

Hoya:  You wanna call?

Healius:  Nah, you run it this time.

Hoya:  OK.  Collar and elbow.

They lock up in a collar and elbow.  Push for leverage on both sides, at one point Hoya goes down to a knee, then back up.

Hoya:  Good.  Break.

And they break the collar and elbow.  Both men again facing each other.

Hoya:  Again.

And again they lock up in a collar and elbow - stiff, of course.  This time, Hoya has the advantage, and Healius goes down to a knee.  But then he gets back up, they squeeze, then break.

Hoya:  Awesome.

Healius:  Do you think we need to run strikes?

Hoya:  No... you're solid on that, I saw, and you know I am.  Let's go C&E into a vertical suplex.

Healius:  You take me up?

Hoya:  No, take me up.  I need to work on my back bumps.

Healius:  Hell, you'll get no complaint from me.

Lock up in a collar and elbow.  Now, it's Healius from the C&E hoisting Hoya high up in a stall vertical suplex... bringing him down HARD on his back.  Jen winces a bit at the impact, but Hoya comes right back up... nursing his back a little bit, but grinning.

Hoya:  Fucker.

Healius:  You asked for it.

Hoya:  That's what always appealed to me... your sadistic side.

Healius:  Good point...

...as Hoya goes low and kicks at Healius' left knee, toppling him onto his back!  Now, Healius back up, dusting himself off.

Healius:  No more spotcalling?

Hoya:  Not for a few. Let's just roll with it.  No strikes except kicking, no kicking above the sternum.  Cool?

Healius:  Yeah, that works for me.  A bit unconventional, but hell, all rules of engagement are.

Hoya:  OK, then let's rock.

The next few minutes are... well, the only way to do it justice is to describe it blow for blow.
Start with a collar and elbow.  Hoya takes it into a headlock on Healius, who shoves him into the ropes.  Hoya comes off, slides on the mat between Healius' legs, pops up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder, then LEVELING him with a lariat.  But Healius right back up, and actually from the mat grabs Hoya's right leg, and pulls, knocking Hoya to the mat.  Both men back up.  Hoya goes for another lariat, but Healius ducks and grabs his arm, taking him down to the mat with a lucha armdrag into an armbar.  Down on the mat, but Hoya gets his leg over, and low-blows Healius, breaking the hold!  Both men back up, Healius grimacing a little bit, Hoya with a bit of a grin on his face.  Another lock up into a collar and elbow, and this time, Healius puts Hoya up with that same stall vertical suplex... but this time he suplexes Hoya into the top rope!  Hoya comes off, rolls onto the mat, hits the other side of the ropes (right next to Jen) and gets up, dusting himself off, then prompts Healius over with a look in his eyes, something like "Try that again."  And Healius does just that... another stall vertical suplex up, and into the ropes, but this time on the release, Hoya rolls over (in mid-air, mind you) and wraps Healius up with a front face lock... SPRINGBOARD STONE COLD STUNNER!  Both men back up, as Jenocide applauds.  Healius nods, with a bit of a grin on his face.  Hoya grins as well.  And then, for some reason, Healius points to the top rope, and lies down.  Jenocide looks confused.  Hoya shakes his head, seeming to know what's coming, and goes to the top rope.  He goes up to the top of the turnbuckle, facing backwards, as if he's about to execute a moonsault.  Standing there, slightly crouched, he waits, as Healius gets up off the mat... with a look on his face of "here we go."  Healius gets under him, and lifts him up off the turnbuckle, in what appears to be a powerbomb... but instead, he drops Hoya down a little bit... jumps... JUMPING SPINEBUSTER!  Healius gets up, dusting his hands off, as Hoya gets up, groaning a little bit.  Jenocide looks a bit concerned, but Hoya shakes his head to get the cobwebs out, then locks up with Healius again in a collar and elbow.  This time Hoya with a go-behind, wrapping Healius' arm up.  Healius slapping his shoulder... then reverses the go-behind into one of his own, but immediately Hoya reverses as well, cranking on the shoulder.  Healius leans forward, as Hoya rolls over his back, still holding onto the arm, but Healius reels him in and flattens him with a lariat of his own!  Both men back up.  Healius whips Hoya into the ropes with an Irish whip, and the two slam into each other, chest to chest, just standing there, as if this would be a point for knife edge chops if strikes were allowed.  Instead, Hoya gets Healius down, and locks his legs in the setup for the sharpshooter... rolls him into a Manic Compression!  But somehow, Healius (in a way that no one else, and I do mean NO ONE ELSE), manages to roll over the Manic Compression, over his head, so that he's on his stomach and the hold is broken.  Hoya's practically laughing, as he takes Healius by the hand and pulls him back up to his feet.  Healius whips Hoya into the ropes again.  Hoya comes off, but Healius catches him.  Head between the legs, and the double underhook, setting him up for the Enlightenment pedigree!  But at the last minute, he lifts Hoya up...

Jenocide:  STOP!

Healius breaks, and the two stand there, in the ring.

Hoya:  Christ... that was close.

Healius:  What did you think...

Hoya:  Hoya Driver.

Healius:  Jeez... I never even thought of that.

Jenocide:  You don't be going off, hurting my man, you hear?

Healius:  Don't worry, Jen.  He's yours out of that ring, but I need him in here.

Jenocide:  OK.

Hoya:  Good?

Healius:  I forgot how much fun that can be.

Hoya rolls out of the ring, to take a towel from Jenocide, who gives one to Healius as well, as he leans on the ring.

Hoya:  If we can click like that...

Healius:  ...tonight's going to be a lot of fun.

Hoya:  You got it.

Hoya raises a fist, which Healius taps with a fist of his own.

Jenocide:  Come on, baby.  There's a sauna in the back.

Healius:  Can I come?

Hoya and Jenocide just look at him for a second, before all three start laughing.

Healius:  Good point.

Jenocide leads Hoya off to the back, to the private sauna, leaving Healius alone in the ring.

Healius:  Oversexed... but if it's leading him like this...

And Healius just stands there, towel around his neck, grinning.
Fadeout.


Hoyakillah

Taunting?
« on: November 4th, 2001, 5:45pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Music:  "Head Like a Hole," Nine Inch Nails

Place:  Stratton, VT.  An exclusive airstrip, where an Aerospatiale helicopter (dark blue, of course) is waiting to pick up the SG and take them to the location of Sunday Shockwave [for an idea of the helicopter, think the one from the first Jurassic Park.  nootch.]

A black Lexus stretch limousine pulls onto the otherwise deserted tarmac, as our camera captures the scene.  The car stops near the helicopter, whose blades haven't yet started to rotate, as if that would be an affront against everyone standing out there.  The car stops, the engine no longer idling.  Back door opens, and out steps first of all Healius, dressed very stylishly in a black t-shirt, khakis, boots and a pair of sunglasses.  He reaches his hand inside the car, and its taken by that of a lady.  He escorts Jenocide out of the car - dressed in a red outfit that would probably be considered illegal in the Bible Belt.  Finally, Hoya steps out of the car, in a sweater, jeans, and a pair of black boots, rimless glasses on.  Hoya starts walking away from the other two for a moment, as the camera shifts to them, a shotgun mic picking up their comments.

Jenocide:  A camera crew...?

Healius:  Guess he wanted to make a last statement before the show.  Works for me.  Here.

Healius assists Jen into the helicopter as Hoya starts talking, the camera immediately zooming in on him.  From behind, after she gets in the chopper, Healius turns and starts walking up behind him.

Hoya:  Sunday Shockwave.  The return of the Southern Gentlemen.  And already, people are talking about our demise.  About how we're old.  We're washed up.  We're doing the same thing we've done for years.  Interesting... that same stuff we've been doing for years has made us two of the most dominant wrestlers ever to work in this business.  People freak out when they hear our names.  People yell when our music hits.  They cheer when we want them to cheer, and they boo when we want them to boo.  They're fucking Pavlovian animals.

So tonight we go up against Jay Vrmanicek, the Doppleganger, and "a partner of his choosing."  How quaint.  I suppose we can only dream that it'll be Dusty Rhodes, and he'll just sit on us.  Or El Bastarde.  Same thing.  What people don't seem to realize is, it doesn't matter who the partner is.

We could be going against Jay Vrmanicek and Tommy Jacobs.  We could be going against Jay Vrmanicek and Myst.  We could be going against Jay Vrmanicek and Dave fucking Dudley, and we'd still win.  You people don't get it yet.  We are the Southern Gentlemen.  We are the quintessence of style, and you're all in denial.  We are the greatest wrestling unit ever composed, and no one can even challenge us.  Perhaps you might think you've got us beat on one side... but then we'll just find your weakness and exploit it.  It's that easy.  I mean, no one's even figured it out.  If we lose, it's because we let you lose.  It's because we know that in the end, we're going to win.  Look at the power accumulated here.  We didn't need that commissionership.  We didn't need any kayfabed Office of the CEO.  We're going to go out there tonight, and we're going to destroy some people.  In fact, I hope I end a couple careers tonight.  That'd really get me off on the right foot.

Healius comes up behind Hoya, standing next to him.

Healius:  It's been a while since anyone's seen this two-man wrecking crew in action.  Everyone knows about Hoya's technical skills, and mine as well.  Everyone knows about our ruthless streaks.  But what no one realizes, because let's be honest - no one here ever wrestled us as a team, is that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.  We're watching each others' backs.  Our strengths are multiplied, our weaknesses nullified.

Hoya: (pointing at the camera)  Jay Vrmanicek, you and your partner are first.  Then everyone else is next.

At that, Hoya and Healius turn to get on the helicopter, whose blades have started rotating in preparation for takeoff.  Once they're on board, the Lexus limousine pulls away.  Our last shot is of the Aerospatiale taking off, nose down, back up, heading vertical toward Shockwave...
Fadeout.

Hoyakillah

Time keeps on slippin... into the future
« on: November 5th, 2001, 11:22am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------

An undisclosed location in New England.  No show yet... so all the EFWO superstars are on hold.  We see the mountains, we zoom in, and we see a chalet.  Healius is outside, pacing around, a Cohiba in his mouth and a cellphone clipped to his waist.  He's being impatient, as usual.  He finishes the cigar, drops it in the snow - yes, there is snow here already, it's a ski resort, what do you expect?  Cigar fizzles out, he grabs a nearby snowboard, and heads up the hill.  Camera shifts from that to the above balcony, where Hoya is leaning on the railing, a cigarette in his mouth, thinking.  Of course, he's not going to do his thinking alone... from behind, a panel door slides open, and out walks Jenocide, wrapped in a quilt, brown hair done up instead of down.  She walks over to the balcony, leaning on it, her back to the outside, as Hoya comes off the railing, still smoking.

Jenocide:  Come inside.

Hoya:  I'll be in in a minute, baby.  Just let me finish this.

Jenocide:  You didn't lose any money last night, did you?

Hoya: (grinning)  Of course not.  I had all my money on the Snakes.

Jenocide:  But how...?

Hoya:  After the Soriano homer, one dude gave me ten to one.  So I put about a hundred thou on it.  Smiles.  Remind me to send Mariano Rivera a box of Ashtons.

Jenocide:   You didn't...

Hoya just winks at her.

Jenocide:  Well, at least you were able to watch the game last night.

Hoya:  Yeah, but I would have rather been at the show.

Jenocide:  You would've rather been at the show than watch Game 7?

Hoya:  Yeah... (continuing to puff on his cigarette) we're ready.  We're ready to dominate.  And yet we're waiting.

Jenocide:  Come inside.  Let me take your mind off of it.

Hoya:  I don't think that's possible.

With the camera facing Hoya, with Jenocide's back to it, she drops the quilt... and yes, she's wearing nothing underneath.

Hoya: (smiling)  On the other hand...

Fadeout.
Fade back in in the bedroom... yes, the bedroom.  Hoya's laying there, with Jenocide laying as well, with the sheets... "strategically placed."

Hoya:  Are you bored?

Jenocide: (running a finger across Hoya's chest)  With you?  Never.

Hoya:  You didn't answer the question.

Jenocide:  Do I want to start wrestling again?  Yeah.

Hoya:  Do you?

Jenocide:  Not yet.  I'm way too out of practice...

Hoya:  Your body certainly doesn't look like it...

Jenocide: (grinning)  But I need to get my skills back up.

Hoya:  Then we'll work on it.

Jenocide:  You promise?

Hoya:  Promise.

Jenocide:  (voice lowering)  So... Will... wanna pin me?

Hoya grins like the Cheshire Cat and rolls over, but before he can do anything, a pounding is heard on the door.

Healius: (from outside)  Are you decent?

Hoya rolls back over to his side of the bed.

Jenocide:  We're never decent, but you can come in.

Healius opens the door and walks in...

Healius:  MY EYES!  MY EYES!

Hoya:  Shut up, Hagan.

Healius grins.

Healius:  We just got the call.

Jenocide:  Did we?

Healius:  Yeah, we got plenty of time.  But it's on.  Tonight.

Hoya:  Fantastic.  Call the Palm...

Healius:  There's a Palm out here?

Hoya:  Of course there is.

A shared grin.

Hoya:  Call 'em up and have lunch sent over.  We'll eat, then head over to the arena.

Healius:  Why can't you?

Hoya:  I have some... unfinished business to attend to.

Healius:  Oh... OH!  Christ.  I'm gone.

Jenocide:  We'll meet you downstairs, Rob.

Hoya: (grinning)  Don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you.

Healius walks out, closing the door behind him.

Hoya:  So... where were we...

Fadeout.
Healius

It's never easy
« on: November 5th, 2001, 12:41pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Healius’ Voice: And they called ME oversexed. Jeez…

The scene opens on Healius’ private balcony overlooking the lovely autumn foliage of Montpelier, VT. A grin washes across his countenance as he imagines the Southern Gentlemen’s pending romp upcoming this evening against Jay Vrmanicek and a partner of his choosing.

Healius: The Southern Gentlemen could not have reformed at a better time…the winds of change are in the cool, crisp air….the leaves are turning all sorts of beautiful hues and falling off the branches to their death, signaling the impending onset of the depressive winter months. Jay Vrmanicek, you are just the first victim of many to follow. Tonight, you and your insignificant pal are likened to the leaves of the great oak. Green now, clinging to the last moments of prosperity and vitality. After we choke the very life out of you and render your faces as red as a beet from the crimson masks we shall lay upon your visages, you will fall from your high perch and blow away, to be buried in the snow of our slow Southern march across your back and the backs of all other EFWO stars who dare to cross our paths. This is the winter of your discontent, Vrmanicek…a time when the cold, foreboding air which WE bring will stifle you and render you immobile. You, good sir, will wish you were dead—it’d be a better plight than the one to which we shall subject you. But Hoya and I, the rugged men who know no obstacles, men hardened by years of training in the most oppressive and depressing of environments imaginable, will remain strong, the sole surviving force in the EFWO—the only one fit to withstand our own nuclear winter. Many men fall prey to their own corrupting power, many men die by the very sword they draw—but that is not the fate of the Southern Gentlemen. Our fate is to control….everything….nothing can sink this ship.

Healius saunters back into his room and opens the fridge, reaching down for a cold brewski. He hits his head on the ceiling of the icebox as he’s startled by the ring of his portable fax machine.

Healius: Uff! Son-of-a-BITCH!

Healius treks across the room and disgustedly grabs the one-page fax, taking a long swig of his Bass as he reads. Suddenly his eyes bug out in amazement-or shock, perhaps fear-and he spews the beer halfway across the room with panache befitting of Triple H. Wiping his lips, Healius reads over the sheet again.

Healius: Holy SHIT—just what we DON’T need.

Television Announcer: So come on down to Old Monty’s Chophouse, the newest member of the renowned Clyde’s Corporation family!

Healius: (frowning) Clyde’s expanded up here?….(momentarily distracted, again looking at the fax) But damn…if this happens….Will can’t know about this…not yet, at least. I can learn to deal with Jen, but this...(shuddering)

Healius drops the fax to his bed and staggers back to the balcony, grabbing another Cohiba on the way out.

Healius: God-damned pimp…this could be bad.

The camera pans slowly back to the interior of the hotel room, honing in on the fax. It reads:

Hey Rob, thought you’d be interested in this—I’m sure you and Will would have a vested interest here. Call me when you have a chance. Take care, Jess.

Forwarded message
To: [email protected], [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Negotiations


Good morning to all of you, I trust your weekend went well. I just wanted to update you on the status of negotiations with certain talent EFWO has approached in recent weeks.

1) Ciclope-Preliminary discussions, very informal. Long way to go.

2) Lazz-No contact since October 17, evaluating his recent Wildside work.

3) Steve Corino-Discussions severed for at least six months.

4) Amarantha-Very close. Can’t say anything further at this time.

I will be in touch later on today with a more detailed report. Enjoy your day.

Cheers,

Carl Paulson
EFWO Recruitment Director

Fadeout…

Healius

Shockwave--after the camera stopped rolling
« on: November 6th, 2001, 11:59am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Immediately following Sunday Night Shockwave, after the camera stopped rolling…

After a few volatile moments of a staredown so intense it could be cut only with a buzzsaw, Tommy Jacobs and Phil Flate slowly exit the ring and head towards the back, making their way towards the parking lot to join Jay Vrmanicek in his time of need. Healius and Hoya descend out and start up several paces behind them as the fans rain down massive heat upon them for the act Hoya has just committed. Stooping cold in their tracks, Hoya and Healius look at each other and grin, then storm back to the ring. At once, thousands of asses scurry back to their seats for the extracurriculars as Healius grabs the house mic.

Healius: THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what the Southern Gentlemen are all about! Just take a look at what we did here tonight, right before your very eyes. We took your beloved former World Champion, that talentless hack who can only get himself over by mimicking gimmicks created by others, and did exactly what we said we were going to do: END HIS MOTHERFUCKING CAREER. Yeah, that’s right, put him out of business forever, paralyzed, drooling and shaking twenty-four hours a day, talking with all the coherence of Charlie Brown’s teacher as his fifty-five year old fatass mother airplanes his porridge every morning after a spongebath!

Flipping the mic to Hoya, as the fans now pelt the ring with debris…it’s downright riotous now.

Hoya: And you know what? We could have done more. We could have knocked him off that gurney and cast him off the stage like a cheap Vietnamese whore, right through the production table. Or we could have broken his legs and arms for good measure. Doesn’t really matter to us—more breakage the merrier! And don’t think for a minute that we went easy on him because his friends were here—we would have taken them out, too. Not even the so-called greats like Jacobs and Flate can touch us. They’re not even fit to lick our boot straps! So why, you ask, why did we let Jay and the Old School Icons—oh and speaking of them, wasn’t THAT such a great reunion? (laughing, as Healius takes the mic)

Healius: Priceless, just priceless! Here they were, ready to jump out like the boogeyman and beat us down in a joyous reunion with all the flair of a Four Horsemen reformation, but we spoiled that party in spectacular fashion! A rather inauspicious start with the stench of despair and defeat, courtesy of us. Icons, EFWO, TOP, Rebels, whomever the fuck is watching and listening, Jay Vrmanicek is just the beginning of a long trail of unfortunate souls who will be left for dead in our wake! Tonight, Icons, YOU HAD A DREAM, BUT WOKE UP IN A NIGHTMARE!

Flipping back to Hoya

Crowd: JAY! JAY! JAY! JAY! JAY!

Hoya: (smirking) Too little too fucking late for that. Your hero is will never set foot in this very ring again. So why did we do it? Why did we let them just walk away? Is it because we inflicted enough damage? No, we didn’t come close…that was mere child’s play. You really ain’t seen NOTHING yet. No folks, we let the OSI off easy because WE CAN.

Healius: Ah, ah, and it’s fun to fuck with their minds! You can try all you want to shake us off, but you know it’s true! You know you can’t win! You know that as cliché and ridiculous as it sounds, it’s true!

Crowd: BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT! BULL-SHIT!

Hoya: Wow, we’ve actually got a crowd that can put two-syallable chants together. What’s that take, a third-grade education? Look at all these brutally ugly people out here, what the hell is up with the gene pool in Vermont?....Oh wait, I get it…this place is so godawful, so boring and uninteresting that you can only pass the time by having sex. And of course, incest is best!

Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Healius: You beasts make West Virginians look like beauty queens.

Crowd: ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE! ASS-HOLE!

Hoya: Probably a good idea—can’t get pregnant that way and fuck up the gene pool even more!

Healius: What were we talking about again?

Hoya: I’m getting to it…now if Jay actually makes it through this intact and decides to come back for more—though I don’t know why anyone would want to—we’ll do it again. No qualms. Perhaps we really want to see him come back, just so we can have the satisfaction of crippling him again. It doesn’t really matter—if that’s the least of our domination, just imagine the lengths to which we can go. The OSI will say we talk a big game, that if we really wanted to do more we would have, and by not attacking them and making good on this bold claim, that we’re cowards. Not hardly. Phil Flate and Tommy Jacobs have no idea what they’ve gotten themselves into. Think of us as ticking time-bombs, just biding our time—making them wait, making them worry. They’re lucky we didn’t take their heads off five minutes ago—Lord knows we could have without breaking a sweat.

Healius: But we didn’t. Not because some great aura surrounding them blinded us into inaction—there is none despite their best efforts to prove otherwise—no, the time wasn’t right. Not here, not now. It’s the Cuban Missile Crisis all over again…we’re ready to strike at any moment, and our mere presence places the entire EFWO in danger of annihilation. You know not the day nor the time—all you DO know is that we’re here and prepared and each moment that goes by when we don’t strike is another moment that the fear wells up inside you as you contemplate the future. We have the OSI living in fear—stand ground they will, but their plight will not be of the United States because there will be NO disarmament from this camp.

Back to Hoya.

Hoya: Bottom. Fucking. Line.

”Dr. Feelgood” hits as the Southern Gentlemen start to leave. The food and drink is flying all around ringside now as the fans in the front rows fight to hop the barricade, held back only by the now doubled security force surrounding ringside. Hoya suddenly stops and climbs back in, grabbing the mic.

Hoya: And Flate….you slap like a girl. Maybe the women’s division IS your only true home. G’night folks, tune in next week for the swan song of some other unfortunate little shit!

Hoya tosses the mic down and flips out, heading towards the back with Healius and Jenocide, as the scene slowly fades…

Jenocide

Watch out...
« on: November 6th, 2001, 6:10pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The scene opens to a shot of the hotel suite Hoyakillah and Jenocide are staying in...  the cameras zoom in on Hoya, sleeping peacefully, then to the clock, displaying the time 4:03am, and finally to Jenocide, who is standing by the bed pulling her long dark hair up into a ponytail.  She walks out a distance from the bed, and begins...

Jenocide grabs her leg, pulling it up behind her as high as human anatomy will allow.. she does the same to the front, then to the other leg..  she extends her arms, then leans down,  touching her hands to her toes, then slowly eases down onto the ground, a leg out to each side.  She finishes up her warm-up exercises, and begins doing pushups.


Jenocide: (whispering) 1....2....3


Fadeout.


The scene opens again to more of the same.. the only difference being the time on the clock, which is now 6:25am.


Jenocide: (now doing crunches) 199.....200...201...

Hoyakillah: (groggily) What are you doing, baby?

Jenocide: Working out.

Jenocide stands up, drags herself over to the bed, and collapses next to Hoya. She rolls to face him.  He runs his fingertips over her bare arm softly.

Hoyakillah: At 6:30 in the morning?  We didn't get to bed until (dirty smile)  at least 2...

Jenocide:  I couldn't sleep. It's been two years, Will.  The game's changed. And I can't handle being anything less then the best.  You know how I am.

Hoyakillah:  I do.. and that's exactly the reason why I'm so crazy about you.

Jenocide:  But what if I lo...

Hoyakillah places a finger on Jenocide's lips.

Hoyakillah: Shhhhh.  You're going to do just fine.  Let's talk about it.  In fact, I already have a game plan.  I just wasn't planning on breaking it to you this early in the morning.  (yawns)

Jenocide: Tell me!

Hoyakillah: Well, you know the open space in the complex on Central Park West?  That half of a floor that's just being used for storage?  I'm having that converted into a gym.  We can train there.  Not a whole lot of equipment, but there'll be a ring, and some other stuff we can work on.  The main thing we need to do is set it up so that you're comfortable in the ring.  Expand your moveset.  I mean, if you want to prove to these bitches that you really are number one, you can't just talk the talk.  You have to be able to walk the walk.  And after I'm done with you, you'll be able to walk all over those sluts.

Jenocide: Mmm... which slut first?

Hoyakillah: That Mercedes bitch.  She thinks she's all that?  Screw that.  She's a flea.  And you're the big dog.

Jenocide: Mercedes, Rolls Royce, Bentley... they're all the same to me.. things I can and will own... (laughs evilly)

Hoyakillah:  That's the spirit.

Jenocide: So, when will this training begin?

Hoyakillah: Now.  You and I won't be appearing at the next show.

Jenocide: (smiling)  Good.  It won't be long till EVERYONE knows my name.

Jenocide leans over and kisses Hoya lightly on the lips.. He grabs the back of her head and pulls her for another kiss.. running his hands up and down her back.  Jenocide pulls back, and looks into his eyes.

Jenocide:  One more thing, Will...

Hoyakillah: Hmmm?

Jenocide: (suggestively) Will there be any.. rewards... if training goes well?

Hoyakillah: (grins) I'll show you one right now!

Hoyakillah flips Jenocide over onto her back as the cameras fade to black


Hoyakillah

Re: Watch out...
« Reply #1 on: November 6th, 2001, 6:43pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
2 PM.

That same hotel, but this time, in the lobby.  Hoya is sitting there, in a pair of linen pants and a button down shirt, untucked, reading the New York Times.  A pair of glasses perched on his nose, and a bit of a sideways grin on his face... and you can guess why he's grinning.  Anyway, continuing to read The Times... and in the revolving door of the hotel comes Healius, who walks up to Hoya, tipping the paper down a smidge.

Healius:  Mornin'.

Hoya: (grinning back)  Mornin'.

Hoya folds up his paper and stands, shaking hands with his partner.

Hoya:  Drink?

Healius:  What do you think?

Hoya:  You're not going to believe what they have here...

The two walk across the lobby to the hotel bar...

Healius:  They have a St. Elmo's in Montpelier?

Hoya: (shrugging)  Guess so.  Guess there's gotta be one somewhere.

The two walk into the bar.  Up to the rail, where there just happens to be a Bombay and tonic and a Jack Daniels' waiting.  The two take the drinks and the two Ashton Magnum cigars sitting next to the drinks, and go to a back table.  Light up.  Toast, and sip of the drinks.

Healius:  So what's this I get on my cell today about you not coming to Boston?

Hoya:  Well, we're not booked for Fury.

Healius:  True...

Hoya:  Yeah, I know.  I was going to give a series of lectures there... Harvard, MIT and Tufts had all asked me to come in and talk about transnational security issues, but Jen and I are going to head back to Manhattan.

Healius:  Any particular reason?

Hoya:  Well, she wants to get in the ring.

Healius:  And you're not stopping her?

Hoya:  Oh come on, Rob, you know how that conversation would go...

Healius:  Good point.

The two sit back, sipping their drinks and smoking for a moment.  Hoya breaks the silence.

Hoya:  I want you to go to Boston.

Healius:  Alone?

Hoya:  Not like you can't take care of yourself.

Healius:  I know that... I just don't like the whole thing.

Hoya:  Yeah, I've been thinking of the retributive impulse as well.

Healius:  They're going to want blood.

Hoya:  And they'll get it.  Their own.

Healius:  I'll drink to that.

Clink.  Drink.

Hoya:  That's really not my worry right now.

Healius:  Ok, so Boston's fine.  What else do we need to discuss?

Hoya:  This.

And from his pocket, he retracts a piece of paper, folded neatly in half lengthwise, and puts it on the table.  Healius takes it and opens it.

Healius:  Oh hell... how did you get a copy of this?

Hoya:  Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies.  Rob, you know how futile it is to try and keep secrets from me.

Healius: (puffing on his cigar)  And this isn't going to be an issue?

Hoya:  Nah.  I'm over it.

Healius:  Is she?

Hoya:  I'd assume so.  If not... then it's her problem, not mine.

Healius:  And what about Jen?

Hoya:  Look, I expect her to go gunning for her, and probably sooner rather than later.   But we have the advantage here.  We're organized, and she isn't.  And that's even assuming she comes in.

Healius:  Which is a safe assumption.

Hoya:  Agreed.

Healius:  You know, you're taking this exceedingly well, considering this is the woman who probably most messed with your head... my wife excluded.

Hoya:  And that's something else I want to discuss.

Healius:  Excuse me?

Hoya:  This Nanmiko character, or whatever the fuck her name is.  Making some uncomfortable allusions and references... I don't like it.

Healius:  OK, so what are we going to do about it?

Hoya:  As of now?  There's really nothing we can do.  And there's actually an even more proximate challenge than either of those two.

Healius: (taking a sip of his drink)  Oh?

Hoya:  Yeah, Mercedes.

Healius' eyebrows rise a centimeter.

Healius:  A Kliq member.

Hoya:  I know.   And I know Jen's not exactly in fighting shape right now...

Healius:  ...although if there's anyone to get her there, it's you.

Hoya:  Yeah... it's just too bad the old Dojo closed down.

Healius:  You still own the property, don't you, Will?

A silence between the two as they sip their drinks.

Hoya:  You'd better stop planting these ideas in my head.   We're both going to get in a lot of trouble.

Healius:  Aren't we already?

Hoya:  Why, because we've got everyone in EFWO running scared?  Are we supposed to be upset?

Healius:  Nothing we're not used to.

Hoya:  Nothing none of us aren't used to.

Healius:  Good point.

By this point, Hoya has finished his cigar, and is finishing his Jack, while Healius has stubbed out his cigar and is swirling around the dregs of his gin and tonic.

Hoya:  You'll be fine.

Healius:  Of course, Mom.

Hoya:  Tosswank.

Healius:  Fart.

Hoya:  Pussy-whipped.

Healius:  I know you are, but what am I?

They clink glasses and drain their drinks, and rise.

Healius:  Yeah, things are looking good.  Just don't focus too much on Jen's training.  We have our own battles to fight.

Hoya:  It's all different campaigns in the same war.

Healius:  I hear you.  Question is, does everyone else?

Hoya:  Taking Vrmanicek out was a statement.  It won't be the only one.

Healius:  Statements are a two-way street.

Hoya:  Bring it on.

Healius grins, as the two are back in the lobby.  They shake hands, and Hoya heads for the elevators.

Hoya:  Call me from Boston.

Healius:  Call me from Manhattan.

Hoya:  You've got it.

The two separate, Hoya heading for the elevators, Healius heading for the revolving door.  As Hoya reaches the elevator, it opens... to find Jenocide inside, in a sports bra and some very short shorts.

Jenocide:  Going... down?

Hoya:  Hoo boy.

Hoya enters the elevator as it closes, Healius watching, shaking his head, and going through the revolving doors to the outside world.
Fadeout.

Healius

Recon
« on: November 7th, 2001, 2:41am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pacing…pacing…

Rolling Rock bottle here, MGD can there, Cristal bottle on the ledge…all empty…

Cigar ash on the table, Cubanos strewn across the floor…stench of smoke and alcohol…

3:34am….still pacing, breathing heavily like a beast on the prowl.

He looks at his watch through the dim hue of the hotel room’s lone lamp…anxious.

Tick, tock…tick, tock…tick, tock….

He reaches down for a cigar…lights it and puffs…sweet, sweet fix. Whiskey on the rocks, down that goes. Glancing at his watch again, as he wipes his mouth clean.

3:37am…the liason is late. Just hurry up and get here, already.

Pacing some more….getting tense…

“Motherfucker!” He slams the wall with a fist of rage, opening a hole. “Damnit…” He turns away disgusted and fixes his gaze on the door, waiting…waiting…3:39am.

“Ten minutes…he’s NEVER this late!” A thunderous affirmation, enough to rouse the stray dogs in the alley below. “Awww, shaddup!”

A rap at the door. “Finally!” He strolls over and unlatches the lock, slowly opening the door. He peers out to make sure…. “Oh cut the crap, you know who it is. Let me in, it’s cold out here!”

“I thought that tub of lard could keep you warm. And the hair…you wear a fucking sweater on that chest.” Opening the door.

“Fuck you, Hagan.”

“Ahhh, Luciano…just like old times!”

The man’s rotundly robust visitor falls into his arms for a warm embrace. “Good to see you again, Luch.”

“Same to you. It’s been a long time…too long.”

“Last I remember, you were powerbombing me through tables on a regular basis.”

“Ahhh, nothing against you. Only taking orders from Napoleon.”

“Don’t ever let Will hear you say that. He’ll throw a fit.”

Grinning. “That’s the fun of it!”  

“What have you been doing?”

“Bouncing between jobs…security mostly. That and the women.” The affable comrade smiles wryly.

Momentary silence…. “You mean you—“

“No, you fool! That’s Will’s job.”

“Right, right.” Chuckling…

“I’m a choreographer for the Rockettes.”

Another silence, not sure if he’s fibbing…..he’s not… “You, sir, are a lucky man.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Cigar, good sir?”

“Don’t mind if I do."

He grabs another Cubano and hands it to Luch, holding his Bullfinch zippo for a light.

Luch takes notice… “Excellent pub, one of Boston’s best.”

“Yeah, had to try it out. Whole Cheers thing intrigued me.”

They share their cigars in silence for a few moments…

“You need a drink. What’s your pleasure?”

“Rum and coke’ll do me.”

“Rum will have to do…out of coke.”

Luch laughs heartily. “Beautiful. I’m not complaining.”

He pours Luch a triple shot of rum and takes some for himself. Clink….they drink. "TO EVIL!"

“So, did you bring what I asked for? A long drawn puff, and several smoke rings follow his query.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Luch produces an attaché case. “Of course I did. It’s all right there, everything you need.” Luch tosses the case to the table and leans back in his chair. “Where’s the can?”

“Right in front of you, dipshit.”

“Shut your hole! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to use MY hole.”

“Same old Luch—disgusting scatological slut.”

Pushing up with a smile. “You’re damn right.”

Luch repairs to the bathroom as he snuffs out his cigar and snatches the attaché case, scrutinizing it.

From the bathroom. “Oh hell, just open it. There’s no anthrax!”

“Heh…” Open it he does, pouring the contents onto the table. Several photographs, a videotape and some documents. He looks at the first photo, studying it hard. The central subject is his sister, being escorted out of the psychiatric ward, but the interest lies in a second figure in the background, seemingly watching this…

“Is this…”

From the bathroom the Luchadore speaks. “Yeah, it is. Second photo is blown up, third has a computerized cleanup.”

He looks at these clarifying pictures… “Extremely interesting. Wonder what she could possibly be doing there…can’t be a coincidence.”

A flush of the toilet. “Nope, not a chance.”

Looking at the fourth and fifth photos as Luch returns… “Hmmm…”

“That’s Kenya driving Jessica back. Now right here, it’s hard to make out a face, even with the computer enhancement, but c’mon….”

“She’s riding a motorcycle…has to be her…”

“And here, by the sixth and seventh pictures, she’s still there and clearly following them.”

Looking at the last photo, a shot of Jessica on her cell phone on a bench outside EFWO headquarters. “When was this one taken?”

“Just the other day, about an hour before Jessica signed over her CEOship to you.”

Pointing to a figure in the background. “That’s her again…she’s watching Jessica.”

“Intriguing, isn’t it?

“To say the least. Very nice work, Luch. Stay on this.”

“I have been…she hasn’t made an appearance since then…at least none caught by the surveillance.”

Seizing the tape…. “And this, I assume, is OSI footage?”

“No…they’re rather boring. Haven’t found anything juicy on them yet.”

“Then what is it?”

Grinning... “Trust me, this is much, much better.”

Luch takes the tape and places it into the VCR, then turns on the television and starts the video. “The quality is poor, you can’t see much, but man what you CAN see is just….”

The scene seems to be set in a field or garden of some sort. It’s eerily quiet and very dark. One can clearly make out a man and a woman, carrying a sword…the man suddenly falls to his knees and moments later… “Isn’t that…”

“Just watch.”

The woman suddenly swings her sword downward, lopping the man's head off in one fluid motion, with authority...she betrays no emotion.

“Oh my GOD! FUCK FUCK FUCK! What the hell?! She just...”

“Can you tell who it is?”

“YES! But what the hell IS this?!”

“It’s a snuff film. She killed him. Murder.”

“Well yeah, but SHIT..." He sits stunned and shellshocked. "I don’t believe it…where on earth did you get this?!”

“Through underground channels in the Middle East. Apparently some amateur filming nearby happened upon this ritual—not knowing how grisly it would become—and committed it to tape, unbeknownst to them.”

“I didn’t think she was capable of that…”

“Now it’s in your possession, to use if you ever want or need to. Blackmail, perhaps. Bending her your will…or you could do nothing at all.”

“I need a secure place for this.” Taking the tape from the VCR, he stashes it in his portable safe, visibly shaking.

“Finish your drink man, looks like you need it.”

“I need a lot more than one.”

4:00am…

“Hey, let’s go to Au Pied de Cochon. It’s just down the road.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…there’s an Au Pied in Boston?”

“Yeah, and no cockroaches in the bread.”

“Score!”

They leave the room and head for their late-night snack of bread, whiskey sours and Eggs Benedict, as a slow fade to black brings this one to a close…



~~~~~
OOC: This is a different roleplay style for me...hope it was understandable!
Kayfabe

Backstage at Fury
« on: November 9th, 2001, 12:50am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
We cut abruptly backstage at the Boston arena. The screen in a picture of the concrete floor. Obviously the cameraman has fallen down in the frenzy backstage.

The cameraman gets his bearing and stands up. The EMTS are all hovering around Hexane's possibly broken body. Dude Hate just makes it to the scene

Soon after the audio finally kicks in. All we can hear are the screams of one pissed off ex-champ

Dude Hate: What the hell happened?!

Kayfabe: I have NO clue! Who the fuck did this? Who was the spineless coward who Pearl Harbored Hexane? I can almost take Sanctum bashing me with a chair on Shockwave. Hex and I put him out of the business in EWA and he was trying to get at Warrior. At least he had some justification.

But this... this is taking it too far.

Dude Hate: I think I may have an idea of the kind person who would do this...

Kay turns his head right into the camera, just as the EMT's load Hexane up on a stretcher in the backgroud.

Kayfabe: The same kind of sick demented fuck that would purposely botch a piledriver to send a message to the boys in the back.

Dude Hate: Now just wait a second there Kay. We don't know for sure it was...

Kayfabe: Screw that arrogant bastard. This Pear Harbor has the SG's finger prints ALL over it. The act of a coward. Well, SCREW him! He thinks just because he brutalized Jay the other night, that he can do whatever he wants?

Kay stares at his hands, Hexane's blood still dripping from them

You don't screw with a blood brother. I put him in the hospital once before and I'll do it again!

Dude Hate: And if it wasn't him... some goons X-Dude hired... or someone else entirely?

Kayfabe: Hey, the SG took things over the edge on Shockwave, either way their days are numbered. They're scared, scared shitless. They thought they could carve a path of destruction to the top in EFWO. Hexane called their bluff the other day and now they're quaking in their boots.

Dude Hate: Nows not the time to make a rash move, we have to be sure who did th....


Kayfabe: DH, it doesn't really matter. If it wasn't them, then X-Dude or the TOP will suffer the same fate.

Kay walks directly at the cameraman

Kayfabe: EYE FOR AN EYE

Kay pushes the cameraman back down as we ...fade to black

Hoyakillah

Re: Backstage at Fury
« Reply #1 on: November 9th, 2001, 1:02am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, in New York City...

It's 1 AM.  Outside of Hoya's apartment building in Manhattan, an intrepid reporter from UPN 11 News and a camera crew have been staked out since the Hexane attack.  All of a sudden, the camera crew comes to attention, the light flips on, and the film starts rolling as Hoya walks out the doors to a waiting car.  He's in a suit, but no tie... he looks absolutely exhausted, and in no mood to talk.

Reporter:  HOYA!  UPN 11 News!  What do you have to say about the accusations of the Rebels to the idea that you or any other member of the Southern Gentlemen had anything to do with the attack on Hexane?

Hoya: (unusually sharp and pointed)  First of all, I'm here.  And I've been here.  So it'd be kind of hard for me to have been in Boston, wouldn't you say?

He shoots her a withering glance and continues for the car, where a flunky is holding the door, but the reporter persists.

Reporter:  Well, it only takes an hour to fly from Boston to New York... and what about Healius?

At this question Hoya, at the door, turns back on his heel to face the camera.

Hoya:  I was here.  And I'll repeat that so your blow-dried little BITCH head understands, as well as those fuckers in the Rebels.  I don't like them.  But I was here.  I was in New York.  Period.  And as for Healius, I was on the phone with him at the time of the attack.  Check with the EFWO officials, he was nowhere near Hexane at the time of the attack.

Reporter:  Well... then... who attacked Hexane?

Hoya:  You're the smart one.  You tell me.

Reporter:  Is there anyone here we can talk to about your whereabouts?

Hoya:  Who the hell are you, NYPD?  Jesus.  First of all, if you go in there, you'll regret it.  He's silent for a moment, allowing that to sink in.  Second of all, it's none of my business who attacked Hexane.  It's none of my affair.  Why the hell would I care about him?  I have bigger fish to fry.

Reporter:  But his -

Hoya waves an impatient hand at her and gets in the back seat of the car (a Lincoln Continental, just for the record), which takes off down Central Park West toward midtown Manhattan as the camera fades out.


The Masked Warrior

Re: Backstage at Fury
« Reply #2 on: November 9th, 2001, 3:03am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
(After the "Fury" event Smokey is waiting out back in the parking lot to get a word from E.F.W.O. Superstars.. Out walks The Masked Warrior.. Smokey runs over to him as this scene opens..)
Smokey: Hey M.W. sorry i havent welcomed you back yet but... Welcome back man!!
The Masked Warrior: Thanks Smokey what can i do for a past T.O.P.'er??
Smokey: Well Hexane got knocked the Fu@@ed out and i was wondering if my boys on T.O.P. had anything to do with it?
The Masked Warrior: Smokey...Now would the T.O.P. do something that sinister to a fellow e-fedder??? Your Damn right we would but this time it wasnt us... I mean just look what i did the Sanctum tonight!!
Hexane shall feel my wrath but not yet... If i was to attack anybody in that weak ass stable it would be Dude Hate!! But even he has to wait.. These guys are just below me at this moment... My sights are set on one X-Dude! So to your question Smokey.. No we had nothing to do with it!
Smokey:Ok big man thanks fro your time..
(Smokey turns to the camera and shuts it off as Warrior gets in his car and leaves as this scene fades..)

Hoyakillah

Welcome to Fight Club
« on: November 10th, 2001, 8:37pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Saturday night's alright for fighting...
Saturday night's alright... alright, alright...
                 -- Elton John

New York City can be really beautiful at night.

The smog and fumes are hidden.  The drab masonry is shadowed.  In its place, a spicy melange of neon, digital LEDs, lights, sound and fury... signifying...?

Even after the attacks of September 11, New York still maintains its vibrancy, its charge, its lebengeist, so to speak.  It still throbs and pulses, and no, it doesn't sleep.

However, the New York that most people think of when they think of the City that Never Sleeps is Midtown Manhattan.  The Empire State Building.  Grand Central.  Times Square.  The Heart of America.

We're not there right now.

See, the beauty of New York is its diversity.  Even within Manhattan, much less the other four boroughs (although anyone who wants to count Staten Island is, in my opinion, crazed) there's a remarkable shift, from Greenwich Village, to Chelsea, to the Upper East, to Harlem... you get my idea.

And where are we tonight?

Whose promo is this again?  ...Yeah, you guessed it.

The Upper West Side.

Now let me make a few things clear about the Upper West, for those of you who've never been to New York, or whose visits to New York consisted of a quick jaunt to the Statue of Liberty.  It's not all of the West Side.  And it's not all the way up to the tip of Manhattan Island.  The Upper West ends at about 110th Street - at the north end of Central Park.  From there, it's Morningside Heights.  It doesn't go all the way down south - probably ending, at its lowest, at 59th Street - Columbus Circle, the southern end of Central Park.  You could even argue (as many do) that the Upper West doesn't start until you get past the Museum of Natural History, around the 70s.
But I digress.

So we're on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.  Now, a lot of neighborhoods have a particular "character," and the Upper West is no exception.  For years, it wasn't that great.  Oh sure, there were always boutique areas, but the rich migrated to the East Side.  Drugs.  Dealers.  Poverty.  Migration.  The Columbus-Amsterdam corridor, segments of Broadway - just not a happy place to be.  But then it got turned around.  You can thank Rudy Giuliani, or you can thank the economy... I prefer Rudy.  So now, it's a much nicer place to be.

Not perfect, of course.  Sometimes you'll be walking down the street and you'll smell a marijuana cigarette.  There are still homeless panhandling, and the sirens pierce the night.  But it's a nice place to live.

And boy oh boy, is this a long description.  Ever read Victor Hugo's "The Hunchback of Notre Dame"?  He spends like an entire chapter describing the cathedral, and another on the streets of Paris.

Speaking of Notre Dame, it's a hell of a university.

Did you know that the original title for this piece was "Arbeit Macht Frei"?  Of course, that's Flate's gimmick, not mine, and far be it from me to infringe.

My mother was a fish.

Next chapter.

ENOUGH WITH THE STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS!

...anyway...

So we're in the Upper West Side.  Home to one Hoyakillah and one Jenocide, who've been pretty quiet these last few days.  Of course, that's in part because they weren't on Thursday Night Fury... and in fact, the Southern Gentlemen aren't booked for Sunday Shockwave, either.  Except for a quick snippet from Hoya after Fury, denying any involvement in the attack on Hexane backstage at Fury, the two have been quiet ever since the booking sheets came out keeping them off Fury.
Anyone remember why?

Anyone?

OK, so it's been a few days, so we'll remind you.  Hoya and Jenocide went back to Manhattan.  Healius stayed on the road - a victim, in Boston, of a beating at the hands of the nefarious Phil Flate.  But they went back for a particular reason... training.

Jenocide wants to become an active wrestler again.  It's been a while - and she's never worked in a women's division like that of EFWO.  But decide to wrestle again she has, so decide to train her Hoya has.

Yoda?  Is that you?

Nevermind.

So we're on the Upper West Side.  Specifically, Central Park West - one of the perimeters of the Upper West, the other being Riverside Drive.  And CPW has never suffered from a lack of riches... Madonna lives here, Jerry Seinfeld, professors, Wall Street types, socialities, whatever.
There's also a certain "Central Park West" attitude.  People don't go "ga-ga" when they see Madonna walking her kids.  Or Jerry Seinfeld playing tennis in the Park.  It's just not a big deal - it's an everyday syndrome.

So here we find Hoya and Jen.

Let's zoom in on their building... we aren't going to show the cross street, but you might actually recognize the building if you look carefully enough, and you know the area.  The entrance is familiar from last Thursday, from Hoya walking out to the waiting car.  But that's not what the camera focuses on, not after a fleeting, single moment.  The camera in fact focuses on the top three floors of the building.  Zoom in on the middle floor, in particular, modified to floor-to-ceiling windows... and we see a woman, in a sports-bra and shorts, leaning on a rail, looking out at Central Park and the night sky...

Hoya:  Ready to go again?

Jenocide:  You're a fucking taskmaster, you know that?

Hoya:  Look, short jokes are one thing, but don't compare me to Kevin Sullivan, alright?

Jenocide and Hoya laugh, as Hoya enjoys the view he has of Jen leaning over and catching her breath, holding onto the rail.  She arches back, then stands, and turns, walking over to face Hoya, who's standing there in a sleeveless t-shirt and wind pants.  And for some reason, just for reference's sake, both are barefoot.

Hoya: (in a very even voice)  Now I want you to hit me, as hard as you can.

Nice reference, eh?

So Jen reaches back, and SMACKS Hoya across the face.  He stands there, not doing anything for a moment... just rubbing his jaw and chuckling.

Hoya:  OK, I deserved that.

Jenocide:  What, that's not what you wanted?

Hoya:  Well, a nice open-hand slap is all well and good, but when you're in the ring, it's not going to help nearly as much as, say, a knife-edge chop would.

Jenocide:  OK...

And she reaches back and KNIFES Hoya across the chest, staggering him back for a moment.

Hoya:  For fuck's sake...

Jenocide:  Too hard?

Hoya:  Nah... but I don't think we need to work on strikes any more.  Let's work on some grappling holds.

Jenocide:  OK.

So the two walk a bit away from the window (the camera angle switched as soon as the dialogue did to inside the room, obviously) to the center of the large room.  The floor feels a little soft... perhaps because it's less a floor than a mat.  Almost like a ring, but a little bit softer - only a little bit, only a little bit more give.  Also, there are three sets of ropes set up on one side of the room - not a full ring, but a U shape, two turnbuckles, and enough space to practice ring-running, etc., without taking up the entire room with a ring.  So now the two are over somewhat close to the U, but not within it.

Hoya:  Collar and elbow.

Jenocide: (sounding a bit impatient) Again with the collar and elbow!  Do we have to keep doing this, time and time again?

Hoya:  Look, you can be a garbage wrestler, looking sloppier than Lita in the ring, or you can get the fundamentals down.

Jenocide:  Most of the women in EFWO don't have the fundamentals down!

Hoya:  Yeah, and they look like shit!  Do you want to come off like they do?

Jenocide:  Ok...

And the two lock up in a collar and elbow, which Hoya shifts into a headlock on Jen.

Hoya:  Push me.
So Jen pushes Hoya out of the headlock, sending him into the ring ropes (the across part of the U) which he runs into, does the turn, then comes off, but slowing down before getting to her.

Hoya:  OK, that's good.  And obviously, you've been working your cardio and shit like that... it's more the moveset we need to get down.

Jenocide:  This is a real drag, let me tell you...

Hoya:  I know, I know.  And I know that I put a lot more emphasis on moveset than most.  But it's important.  You have to be able to fight all manner of women in this fed.  You know how to throw a chair, no problem.  And you can do a frogsplash, you can do a superkick.  We need to work on the rest, especially if you want to come off as credible here, and we both know that you do.

Jenocide:  Yeah.  So what's next?

Hoya: (still rubbing his jaw) Well, I was thinking about running submissions with you, but I'm worried you'll blow out my knee!

Jenocide:  Aww... you know I'd never hurt you, baby!

Hoya: (grinning)  Yeah, but to take the chance...

Jenocide:  Why, you!

And she charges Hoya, but he catches her in a modified bear-hug, and goes for a belly-to-belly suplex!  But he manages to bend backwards so that it's like a bridge, holding her inverted, upside down like an inverted U... think about it, you'll get the picture.

Hoya: (from the hold)  OK... how would you reverse this?

Jenocide:  Hmmm...

And she releases the tension in her legs a bit, sagging the hold down... then she springs out, pushing the hold back up, back down over Hoya's head to the bear hug position again, but Hoya's hands have shifted, so she drops, and goes onto her back, using a judo move to send Hoya flying into the ropes!  He gets up, dusting himself off, nodding.

Hoya:  Good...

Jenocide goes up to him. a bit of anger flashing in her eyes.

Jenocide:  Good?  I just sent you into the ropes, and all you have to say is...
And before she can finish her statement, lightning-fast, Hoya's in behind her, holding her right arm behind her.  Whispering into her ear...

Hoya:  Do something about it.

So Jenocide bends, and reverses the hold, now wrenching Hoya's arm behind his back.  But just as she does that, Hoya slaps his own shoulder for a moment, then turns to face Jen, leans back, executes a lucha-style reversal, and has Jen's arm behind her back again!

Hoya: (again into Jenocide's ear)  Check.

So Jenocide turns... and plants a BIG kiss on Hoya's lips... obviously breaking the hold, as you can well imagine.

Hoya:  Mmm... I like that reversal.

Jenocide:  I thought you would.

Hoya:  Don't know how well it'll work on the Amaranthas and Babydolls of EFWO, though...

And Jenocide starts walking away from Hoya, storming out of the room!  Hoya takes off after her, catching her at the door.

Hoya:  What?

Jenocide:  You had to bring her up, didn't you?

Hoya:  Who, Babydoll?  Seems like a nice enough girl, naive, yes, but nice enough...

Jenocide:  NO!  Amarantha!  You just had to bring her up, huh?  Still hung up on her, I'm guessing?

Hoya:  WHOA whoa whoa... you think I'm still obsessed with Amar?

Jenocide:  Of course you are... I'm not good enough... you're still crazy about her...

Hoya:  Fuck her.

Jenocide:  I KNOW YOU WANT TO!

Hoya:  NO!  That's not what I mean at all.  What I mean is, fuck her.  I could give two shits about her.

Jenocide:  You're just saying that...

Hoya:  Bullshit.  Amar lost.

Jenocide:  Amar?  Will, you've got pet names for her!?

Hoya:  Jen, chill the hell out for a second.  Amar lost.

Jenocide:  What do you mean, lost?

Hoya:  She lost.  In the great race for me, she lost.

Jenocide:  Don't flatter yourself.

Hoya:  You know what I mean...

Jenocide:  Do I?

Hoya:  I don't want Amar.  I want you.

Jenocide:  Why?

Hoya reaches to take Jenocide in his arms... somewhat unwillingly, she lets him, his hands running up and down her back.

Hoya:  Well... aside from your obvious "physical" advantages...

Jenocide:  Lech.

Hoya:  And you love it.  Aside from that, why would I want some kind of psycho?  She can go off and do whatever with whomever.  See if I care.

Jenocide:  You mean it?

Hoya:  Yes, I mean it.

Jenocide:  Good... (her voice shifting to sultry) You know what door you're leaning on, don't you?

Hoya:  Oh yes, I do...

Jenocide:  Then turn the damn handle, why don't you?

Hoya:  I think I just might...

He reaches behind himself and twists the handle, then pulling Jen in behind him, and closing the door on the camera, which focuses on the placard on the door... "Shower Room."
Fadeout.
Hoyakillah

Friends... Associates... Rivals... Nobodies...
« on: November 11th, 2001, 12:33am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's midnight in New York.

Damnit, that sounds like a song lyric.

OK, let's try this again.

It's a Saturday night/Sunday morning on the Upper West Side.  A cool breeze rips through the autumn leaves shaded dark in Central Park, blowing some of them off of the tops of the trees, across the street, and blowing onto the sidewalk in front of a particular address on Central Park West... an address we've become accustomed to.  The leaves whip around, almost cyclonic - like that video camera scene in American Beauty, except that here it's late at night, and there's no Kevin Spacey voiceover... although if you want, Kevin Spacey's voice might work as the narrator here.  In fact, that would work pretty well.  So from now on, let's assume that Kevin Spacey is the narrator for all Hoyakillah promos.

And before I delve too shamelessly into ripping off Myst, let's continue with the introduction, so we can get to the meat of the promo.

The leaves are being whipped up by the updraft, some high enough to get up to the windows of the top three stories of the building... yes, the same three stories.

To take a moment of digression, let's look at the top three stories of this building.  The second and third stories from the top are sheer, with the face of the rest of the building, straight up.  The lowest of the three has standard windows, no big deal.  The second - where the gym was that we saw Hoyakillah and Jenocide in earlier tonight - is covered in floor-to-ceiling windows.  But the building actually juts inward from there.  The top floor is slightly smaller than the two below it.  The rest of the area is a large terrace area, appropriate for entertaining when desired, or otherwise used as a balcony, with what can be only described as a stunning view of the Manhattan skyline.

A couple of the aforementioned Central Park leaves manage to get caught in a strong enough updraft to get carried up onto this terrace area.  The camera follows them up, lit and shadowed by the various lights from windows in the building and other lights in the night sky.  The camera focuses on them, at the top, over the railing, now stationary on the tiled deck... the camera then moves to a sliding door, entering into the bedroom... no, don't worry, this isn't like an old Hagan promo, this has a point... where we find our protagonists in bed - big surprise.  It's almost as if they never get out of there... of course we know better, but regardless.

The two appear to have been sleeping... but Hoya's stirring.  He reaches over to his side of the bed, to the bedstand... not for the TV remote... not for the cell... not for the keys... but for another remote.  He punches a button... and the Bang and Olufsen in the wall starts playing a track... "Shape of My Heart" by Sting.

Jenocide:  Mmmmm... huh?

Hoya: (sitting up in bed)  Sorry.  Didn't mean to disturb you.

Jenocide:  Nice choice... the song... reminds me of the movie.

Hoya:  Yeah, it's a good one.

Jenocide:  Is it supposed to be an analogue to us?

Hoya:  What do you mean?

Jenocide:  You the older man, training me the younger woman in your work?

Jenocide accentuates her point by poking Hoya in the ribs.

Hoya:  Are you implying... what I think you're implying...

Jenocide:  Perhaps...

Hoya:  Oh, you're going to pay for this!  NO ONE calls me French and gets away with it!!!

So Hoya rolls over on top of Jenocide, pinning her as she shrieks, laughing... ok, don't worry, this isn't going to be your typical promo.  The song ends, and goes over to a Peter Gabriel song, "Here Comes the Flood."  Hoya rolls over again, off of Jenocide, and out of bed.

Jenocide:  Where are you going?

Hoya:  (tying the drawstring on his surgical scrub pants, and grabbing a pack of Marlboro Reds and his lighter)  Need a smoke.

Jenocide:  What the fuck?  Get back here!

But before she can stop him, he slides the door open, and is out on the patio, cigarette in mouth, pack jammed into the waistband of his pants.  Jenocide reaches under the covers, pulls them up for a moment, does some "strategic rearranging," and goes out on the patio in a half-shirt and boxers.

Jenocide:  Gimme one.

Hoya hands her the one he just lit for himself, pulls out another one, lights it, and takes a hit.

Jenocide:  Start talking.

Hoya:  The E! True Hollywood Story?

Jenocide:  Can we just not talk about that?

Hoya:  Fine.

The two stand there and smoke.

Hoya:  Just when I thought I had gotten away...

Jenocide:  The past comes up and bites you in the ass.

Hoya:  Heh.  So true.  I mean, look at this whole Hexane thing.

Jenocide:  Ugh.

Hoya:  Yeah, I know.  It's just ugly.  But fact is, with my "history" (he does the quotes in the air, his cigarette like a tracer bullet in the night sky) people immediately assume that it's me.

Jenocide:  But when you assume...

Hoya: (smiling)  Exactly.  And they seem to think that I'm going to be the same old, same old.  When they don't realize that the only thing about me is that I can't be predicted.  That I won't do what they expect, simply because it's what would be expected.

Jenocide:  Is that supposed to mean you won't do anything predictable?

Hoya finishes his smoke and pitches it over the side, moving then behind Jenocide (who's up against the railing) and wrapping his arms around her.

Hoya:  Is this predictable?

Jenocide:  Just... just don't let anything get between us.

Hoya:  Is there anything between us right now?

Jenocide:  No.

Hoya:  That's how I like it...

Fadeout of a shot from behind with the two of them at the railing...

Amarantha

Rider in the night.
« Reply #1 on: November 11th, 2001, 1:35am »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"You've left me with nothing left but questions
You left me here not knowing who I am
You left me so much fucking time to hate you.."
- Stabbing Westward, Violent Mood Swings.
______________________
Leaves come to settle as they often do, dusted here and there by touches of wind as it caresses down the streetside - overwritten with the low humming purr of the best of high-priced Japanese technology. The Ninja ZX-12R pulls in flush with the curb, its engine cutting off with the single turn of a key, and the bike leans the slightest as the kick stand is pushed down reflexively with a booted foot. Its obviously a custom job, the usual sleek black framework and alloys as normal, but here and there highlights of dark, rich crimson.
The leather-clad figure dismounts, one leg swinging over the bike, until they are placed on traffic side of the road - and half a step backwards through tinted motorcycle helmet visor.  Whatever it is they are looking for, apparently they've found it. As the image pans back, revealing once more, the obviously familiar to viewers Upper West-Side building - the rider removes the helmet, hooking it over the hand-grip.
Her - yes, a faint turn to the side in examination of the nigh empty street reveals that it certainly is a woman - her hair is close cropped at the back - and whilst longer on top, the black strands are firmly down-pressed thanks to the helmet. Seconds later, and first one and then a second glove is removed, stuffed into the interior of the protective acrylic shell.
She turns away from the building, for the first time revealing her face. Long, slender fingers scythe upwards into her hair, pushing back, leaving a casually rumpled look, decidedly the quintissential of almost futuristic asiatic hairstylings. Several longer strands touch down upon sharply defined cheeks. However, for all of her styling, and methods of transportation - this mysterious figure is not Japanese.
There's a faint cast to her eyes which could put her heritage in doubt upon close inspection, however the piercing emerald green of her gaze, and startling alabaster pallor of her skin dismiss that ideal. Yes, it is Amarantha. Albeit, undergone some apparent dramatic shifts of image, the change in hairstyle, and colour - her facial features, less well-fleshed than in years past, but unmistakeably, it is her.
Outside of Hoyakillah and Jenocide's place of dwelling no less.
No glance is given to either side of the road for approaching traffic as she crosses the street, and as a yellow cab blares its horn swerving wide to miss her, discordant harmony shattering the continual murmur of city life which exists even at this time, she doesn't even flinch. Her gait is posessed of a smooth, almost predatory agility - unhurried for certain, but deliberate with each step.
Once the other side of the road is reached, she crosses back further, booted feet crunching upon the seasonal offerings of trees, and nonchalantly leans her spine against one such purveyor of limited blessings. She studies the building for quite some time, perhaps thoughtfully, though it is hard to say. For all of the undebated physical beauty of her features - the sheer, apparently cold emptiness makes her a hard one to read. With no haste at all, she unzips the front of the hefty leather jacket, for a moment, the barest flash of pale skin, barely covered as it is by darkened fishnet material - and then her hand fastens upon the object it seeks.
High powered digital technology - small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, lifts upwards from the thin, black nylon cord which hangs around her neck. The faintest narrowing of her eyes, and then the binoculars are placed against them, and ever so slowly, tilted upwards. Following the path of miscreant leaves - they trace their way along the picturesque construction to the uppermost levels. Beyond the level of the building's roof, where it kisses the night sky, and then slowly back down.
And then halt.
A brief touch of fingertips, followed by a soft beep. Zoomed in upon what was an indistinct and solitary blur of humanity - the figures seperate. Not one identity, but two. A man and a woman, obviously lovers, bodies leaning, hands intertwined. She remains stationary, for quite some time, her expression unwavering, unreadable - quite very simply, watching.
Possibly, it might have gone on forever, this drawn out moment of study and internal silent contemplation - if not interrupted by the vibrating sensation within her pocket. Without breaking her fix upon the two, her free hand slides into the pocket, drawing out the small phone, flicking it on.
Amarantha: "Speak."
The pause, and now she lowers her gaze, a faint frown creasing its way across the smooth perfection of her features, the binoculars released to drop back down within the folds of her jacket, and against the skin beneath.
Amarantha: "I see. He's done what ?"
A slender brow arches - displeasure, disbelief, curiosity ?
Amarantha: "I see." Another pause then, and her tone, smooth, empty - takes a hardened edge, "You left this matter in my hands, and at my discretion...for now. So instead of offering advice, leave the solutions to me."
Once more, she crosses the street towards her bike, her tone has softened once more, reassuring now in its pitch, though none of that intent reflects itself within her unchanging eyes, "No, I'm not.. "  A pause, once more and another glance at the building as she gets back on the bike, balancing it between her legs, booted feet steadying her, and the bike, "..doing anything that can't wait. No, look, I'll take care of Sanctum - you just look after what remains of your business."
The phone is then slipped back into her pocket, and the leather jacket done back up, binoculars stowed safely within. Seconds later, her gloves are pulled back on - and the helmet replaced. Amarantha eases the bike away from the curb - and pulls off down the street. Not more than five metres beyond that - the soft rumble of the Ninja's engine becomes an echoing roar above the constant ebbs of traffic - as she turns the bike sharply, across oncoming cars - to accelerate rapidly past the Upper-West side dwelling she came here to see once more, and into the fading remainder of night...
Hoyakillah

Education Is A Weapon
« on: November 11th, 2001, 12:57pm »
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The nice thing about particularly crisp fall days is that when the sun shines down, you can see the leaves in all their myriad colours.  Really remarkably beautiful.

It's early afternoon, and yes, we're back in New York City again.  But now we're in another room on the top floor of Hoyakillah's complex on Central Park West.  The door's open a crack, and we push in to see a dark wood-paneled office, two walls completely lined with books.  A fireplace in one part, not burning at the moment, a couple of leather armchairs and a sofa, and the last wall (the wall across from the fireplace) covered with electronics (in the center, the sides are more books)... flat-screen HDTV, a stereo system, digital mixer, five or six flat-screen computer monitors, a laser printer, and much more... CD drives, Zip disk ports, etc.  You get the idea.

There's a mahogany writing table on one side of the room... no desk per se.  Two wireless keyboards around the room, leaning against an armchair and against the wall.

And in one armchair, his feet up on an ottoman, keyboard on his lap, pulling up information on two of the computer screens, we find Hoyakillah.  Typical outfit - sweater, jeans, glasses, boots.  One of the computer screens appears to be filled with email.  The other, a map, criss-crossed with hundreds of red lines from various points to the other.

The door creaks.  Hoya turns from his seat, pressing a key on the keyboard at which point all the screens go blank.  He turns, and sees Jenocide walk into the room.

Jenocide:  Up early?

Hoya:  Yeah, I suppose so.

Jenocide:  We leaving soon?

Hoya:  Yeah.

Jenocide:  Remind me why we're going again?

Hoya:  Well, even though we aren't booked, I'm not in the mood to take liberties.  There's too much unfinished business going on.

A beeping is heard in the background.  Hoya walks up to the video console, and pushes a button... one of the flunky's faces appears on the HDTV.

The flunky:  Mr. Hagan on secure one, sir.

Hoya:  Patch him through.

The flunky's face disappears, replaced by that of Healius, sitting in a hotel room in Providence, Rhode Island.

Hoya:  God bless portable digital video equipment, right?

Healius:  Yeah, good morning to you, too.

Hoya:  Hold on.

Hoya grabs the keyboard he had set down, and punches in, very quickly, a sequence of twenty-five different keystrokes.  The screen flashes for a moment, then comes back.

Voice from computer:  Line is secure.

Hoya:  OK, go ahead, Rob.

Healius:  When are you getting here?

Hoya:  We're flying out in about two hours, and we'll be flying straight to Providence.

Healius:  Meeting anyone?

Hoya:  Well, I was hoping to meet up with Felipe Armesto or Robert Wade over at Brown, but that's the least of my worries.

Healius:  Good lord, stop trying to be an academic, Will!  Besides, it's Brown.

Hoya:  Good point.

Healius:  We'll have dinner before you get there.

Hoya:  Fantastic.

Jenocide crosses the room and sits on Hoya's lap.

Healius:  Morning, Jen.

Jenocide:  Morning, Rob.  How's the weather in Providence?

Healius:  Not bad.

Hoya:  Good, good... any word on our friends in EFWO?

Healius:  Well, we're still not booked.

Hoya:  Bitches.

Healius:  Yeah, exactly.  Although I talked to someone, and we'll see if we can get Jen some dark matches or some work on house shows.

Hoya:  Fantastic.  Looks to Jenocide.  Are you up for that?

Jenocide:  Of course I am.  If I can kick your ass, I can go toe-to-toe with any of the women in EFWO.

Hoya:  I guess that means we'll be staying on the road for a while...

Healius:  Yeah.  So pack some extra stuff.

Hoya:  Is there any...?

Healius:  The Crispy Chicken is waiting for you.

Hoya:  I can't believe there's a Mamma Chu's in Providence...

Healius: Anyway.  And of course, we've been keeping an eye on the little Nazi.

Hoya:  Oh, you mean Flate?  The one who "fiendishly beat you down?"

Healius and Hoya share a laugh.

Healius:  If only...

Hoya:  The worst part is, we could probably convince EFWO that that's what actually happened, even though they saw what happened right there on TV.

Healius:  True dat.  And we've been keeping tabs on Erick, of course.

Hoya:  Good.  I don't want that fucking hothead trying anything with me.  He's still convinced one of us was behind that attack on him on Fury.

Healius:  Of course he is... he used to work for you.  How could he not be paranoid?

Hoya:  Good point.  But I don't trust him.  Too much flying off the handle.

Healius:  I wouldn't worry about it.

Hoya:  Rob, you know me.  Of course I'm going to worry about it.

Healius:  And as for...

Hoya: Don't worry about them.

Healius:  OK.  I'll meet you at the plane, ok?

Hoya:  Yeah, sounds good.  Bring two cars.

Healius:  Why would I... oh JESUS, WILL!

Hoya just smiles at the video, his arm around Jen.

Hoya:  What time are we leaving again, Jen?

Jenocide:  Too soon...

Hoya:  You sure?

Jenocide:  Hmmm...

Hoya reaches over with his free hand and grabs the keyboard.

Hoya:  End transmission.

Fadeout.