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Michael J St. Claire vs. Shaun C Washi
Topic Started: Feb 8 2008, 03:29 PM (150 Views)
Kassie Khane
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Admin and Second in Command of the Nation of Moderation
[ *  *  * ]
Michael Jay St. Claire vs. Shaun Christopher Washington

RP Limit: 1 RP per person
Deadline: 10:00 pm EST Wednesday, February 13, 2008

PLEASE NOTE THE DIFFERENT DEADLINE. IT’S ONLY TWO HOURS EARLIER. THE REASON WHY WILL BE POSTED ON THE OOC BOARD SHORTLY.

~~GOOD LUCK EVERYONE!~~
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Mister SCW
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OOC: Sorry for the delay and the lateness, did the first part of this RP yesterday but today I was a little busy.

I lost. I thought had the man, yet I lost. For one second, I managed to lose sight of the victory and found myself held down to the mat by the referee. The match was stopped. Stopped… stopped for my own safety. Maybe the referee was right, maybe if I continued to fight I would have became seriously injured instead of a minor concussion. Perhaps if I might not be here, mourning over a major loss in my professional wrestling career. The bottom line was the fact I gave the match my all, and my best performance was not good enough. The Pure Championship slipping from my hands and all I can say was that I was not talented enough to defeat David Miller. The reality stunned me. In team sports, you shared the burden of a major disappointing loss. In this sport, it was only you who wore the cross on your back. No one else supported the heavy load. There was no one else to blame.

Defeat was bitter.

Still I woke up the next morning in my gigantic bed, opening my eyes like I did at the start of everyday. I sketched my arms, rubbed around the eyes, and allowed a loud lion yawn to escape. I slid one foot out from underneath the warmth of the covers, and then the other. I sat up, staring at the early dawn sunlight. It was the same. After major defeats in my life, I was still able to live. Even if I felt that everything inside of me was ripped out, I was still able to survive. That was my nature. It was the nature of my people. It was the instinct that had been embedded in generations and generations of my ancestors. It still lived today. For that simple fact, the knowledge of that tiny little innate trait, I was able to draw enough strength to crawl out of bed.

At my age, you wonder. When you see no signs of other life in your mansion, you wondered if it was going to be always like this. I am successful. I made myself from modest beginnings, and brought myself up to the top. Triumph was supposed to attract others. At this age, I had a dream of being married. A mini-Shaun Christopher Washington was expected. There was nothing but lots of money, a slandered name, and a wrestling career that was in danger.

There were reasons to be depressed.

Yet I managed to somehow pull myself together. I did not know the exact cause of such endurance. Maybe what Fantasia had pulled, I stopped caring. This apathy became my banner. However, it occurred to me. Maybe I was in denial. Maybe I didn’t feel the sting of the betrayal because after wrestling in a match later that night, I had a few screwed knocked loose up in that skull of mine. Still, I hated this existence. However, I moved forward.

I entered into the kitchen. I half-expected another note, taunting me. There was nothing on the table or the counters. I set a frying pan onto the stove, dropped some eggs into the pan before pouring a large glass of orange juice. Everything was silent. It was the way I wanted it to be at the moment. I didn’t need to feel alive. I just wanted to drift along.

Half way though breakfast, the phone rang. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to give myself some time. I needed space to heal. In the living room, the answering machine picked up. The old voice was that of Doctor Dilfer: “Mr. Washington. I am calling about your friend. She never made the appointment you set up for her and I attempted to contract her personal physician. It appears she never was tested for HIV. If you can please contract me, maybe my office called the wrong doctor of the wrong Fantasia Williams.”

I shuttered. The fact of the matter, it was all a lie. I was set-up. The letter which explained it all was laid upon the coffee table in the lounge. I read it over and over at first. Searching for some sign to let me know it was all a joke, there was none. I ripped the letter in half, but I didn’t cause further damage. I knew I should keep the letter.

Every morning since that day, I sat around in just my briefs and t-shirt, watching CNN or the shopping channel. I didn’t feel like lifting any weights whatsoever. I was unable to compel myself to train. Instead, it was wasted time in the mornings for Shaun Christopher Washington. However, midway though the Daily Show, there was a knock on the door. I first proceeded to ignore the disturbance but whoever it was, did not bother leaving. The phone began to ring at the same time the knocking faded.

I stood up off the couch and strolled to the door. I opened it up a crack, and saw my attorney standing there with a smile on my face. Yet the smile dropped as soon as he laid eyes on me. The rugged beard, the droopy eyes, and my hunched over appearance gave him the right expression: I was going though some hard times.

“You look like shit,” he said.

“Yep,” I quickly replied. I turned around, kicking the door open for him to step in.

“I guess I was too late,” he stated as close the door.

I turned, “What do you mean?”

“In the interview with Chuck, I found out something… interesting.”

“What was interesting?” I had a feeling I knew what the answer was, but to make sure that my guess was correct, I asked.

“Well, Anita told Chuck that she and Fantasia had come up with a crazy scheme a few months ago to extract some money from you.”

“Why would she say that?” I asked, not really happy to know that Fantasia and Anita was working together to blackmail me. It was a real low blow on both parts, and even after what I did to Fantasia the fact she was working with Anita removed any remorse whatsoever for what I did. It showed to me, what really Fantasia was. She was someone who just wanted my money all along. She didn’t care about who Shaun was. She cared about who was buying her those pair of pants, the jewelry, and the cars.

“To prove to Chuck that Anita has no lingering feelings for you whatsoever, Chuck said she attempted to use this plan as a last ditch effort to win her back,” he said. He turned towards me, shaking his head slightly, “But I guess I was too late in delivering this news to you. I’m sorry, Shaun.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I forced myself to say.

“The question now is… what exactly does she have on you that she can indeed use for leverage against you,” the important question.

“Photos.”

“Photos of what?”

“Photos of what appeared to be rape,” I struggled to say. When I was intoxicated, I thought she led me along but I guessed the photos told another tale or they were going to make it out that the photos had another story to them. I knew if we went to court, she charged me of rape and had those pictures published I would be sent to jail. After all the media attention of the two rape cases, there would be no question in the minds of the jurors. I was guilty.

“Oh shit.”

“Should I just pay the money she asked for in the letter?”

“There’s a letter?”

“A letter of her admitting to me it was all a plan to black mail me.”

“Why didn’t you say so? She’s guilty. She just confessed. With that letter, you can nail her in court for black mail. Furthermore, with such evidence and the testimony of the husband, you might have the chance to kill two birds with one stone,” excitement filled his voice.

A small smile appeared on my face, “Oh really?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

I lost last week. Was it a big deal to me? Yes, I am a man that strives to win every match even when he’s out gunned, out numbered, and the odds against him. I believe in myself and that the first thing every opponent needs to know. You can’t drill words into my head and expect me to crack as if I’m fragile, not I’m bulletproof when it comes to the mind games. The only thing I have to lose is self-respect, and have come to learn, I need not impress you, Michael Jay Saint Claire. I need not to care for what you think you’re going to do in this match.

So start from scratch.

You can hate me because I’m American. You can hate me because I’m black. You can attempt to attack my heritage, the color of my skin, and hell maybe this week you have something against my sexual orientation is heterosexual.

You a cesspool of hate, but my question to you?

Do you hate yourself?

Or are you just attempting to make yourself feel like you’re some big guy.

Are you trying to put yourself over others, by alienating them and attempting to drive injection of insecurity into their system?

Is it some sort of ego stroke to you?

That’s pathetic.

I know why I have to defeat you now. I will be sure as well to bust open that lip of yours, and see how much hating you can serve out when you teeth is broken. You’re nothing without the talk. You’re everything but talk. I believe in a thing call liberty and respect. Sir, you have no respect. You’re just a man abusing and misusing his words to deliver an unnecessary, and an unwanted message. You want people to think of you as some great wrestler? Maybe you should talk less, and let the wrestling prove all the critics.

Standing there, with that mouth of you, hiding behind a microphone…. but I still believe that you have talent, but also believe you have no class. You’re not a fighter, you’re not an athlete. You’re asshole who ruins this sport. You’re some sort of disease. I am going to cure you of your hatred, and I’m going to show you that the only one who is inferior in the ring is the hater.

So you better put up your fists, because Mister SCW is coming.
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