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Josh Hudson vs. “Bad” Billy Mitchell
Topic Started: Mar 11 2010, 12:16 PM (400 Views)
Kassie Khane
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Admin and Second in Command of the Nation of Moderation
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Josh Hudson vs. “Bad” Billy Mitchell

Deadline: Noon EST Tuesday, March 16, 2010
RP Limit: 2 RP per person, per match
~~Good Luck to Everyone!~~
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Josh Hudson
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Living Legend
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OOC: Not much, but I thought it was a good short story. Good luck to my opponent.

[align=center]Silence

Thirty minutes of pain
Tick tock, eyes on the clock.

Victory was sweet, but bittersweet. Not sweet like sugar on your tongue. Sour like rotten fruit. I had my hand raised, another win to be placed in the record books. I did not make history. I didn’t break the hearts of millions of CHBK fans. I put him in the hospital once again.

Doesn’t mean a thing.
Been there, done that.

He fought his “heart” out. A forty six year old put me in my place. He let me know that he had no reason to fear me. He threw everything he had at me and took everything I had and he kept coming back for more. He simply would not die. And for that, the fight he put up against me, changed things. I hate him, but not as much.

He earned my respect.
He will never know it, but he did.

My after match antics, I do not apologize for. In a way, he beat me and I am just like everybody else in one aspect: I don’t take defeat very well. I won’t apologize for what I did, hurting him, or for anything I have said or done. I walked away, the victor in the feud, but in a way, he did the same. It is over and done with. I couldn’t make history, for it was not mine to make.

So the question is…where do I go from here?
Only time will tell…
Time to make my own history.
My own legacy.


The house was dark and empty. The only light danced on the white walls as it shone through the windows in the kitchen, shining all the way into the living room. It wasn’t old, but it most certainly wasn’t new in any use of the word. The floors had been redone and the cabinets in the kitchen had been sanded down and they seemed to look new, but they weren’t. Just used and abused.

Much like his body. It had been through hell, more hell than he had ever put it through growing up. Since he began wrestling, he did nothing more than torture his opponents, but in the end of it all, he was also torturing himself. He just never realized it. He stood against one of the walls in the living room, away from the light, so it wouldn’t touch him. He was always in the spotlight that he hated, in some way, shape or form.

He wanted a fresh start.

A new beginning.

Most of his life had been spent looking for one of those and he always seemed to find one, but they also didn’t last. Those fresh starts, those new beginnings were nothing more than temporary. He got his fix, but sooner rather than later, he would get bored and he would have to get back on the road, in search of something to satisfy his craving, to cure his boredom.

Just as it was in his personal life, it was the same in his professional life. Wrestling was the ultimate cure for him, it seemed, but ever so often, he felt like it was his downfall, as if he were treading water, unable to go anywhere. He would get bored. For months he wanted to dispose of a foe, and he had his chance near the end of 2009, but he didn’t quite get the job done. He had to wait three to four months before he got another opportunity.

And he became bored.

He became agitated.

Nothing felt the same.

He invaded the home of his former mentor, now dead mentor to be exact, and tried to make his mentor’s family his own, but he failed. It didn’t turn out to be anything more than something that bored him. Another temporary fix. The son was just a follower. Trying to assume the identity of somebody else, because he was afraid to be himself. The wife was still madly in love with her deceased husband and that made her an easy target and easy to take advantage of.

The thought of the numerous times he bed her made him feel rather sick, but he fought against it. And then there was the daughter, who grounded him for a brief, very brief period of time. She confessed feelings to him and he wanted to confess them back, to say he felt the same, but he didn’t. He held back and he told himself now, that he would never know how things would’ve turned out. When they last met, he put her in her place and walked away from her, and that was it. He was gone.

Gone and she was nothing more.

Nothing more than a memory, that he wanted to forget.

And there he stood, Josh Hudson, in the darkness of his new home. He was tired of temporary. He wanted something permanent. He looked outside, through the windows in the kitchen and saw nothing but the moon, the source of the only light in the house at the time. He walked over to the window and let the moon shine down upon him and shook his head. He couldn’t believe he was back in Morganton, North Carolina, his hometown, the home away from home.

They say you’ll always come home…, Hudson thought to himself, as he continued to stare out of the window, up at the moon, as it hung enormous in the black sky. He stared off into space, avoiding anything and everything around him, until something broke him from his trance. A slow moving vehicle, it was a SUV, drove down the road Hudson lived on, rap music blaring through the speakers, rattling the vehicle and anything within a several yards. Hudson’s windows shook, as if they were vibrating.

Hudson had moved away from the big cities to get away from all of the noise.

No matter where he went, he told himself on this night, it would be there to follow him.

He sighed and shook his head, stepping away from the window.

There would always be noise. He couldn’t escape it. It was everywhere. Loud music blaring, sounding like shit, no matter how expensive the stereo system is. People yelling at one another, across the street, across a respectful distance, too lazy to just walk up and say hello.

Screaming kids, crying and whining over not getting a toy, a drink that they more than likely wouldn’t finish, or a piece of candy. Standing in line at the grocery store, or walking down a grocery aisle, there is always that screaming kid, Hudson thought to himself and he winced, as if he actually heard a screaming child, and he thought about how much it annoyed him.

To take something from Dane Cook, would be comedian and actor, the sound made Hudson want to punch the baby.

Hudson walked back into the shadows, this time, sitting in one of the bedrooms, the room that he would stake claim to as the master bedroom. He just sat there, against the wall, letting his head rest against the sheetrock and wooden beams, closing his eyes, hoping for some peace and quiet.

But it didn’t come.

The sounds of music blared outside once again, but it was closer. It didn’t seem as if it were coming from a moving car. It sounded as if it were coming only a few feet away. Hudson opened his eyes, rolled them in disappointment and aggravation, before standing up and walking back into the living room. He looked outside the windows once again, in search of the source of noise. His eyes moved back and forth rapidly, searching, before finally discovering the source.

Neighbors.

Hudson shook his head and told himself not to worry about it. It was probably a party full of a bunch of annoying underage teenagers. He told himself he was the same way growing up. He turned and walked back into his room, then back into another hallway, before making his way up five steps, then taking a right into a bathroom. Hudson closed the door. He didn’t turn the light on and he just sat down, in the shower, opening and then closing the sliding glass shower door.

He wanted to be shut out from the rest of the world.

Away from everybody.

Away from everything.

Away from the constant noise of the everyday world around him, that for some reason, he absolutely detested.

He rested his head against the shower wall and closed his eyes, hoping and praying that he wouldn’t hear anything else for the rest of the night. His body and mind were tired and he needed sleep more than anything else. The last few weeks of his life had been very “off” so to speak and he knew that the only cure was rest. After the war with CHBK, he needed to take a few steps back and regain himself, mentally, physically and emotionally. Hudson closed his eyes and didn’t hear anything.

Silence.

Haunting.

Silence.

Soothing.

Just what the doctor ordered.

Hudson felt his body slide down the shower wall, until it was flat against the surface of the shower. His eyes still closed, his body jerked a bit upon touching the icy floor of the shower, but only for a second. It was comfortable. In a way, he was away from the rest of the world, away from everybody and everything. He was away from the noise outside. It was perfect, in any form of the word, Hudson thought to himself, as his head came to a resting place. A smirk spread across his face, as Hudson knew rest was coming. After several moments, Hudson felt as if his head were vibrating, but not due to music or any sound of any sort. It was his body telling him that he was about to get the sleep he wanted, the rest he needed.

He needed all he could get, he had told himself. Just a little over a week after competing against the Canadian Heartbreaker, he had to step into the ring against an up and comer, someone who liked submission wrestling…Hudson’s specialty.

“Bad” Billy Mitchell…

Retribution is over. CHBK was beaten. I became the winner. I got the win, but not the win I wanted. I cannot change that fact. I got a measure of payback, quenching my thirst for revenge against the epitome of the SCW. And now it is time to move on. And when it comes time for something like that, one will ask himself, what do I do now? I vanquished my foe, and now what? What are my goals?

So I ask you, Mitchell, what are your goals? You want to become a force in the SCW, just as you have in the IWC. Word in the back is that you are aiming for the Adrenaline Championship. That’s real good, Mitchell. Several rookies aim for that strap and maybe one day you’ll achieve that goal. And this week, SCW matchmakers are out to see what you’ve got apparently.

Now lets get the obvious out of the way. They’ve booked you against me.

Depending on who you ask, and not to sound cocky, but I am one of the best in this company. Accomplishments and match records set aside, I am one of the very best. I give it my all every time I lace up a pair of boots and step into a wrestling ring. Now I am pretty sure you sit and think to yourself that you do the same. Maybe you do, but Mitchell, you haven’t stepped into the ring and been tested in the SCW.

What you got going on in the IWC…meaningless to me. You could be a future main event performer in that federation, but that means very little. What you do in the SCW is what dictates how I view you. And right now, I don’t see much of anything. I see someone who could very well be a break out star for this company. But the bigger question is this Billy. Do you have what it takes?

And you can be the cocky and brash dumb fuck that you are and say yes.

But I know differently.

This week will showcase what you really got. This week will separate the men from the boys. This week, the world will see, I will see, you will see…if you have what it takes. You have some heart, Billy, I will give you that, but that won’t get you very far in this business. I’ve had to learn that the hard way. I show heart and determination whenever I am booked for a match.

It takes much more than that. For the most part it takes whining to get anywhere, but if you want a lesson in that, go ask the Cherry Pit Crew version two in the Infection. Go talk to Zero. To survive in this ring against me, you’re going to have intelligence. Heart and determination are only half the battle. You have to be able to outwrestle me and outsmart to seize the victory. You are pretty damn decent at submissions, but in this world, I am the master. I am the fucking king.

Deny me all you want. I dare you.

Anything you got, I can match. Anything you counter, I have a counter for that counter. You can play to the crowd and you can hang out in the stands to get fan support. I suggest you do it, to give the fans something to remember you by. If you’ve been paying attention to anything since you’ve been here, if you’ve checked out any of my matches since signing your SCW contract, then you will have noticed a trend.

Broken bodies galore, Billy boy.

All of them, hurt…severely hurt in some way, shape or form.

That’s your future.

If you want to make a statement, Billy, this will be the time to do it. If you want to get the wrestling world to notice you, if you want to get a jumpstart here in the SCW, then this will be the time to do it. This could be your time, Billy. You can walk out and here the cheers, but they will be louder. You can hear the crowd chanting your name and singing your theme song, but it will all be louder. You can have all of that, but the only thing standing in your way of all of that is me.

That’s right…me.

The only thing you really need to do this week is sit down and shut the fuck up. Don’t talk. Don’t say a word. Don’t even mutter a single syllable. You need to sit down, shut up, and listen. Listen to my words, take mental notes of every single word you hear. Don’t take any of them for granted. Don’t be like Justin Davis, or Matt Hodges, Jason Wheeler before he was a Zero…listen to my words very carefully. They sold me short and look what happened to them.

I walked away the winner.

They could barely walk afterwards.

If you go the same route that they went, then bad things will happen to you. It won’t be pretty inside of that ring, either way, but they could be a lot worse, if you choose to follow the path of the ignorant. If you listen carefully, then you won’t get hurt…as badly. And then when the bell rings, and we are staring across the ring from one another, I don’t want you to smirk at me. I want you to watch what happens next. We will tie up and then you will fight as hard as you can, trying to keep me from schooling you, but in the end, it won’t help.

The beating that is about to come, Billy, will be like a lesson learned in school. At first, it’s hard to understand and at first it can be frustrating, working on something new, but after awhile, you get used to it and then you can learn it and fully understand it, and then you can move forward. I am going to give you a lesson in pain. It will hurt at first, and it will frustrate you, because you’ll know that you were in the ring against a former World Champion and that you could’ve made a big statement, but this won’t be your week. You try and hang with me and you can get in a couple of real big moves and some real good shots, but it won’t be enough. Take this as a learning experience. Go home and lick your wounds and be happy that I allowed you to live to fight another day.

Yes, a learning experience. Take this beating in. Figure out where you messed up and how come you couldn’t finish the job. Yes, I have the experience factor working for me, but seriously, anybody can beat anybody these days. I mean, Blake Mason beat Shawn Winters for example and nobody saw that coming. Justin Davis beat Chad Evans, and nobody saw that coming either. But it happened. And that right there, probably got you thinking that maybe you could beat me, but it won’t happen. Not at Breakdown. Not on that night.

Maybe some other time after that.

Don’t think I am selling you short, Billy, or that I am shitting all over everything I’ve been preaching to you. I am trying to enlighten you so to speak. Preparing for the obvious future ahead of you, and I am trying to prepare you for what could happen afterwards, once you’ve learned a few things. You can learn a lot from sitting back and enjoying the silence around you, Billy. I am pretty sure you are going to be the one shitting over everything I’ve preached about. You will take it for granted. Maybe I am assuming, but it’s also coming from my years of experience. That’s just the way hot heads are, I guess you could say.

I am not selling you short, Billy.

I am just telling you how it is and not how it might be.

I’ve said my piece and now you can take it however you want. It doesn’t make a fuck to me. The outcome will be the same. If you don’t believe me…then…

Watch it happen.

Go to sleep.
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"Bad" Billy Mitchell
The Outlaw
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OOC: RP #1 (of an intended 2). Good luck, Josh!
============================================

“BILLY!”

Mitchell’s eyes snapped open as the voice exploded in his ear, ripping him from the silence of sleep as he reeled back in his chair… and immediately toppled down to the floor. Scrambling to his knees, he staggered to his feet and whipped around to see Jessie cupping a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the laughter bubbling up from her belly. Turning away, she squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face against Gloria’s neck, causing the nurse to cover up too, desperately trying to hide her own guilty smile.

Giving an irritated huff, Mitchell shot both of them a scathing look before he reached down to right the chair. “Yeah, real funny, Jess… like my head ain’t pounding enough.” Pushing the chair back up against the side of Casey’s bed he swept a hand through his hair, trying to fix it up as best he could. His eyes shifted to Gloria, whose cheeks flushed a bright red despite her dark skin. “Yeah, uh-huh. You know you’re busted, don’t you?” Finally, he broke down into a smile of his own, giving off a quiet chuckle.

“Aw, come on, honey, you know I love you.”

“It was a joke, Billy, don’t take it so seriously.”

The apologies came in stereo, which only busted both women back up again. Setting a hand to Jessie’s arm, Gloria playfully pushed her away before leaning over the bedside to check on Casey. Tapping a finger against one of the IV tubes, she took a second to gently brush some hair out of the little girl’s face. As she was doing that, Jessica came around to the other side of the bed and wrapped Mitchell up in a tight hug.

“Just be glad I got here before Dad did, or he’d have your head. You know that.” Reaching up to muss the hair he’d just fixed, she glanced to the stack of papers and transcripts sitting on the little end table next to his chair. “Guess you really jumped back into this stuff, huh?” Opening the manila folder the IWC had sent home with him, she read over Pat Evans’ dossier for a second. “This who you’re fighting?”

Returning the embrace, he brushed her hand away when she went for his hair, and gave her own ponytail a light tug before moving closer to the bed, watching Gloria with Casey. “One of them, yeah. I don’t know who said what to who, but they bumped me up into the real competition. Spent most of the night reading what I could find on that Evans guy… he’s bad news.”

Thinking back to the night before reminded him of the woman he’d bumped into down in the cafeteria.

He'd gone back to the doors leading into the isolation ward earlier, hoping to catch her on the way back out. Well, maybe not ‘hoping’… or was he? …something had him hooked on the thought of finding her again. Why, he didn’t know. It wasn’t an attraction; that much he knew. She was gorgeous, but there was something else. Something about the way she’d carried herself. He’d caught her, basically, stealing from the cafeteria coolers, but instead of running away or trying to excuse herself, she’d pretty much blasted him where he stood! …like he should have known better! …there was just something about that he liked.

Maybe he could find one of the doctors and ask them. The ‘Perma-Cares’ weren’t part of the usual rounds. There was no reason, they were basically lifeless. Comatose like Casey, but to the worst possible extent. They didn’t think, didn’t feel... didn’t do anything but lie there. Most of the time, they were written off and left to rot. Now and then, an orderly would go through and check the waste bags, or see if anyone had died, but that was about it. For all counts and purposes, they were considered lost causes.

Gloria had mentioned thinking it was the woman’s husband in the ward. But she’d been dodgy about the whole thing. Maybe she knew more than she was letting on? …folding his arms, Mitchell studied the older woman a little more closely, watching the way she fluttered around the bed like a hummingbird, reattaching tubes or replacing the needles that held the IVs in Casey’s arm. At one point, she glanced up and caught him watching, but just smiled and turned her attention back to his daughter. She definitely knew something, but getting her to tell him would be next to impossible. That was another reason he loved about her. Every time he saw one of the other nurses, they were either gossiping with each other, or talking about the patients on their schedules… and most of the time, none of it was complimentary.

Gloria was the exception. She kept to herself most of the time, and just focused on keeping everyone as comfortable as possible. Not just the patients themselves, but their families too. She didn’t even like most of the younger girls that worked under her. Half of them were fresh out of college or interning for experience. They didn’t have the dedication it took to do something like this… at least that’s how Gloria liked to put it. And she had a point. Anyone could be sympathetic if they wanted to be. It didn’t take much to look at someone and feel sorry for their loss or their pain… but very few people could truly empathize.

They didn’t feel sorry FOR the pain… they felt the pain ITSELF. They HURT with the person. They SUFFERED with them. He couldn’t even imagine having that kind of constitution, let alone needing it daily.

“Hey, Space Cadet!” Snapping her hand out in front of his face, Jessie snapped her fingers an inch from his nose, drawing him out of the stupor. “You plan on coming back down to Earth anytime soon?”

Blinking out of his thoughts, Mitchell just smirked and palmed the side of her face. “Shut up.”

Grabbing his arm, Jessie slipped it around the back of her neck and stepped in to wrap her own around his waist, reaching out with her free hand to tickle the tip of Casey’s nose. “She looks good today.”

“Gloria kicked me out of the room last night to give her a bath.”

Smacking the back of his shoulders, Jessie just gaped at him mockingly. “Well, duh! …she’s eight! …you really think she wants Daddy here to watch? …you better be thankful she didn’t know.”

“That’s what he said.” Piping up with a shot of her own, Gloria couldn’t help but flash the now scowling Mitchell a little wink. Moving to the foot of the bed, she unhooked the chart and marked a box or two before leaving a note for the morning doctor. “Don’t expect it to make much difference, though. Eight, eighteen, eighty… it don’t matter. Far as he’s concerned she’s always gonna’ be Daddy’s baby.”

Slipping into a smile of his own, Mitchell just shot a look between the two of them before leaning down to brush a kiss across the side of Casey’s forehead. “Damn right she wi—”

Slowly, he pulled back and just stared down at those unblinking eyes.

Had he… had he heard that right? …no, he couldn’t have… but… did he?!

“Billy?” Leaning in closer, Jessie set a hand to his shoulder. “Billy, what is it?” Her eyes darted down to her niece, and then back to Mitchell before they snapped to Gloria. “Is something wrong?!”

“Not that I can see…” Tension laced the nurse’s voice as she went over every tube and machine in sight. Leaning over the side of the bed, she checked the little girl’s pulse, and even pulled one of her eyes open to check it with a penlight. Slowly, she just looked up at Mitchell, herself. “Honey, she’s fine…”

The words were there, on the tip of his tongue, but they refused to be voiced. Staring down at his daughter’s face, he traced a cheek with his fingertips, before forcing himself to look over at Jessie, and then to Gloria. When the words finally escaped, they did so in the softest of whispers. “… I heard her.”

Jessie’s fingers snapped tight on his shoulder. “What?!”

“I heard her!” The second time lent more strength to the words. “I heard her speak!”

“Sweetie…” Doubt softened Gloria’s voice and creased her face as she glanced down to the little girl, and then back up to him. “She didn’t say anything. Her lips never even moved… I’ve been standing here watching her this whole time…” There was an obvious pain to her tone, she wanted to believe him.

Both Jessie and Gloria just shared a look, before the nurse stepped back from the bed and started to circle around to their side. Mitchell didn’t bother to look up at either of them. Bending over the bed, he dropped to a knee and leaned in close, brushing his fingers up through Casey’s hair as he stared at her face, watching and waiting. He’d heard her voice! …he didn’t give a damn if he was the only one; he KNEW he’d heard her voice! …not in his head, and not in some damned memory! …his little girl had SPOKEN! …cupping a palm to her cheek, he gave her the smallest shake as his breath caught in his throat.

“C’mon, baby… C’mon… I’m right here… Daddy’s right here…” With each plea, his hand made a small, circular pet up into her hair and back down her cheek again. “Casey? …Casey?” His eyes burned from going so long without blinking, but he didn’t dare. What if her lips trembled? …what if her eyes twitched? …what if something happened and he missed it?! ... “Baby? …Baby, can you hear me?”

The silence crushed down on him, closing in around him like the crumpled frame of the car back on that damned highway. Seconds stretched on, turning to a minute, then two and finally three, until each one blended into the next. Finally, he allowed himself to blink. Just once. Dropping his forehead to his daughter’s, he held is eyes shut and pulled his lip in between his teeth, refusing to give in to the rising tidal wave crashing up from inside. Salt burned at the corners of his eyes, but he kept them closed, fighting back the urge to sob… to scream and rage and damn anything and everything that could ever allow this to happen. What would it do? …what would it change? …nothing. Absolutely nothing. Besides, he’d already cursed everything from life, to God, to Elizabeth… and it hadn’t brought Casey back to him.

Arms surrounded him from behind, tight around his shoulders as Jessie pressed herself to his back. “I’m sorry, Billy.” Reaching around him, she cupped her hand over his. “Maybe Dad’s right… maybe you just need to get out of here for awhile. I know you don’t want to hear it, but now you’re hearing things, Billy, and… that’s not good.” Feeling him tighten, she broke away just enough to move to his side.

“I’m not hearing THINGS, Jessie.” Biting the words through clamped teeth, he yanked his hand away from hers and turned just enough to fix her with a smoldering stare. “I heard my DAUGHTER! ...I heard her voice! …and I don’t give a rat’s ass if you believe me or not!” Turning back to the bed, he gripped the railing, ignoring the resistant groan of the thin metal beneath his fingers as he stared down at his little girl.

Mitchell craned his neck a little, struggling to watch his daughter’s face as Jessie started to pull him towards the door. But nothing happened. Nothing at all. Her lids didn’t flutter, her lips didn’t move, and the only sound was the rhythmic hiss of that God-damned respirator! …he HAD heard her, hadn’t he? …he wasn’t hearing things, and he wasn’t tired. Well, ok, he was a little tired, but not mentally. Cupping his face, he clawed at his skin a little, dragging his nails down through the thick stubble before lacing his fingers behind the nape of his neck and dropping his head. Moving off to the side he crossed to the bay window and stared down at the empty street below. A breeze had picked up in the last couple hours, so he could smell the orange grove down the block. Too bad the window didn’t open… Casey loved oranges.

“Billy?” Walking up behind him, Jessie wrapped an arm around his waist and laid her head against the back of his shoulder, once again trying to urge him towards the door. “Come on… let’s just go. Dad wants to talk to you anyway… he’s got someone he wants you to meet.”

Gloria turned to face him as he stepped back. “I think she’s right, Honey. You already been up all night worryin’ ‘bout those matches of yours. You really don’t need to be puttin’ yourself through this right now.”

Letting Jessie pull him away from the window and back towards the door, he lingered near the edge of the bed. Gently easing out of his sister’s grip, he reached down to wrap his hands around one of Casey’s feet, slowly massaging it through the thin bedcover. If they didn’t want to believe him, that was fine. He knew what he’d heard. He knew his daughter’s voice, and damn it, he knew she had called out for him!

“Don’t worry, kiddo… I heard you… I’ll always hear you.”

Giving her foot a soft squeeze, he turned and walked out of the room without waiting for Jessica.

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“Took you two long enough!”

Sitting at the bar, Cody threw up a hand when he spotted them coming through the door. In his other hand rested a half-nursed Corona. Another, older man sat beside him. There was something familiar about him, but Mitchell couldn’t put a finger on it. His hair had gone silver-gray, and he wore a pair of pressed slacks and a business shirt with the sleeves open at the cuffs. A tie hung out of his jacket pocket.

Lifting her hand to the small of his back, Jessie tried to give him a silent look as she stepped past, before turning her full attention on their father. “Sorry, Daddy. We got caught up back at the hospital.”

“I don’t doubt it.” The older man spoke up, settling his faded blue eyes on Mitchell. “Your father was just telling me about Casey… I’m very sorry.”

Shrugging it off, Mitchell flashed him the usual smile. “Yeah, thanks.”

Stepping down onto the floor, he returned Jessie’s look with a faint scowl before making his way around to the back of the bar-counter. Since the ‘Bullet’ wasn’t open yet, the harder liquor was still locked up, so he just opened the mini-cooler at the bottom and grabbed one of the Coronas chilling in the door. Prying off the cap he downed two full pulls before thudding the bottle back down on the water-stained counter.

Glancing to the older man, Cody looked to his daughter, but Jessie just held up her hands and backed away. Turning his attention back to Mitchell, the old cowboy folded his arms on the bar and leaned in a little; his steel-gray stare hardening along with his voice. “Anything we need to talk about?”

“Nope.” Lifting the bottle again, Mitchell drew back another pull that emptied half the bottle.

“Bullshit. What the hell happened?”

“According to HER… nothing.” Mitchell’s eyes ripped through his sister like hot lead, before he sucked a deep breath into his lungs and held it, twisting his head ‘till the bones in his neck gave a sickening crack. “She either thinks I’m crazy or lying… I don’t really give a damn which. I KNOW I heard Casey talk today.” Shifting his gaze back to his father, he met that steel stare as best he could… but it wasn’t long before his voice lost a lot of its edge. “I heard her, Dad … I HEARD her!”

Jessie’s hand slapped down on the counter hard enough to make the silver-haired man flinch. “I didn’t call you anything, Billy! …all I said was I didn’t hear it! …neither did Gloria! …and believe me, both of us were listening just as hard as you!” As blue as they were, her eyes burned like sapphire flames.

“That’s enough out of both of you!” Cody’s voice rumbled through the air as he shifted his gaze between the two siblings, silencing them on the spot. Reaching up to rub at his jaw, he gave a quiet breath and looked back over to Mitchell. “What did she say? …could you make it out?”

Mitchell met his father’s stare head-on. “She called me. She called for her daddy. It wasn’t …wasn’t loud… I barely even heard it, but… damn it… I KNOW I heard it!” Balling his free hand, he slammed it down on the countertop.

Without saying anything, Cody just turned and looked back over to Jessie, who shrugged her shoulders.

“I didn’t hear it. Gloria was standing right next to the bed checking all the IVs and stuff. Billy and I were talking and all of a sudden he starts telling us Casey was talking.” Folding her hands in her lap, she tried to meet her brother’s eyes, but Mitchell wouldn’t even look at her. “Gloria thinks he’s just tired. He was up all night with his wrestling stuff… he’s mad at me ‘cause I said she was probably right.”

“So you’ll trust a stranger over your own brother?”

“Gloria’s a nurse, Daddy. She spends all day in that room, you don’t think she’d know if Casey was trying to talk?”

“I know she’s not her father.” Without looking, he lifted a single finger in Mitchell’s direction. HE is. Gloria’s a hell of a woman, baby, I’m not trying to take anything away from her. But if that little girl’s got something to say, it ain’t gonna’ be to Gloria. It ain’t gonna’ be to you, and it ain’t gonna’ be to me. It’s gonna’ be to the one person in this world she needs most right now… and that’s her Daddy.” Looking down to the polished wood, he suckled on his teeth a minute, before giving a simple shrug. “I ain’t a doctor… but being a father has taught me things no school ever could. If Billy says he heard her… I believe him.” Looking up to his son, he slowly looked back over to Jessie, and just nodded. “And you should, too.”

Hoping to clear the tension, the older man cleared his throat, and offered a simple smile to both of them. “Guess I came at a bad time, uh…” Looking up to Mitchell, he held out his hand. “Adam Sharper.”

“No, don’t worry about it, Mr. Sharper… just been a hell of a day is all.” Taking the hand, Mitchell squeezed it for a second, returning the smile. “So what brings you here?”

“Well, BreakDown, obviously. But, also your father.” Motioning to Cody, Sharper lifted the glass of water that sat in front of him and sipped at it a little before setting it back down. “I was a fairly big supporter of his back when he was part of the company. It actually took me a second to recognize your name, but once I did, I called Cody up and asked if it was just a coincidence. Turns out it wasn’t.”

“Oh, yeah!” Sitting up a little straighter, Jessie beamed. “I remember Daddy talking about you, actually. Said you really knew your stuff. All the old guys like Buddy Rogers and Man Mountain Dean.”

Taking a pull off his own beer, Cody just nodded, before using the longneck to motion towards his friend. “He’d better know ‘em. He says he interviewed half of ‘em at one point or another.” Sharing a smile with Sharper, he turned his attention to Mitchell, who’d grown quiet. “I wanted you to talk to him, Billy… I heard about the double-header you’re pulling this week. I don’t know anything about that Evans guy, but the one you got waiting in Arizona? …him I know real well. And he’s one mean son of a bitch.”

Mitchell just smirked. “C’mon, Dad. They’ve been putting me up against rookies and half-asses. My first match was against some jackass named the Trailer Park Kid. I don’t know much about this Hudson guy, but I figure he’s probably just another slug like Pugh.”

“Actually…” Taking another sip from his water, Sharper looked up to him. “He’s a former champion.” Reaching to a small briefcase he had leaning up against the bottom of his bar-stool, he pulled out a bound folder and dropped it on the counter. Nudging it closer to Mitchell, he used the tip of his finger to flip the cover open. The top page was a picture of Josh Hudson standing over CHBK’s broken body, taken from their match at ‘Retribution’. “A Supreme Champion to be exact. He’s held every major championship in the company. World Title, Adrenaline Title, Underground Title and Tag Team Title. Only one loss since June of oh-nine, and just got done damn near crippling Alex Desoubrais… probably the biggest name in SCW history.” Shaking his head, Sharper fixed his eyes with Mitchell’s. “No, he’s not Pugh.”

Getting up out of her chair, Jessie came in closer, turning the folder so she could look through the pages pinned into place. Each one documented another accolade, another accomplishment. “Oh… my… God.” She finally just looked up at her brother, and then to Sharper. “But why?! …why put Billy up against a guy like this? …he just got back! …he’s been wrestling fillers for the past two months, and this guy’s a…”

“A monster.” Reaching across to the folder, Mitchell turned it back around to face him. Hudson was a three-time Tag Champion… two-time United States Champion… and pretty much the toughest bastard walking the hallway. Two of his tag runs were even awarded ‘Team of the Year’. Trying not to dwell on the fact that everything about the man practically SCREAMED superiority, he shuffled the papers around until he found the bio-sheet… not that it made him feel any better. “Big son of a bitch, isn’t he?”

“In more ways than one.” Smiling at his own joke, Sharper opened up with a sheepish grin before turning to fold his arms atop the bar, clearing his throat as he took on a more serious tone. “He knows how to move it, too. He’s not the quickest guy we have, but he’s still damn fast. Most of his stuff is technical. Ground work. He loves to find a weak spot and exploit it… but if he can’t find one, he’s got no problem making one. I try to be as unbiased as I can, but between you and me? …even with Starr as the champion, and guys like Davis, Zero and Savior circling the top slots… Josh Hudson is, pound for pound, the most dominant, most talented and most dangerous man we have on the roster right now. Bar none.”

“So like Jessie said… why Billy?” Now it was Cody’s turn to reach across and pull the folder in closer. Instead of the record sheets and list of accolades, though, he focused on the pictures. Most of them were scans from SCW Magazine or the PWI. Shots of Hudson in action, dropping opponents with suplexes or knocking them cold with the ‘Kingdom Come’. One of the last ones had been snapped during his match with AWOL back at the “Special”. It was a zoomed shot of Hudson smashing his bloodied skull into AWOL’s face. “Jesus Christ… this man can’t be right in the head… what the hell are they thinking?!”

“Jessie already mentioned it.” Stealing another sip from his water, Sharper set it down and motioned to Mitchell. “He’s been wrestling ‘filler’ matches since his debut. They put him up against the TPKid, then Andrew Pugh. This week, Pugh’s going up against a man named Anthony Thomas, but he goes by ‘Glacier’ in the ring. Glacier’s been a major player in the SCW before. He’s easy material for the United States Championship, but they’ve put him up against Pugh to give him an easy week. To keep him fresh.” He glanced over to Jessie, who just knit her brow in confusion. Nodding his understanding, Sharper passed her the picture of Hudson standing over the unconscious CHBK. “Hudson just got done spending thirty minutes in the ring with Alex Desoubrais. He just got done wrestling one of the most grueling matches we’re going to see this year. Period. And before that, he went toe-to-toe and head-to-head… literally… with one of the most violent men in this business. Obviously they can’t keep throwing him in the ring against top-tier talent; they don’t want him burning out. So they’re giving him your brother. Technically, this IS just another ‘filler’ match... only this time… it’s the other guy that’s getting the free ride.”

Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, Mitchell took a step back and braced himself against the edge of the rear counter. Just looking through the pictures of Hudson and his opponents left him aching from head to toe. Less than twelve hours ago, he was stressing over what he’d need to do to bring down a guy like Pat Evans… and now here he was, being told that SCW basically planned to serve him up as an entrée to someone who made Evans look like a damned rookie! …bringing both hands around to the nape of his neck, he laced his fingers and let his head fall back against the shelves. Closing his eyes, he just shook his head, trying to find something he could work with, but he was kidding himself and he damn well knew it.

“Mr. Sharper…” Firming up her tone, Jessie watched her brother for a second, before turning her attention to her father’s friend. “No offense… but is that all you came here to do? …sit there and tell my brother that he was basically about to get killed on national television? …’cause if you did, I’m gonna’ beat the livin’ hell outta’ you.” As she spoke, those icy blues turned as cold as they were beautiful.

“Jess!” Snapping his eyes open, Mitchell shot his sister a scolding glare.

Cody was too busy laughing to do anything about his daughter’s outburst. Leaning back on his stool, he just howled, before slapping a hand down on Sharper’s shoulder and giving him a good-hearted shake.

The grin on Adam’s face doubled in size at Cody’s laughter. Fighting for a straight face himself, he finished the last of his water, and then shook his head. “Believe me, Ms. Mitchell; I have no doubt you would. Luckily for me, though, I’m here because your father and I know for a fact that Billy can beat him.”

“What?!” Jessie’s jaw almost dropped off her face it gaped so wide. Out the corner of her eye, she even caught Billy doing a double-take. Shaking her head, she motioned to the giant folder they’d just got done looking through… especially the pictures of Hudson standing over half a dozen dead bodies. “Are you out of your damned mind?! …you just got done telling us this asshole ‘ought to be committed, and you expect us to believe Billy can BEAT HIM?!” Reaching across the counter, she grabbed Sharper’s glass and sniffed it, checking to see what he’d been drinking. It really was water. Sliding it back down the bar, she stared at Sharper then turned the full force of her glare towards her father. “Daddy, you can’t be serious!”

“Why not?” Cody just shrugged his shoulders, his face already stone-set despite his laughing fit a minute before. “You’ve heard me talk about Adam for how many years, Jessie? …he’s seen everything there is to see in this business. He’s been there for some of the biggest upsets in history. He’s been there to see the biggest giants come crashing down… and he thinks your brother can win.” Unable to help it, he braced an arm to the counter and leaned on it, returning her glare right back to her. “You were the one who got all upset when I said Gloria could be wrong… now you’re doing the same thing, young lady.”

Jessie just went silent, but the worry in her face was evident as she looked down at the photos spread out across the counter. Giving her brother a short look, she finally turned and stormed through the back door, vanishing out onto the porch. Eventually, Cody slid off his stool and reached for the beer he’d been working on. Crooking a finger, he beckoned Mitchell close and his hand around the back of his son’s neck.

“Listen, Billy… you and I both know I don’t go buying into things that easily. It’s why I don’t have a cell phone… why I don’t have E-Mail, or a GPS. I don’t trust what I don’t know… probably one of the reasons your Momma used to love calling me a damned fool. But I trust Adam… and I trust you. If he says you can beat this son of a bitch, then damn it, you can beat him! …you understand me?”

Staring into those hard steel-gray eyes, Mitchell just nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Squeezing his neck, Cody stepped back and shared a nod with Sharper before moving across the room and step out onto the deck after Jessie. Through the window, they watched him wrap an arm around her waist from behind, tucking her beneath the broad mass of his shoulder. After a few seconds, she finally slid her arm around his back and snuggled in close. Smiling at the sight, Sharper finally turned back to Mitchell.
“She really loves you.”

“There’s times you could fool me.” Giving up a lopsided smile, Mitchell turned his attention back to all the information on Hudson. ‘Overwhelming’ didn’t even come close to describing the pressure he felt building in his chest. Reaching for one of the pictures, he tried to study the man himself, but something about Hudson just unsettled him. Maybe it was the picture, the lighting, the angle… but the man’s eyes looked hollow. Empty. No anger, no hatred, no pride… nothing… just a walking, talking shell.

For the longest time, Sharper just watched him. Now and then, he’d reach for one of the photos, or a transcript from one of Hudson’s monologues, but for the most part, he just let Mitchell go through it all himself. When he did speak up, it was with an easy, quiet tone. “You don’t think you can do it.” He made it a statement, not a question. He could see the doubt in the young man’s eyes. “I don’t blame you, Billy, really, I don’t. I’ve seen some of the best men in the world get in that ring with Hudson, and wind up spending the weekend in intensive care. He’s not just dangerous; he’s merciless. If he decides to hurt you, then he’s going to. There’s nothing you can do to stop it… but you CAN endure it. And if you do that, you take away his power. Once he realizes the pain isn’t stopping you, it evens out the field.” Leaning back on his stool, he hardened his tone back up again. “He’s not immortal, Billy. IF you can push back through the pain long enough to make him question things, then I promise you… you CAN knock him flat on his arrogant ass.”

Looking up to the old man’s eyes, Mitchell held them for as long as he could, before dropping his own back down to the folder. Physical pain… that’s all Hudson could really threaten him with. He could hurt him, bloody him, knock him to the ground… but so could anyone else. Josh Hudson was no different than anyone else he’d faced… matter of fact he was exactly the same… just better at what he did. And fitting him into that kind of perspective seemed to… diminish him. He didn’t seem like such a monster, anymore.

He was just another opponent.

He was just another name on the card.

Just another target stepping in front of a 'Silver Bullet'.

Taking one last look at the photos, he stacked them up and closed the folder, pushing it off to the side before reaching for his beer. Tilting the bottle, he downed the last of the cold, crisp liquid, before dropping the empty bottle into the bin, causing the glass to explode with a loud crash. “I’m listening.”
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Mr. D
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The SCW Owner and Leader of the Nation of Moderation
[ *  *  * ]
Despite both having one up, I've been asked for an extension by Mitchell until midnight. As long as Hudson is alright with this, then I will allow it. It is up to Hudson entirely as at this point, it would obviously not be quite fair to increase deadline just to allow a second roleplay. (I also typically don't prefer to do this, but given that both are at one and typically, both enjoy having a good competitive match, I will allow it if both agree to it)
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Josh Hudson
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Living Legend
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I'm OK with it. I have to post my second roleplay now, because I am at school and I won't be able to post around midnight or anything. But yeah, Olek if you want to give the extension go for it.

[align=center] I wonder if the kid took what I said seriously? I wonder if he understood what I was trying to tell him. Youngsters these days never really want to listen. They want to go out and take the world on all by themselves, like they have nothing left to learn, as if they have nothing to lose.

I was the same way. I have no reason to lie. I would walk out and interfere in other people’s little arguments. I would stick my nose in places that it didn’t belong. All rookie mistakes. We all make them.

Nobody is perfect.

Nobody is a god.

And most of the time, these kids, these rookies…these know it alls… think they have it all figured out, like they know what it takes to be something in this world. It comes from experience, not following your dick. Billy Mitchell has the cocky swag, that “I’m the shit” attitude. He looks like a fashion model more than a wrestler.

He simply doesn’t belong in the wrestling world, let alone a wrestling ring. He would and probably will say otherwise and he will want to show me that he can handle the ring, that he belongs here.

And that’s what I want.

I want to see that fight.

But did he take me seriously? Or did he let my words go in one ear and out the other? I am going to go with the second choice. He is too hot headed to prove me any differently. His photogenic face, the bad boy lifestyle he may think he lives is nothing. Just a dream. Breakdown he is in store for a lethal dose of a harsh reality.


Knock, knock, knock.

Muffled shouting.

Josh Hudson’s eyes snapped wide open and he sat up in the shower, his hair a ruffled mess. He stood up, slowly sliding the door open. He had been sleeping there for the last few nights, because he wasn’t surrounded by noise. It was his own center of outer space. He stepped out and the floor was cold to the touch, but it didn’t bother him. He opened the bathroom door and headed downstairs in the direction of the noise.

Knock, knock, knock.

Muffled shouting.

Hudson made his way into the kitchen, then out into the living room, where he saw his front door jiggling due to the banging coming from outside. Hudson felt his fury swell up as he made his way towards the door, stomping every step of the way, before grabbing the door handle and pulling the door open, only to be met by a small child. A little boy. Maybe around the age of six. Maybe even seven. And out from around the corner stepped an older woman, possibly in her late twenties, maybe even thirty. Both of them smiled at Hudson, who stood there, bewildered, unable to speak, as he tried to hide his anger. He swallowed it down, before speaking.

“Can I help you?”

The woman spoke, her voice soft, but held a country accent that came with the Morganton territory. Hudson knew it all too well. He had it himself.

“Well, my little boy here, Alex and I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

Hudson nodded his head, telling himself to keep it cool and not to come off as a dick, “I appreciate it. I lived here a long, long time ago. I actually grew up here.”

The woman spoke again, “Oh we know. Alex here has a wrestling magazine. It had an article about you inside. He wanted to know if you would be kind enough to give him an autograph?”

Hudson felt sick to his stomach. The celebrity life, the life in the fast lane, the life he wanted to leave behind, so he could return to his roots, away from the bullshit Hollywood glamour, was still around him. The little boy lifted the magazine up, high above his head, holding it in his tiny hands and Hudson just stood there, staring at the magazine. He then looked down at the little boy, staring into his eyes, seeing his excitement and happiness, before kneeling down and talking to the little boy, “Do you have a pen, Alex?”

Alex nodded and reached into his little pants pocket and handed Hudson a pen. Hudson then smiled a little bit, trying to fight back his nausea, took the magazine and flipped through the pages, and found the article. A five page article at that and he found a picture of himself, standing tall in the ring, with what looked like CHBK being helped to the back. The ring mat read “Gang Rulz”. Hudson chuckled to himself, as visions of holding the Heartbreaker in the bear hug, then his own submission a little over a week ago. He shook his head, then proceeded to sign the picture and he handed it back to Alex, closing the magazine. Hudson then stood up and stared at the woman then back at Alex, who was smiling from ear to ear, his eyes beaming with joy, something that normally made Hudson sick, but he told himself to make an exception since it was a small child. Hudson then looked up at the woman, who was quite beautiful, and spoke, “I appreciate that support. But I am going to go back inside and get ready for the day. It’s going to be a busy one.”

She spoke, “Well thank you Josh. Alex and I appreciate it as well.”

“And what is your name?”

“Michelle…”

“And Michelle, do you have a husband? Where is little Alex’s father?”

Michelle smiled a bit, “Oh no. Alex is my nephew. His father…well, we don’t know where his father is. His mother never speaks of him. She doesn’t even tell me and I’m her sister. He wasn’t even around when Alex was born five years ago. I wish I could tell him what he’s been missing.”

Hudson nodded his head, “Yeah my father was around, but he wasn’t if you know what I mean. What’s his mother’s name?”

“Trish. Trish Wiseman…”

The sickness had returned and Hudson just stood there, frozen stiff, in a state of disbelief. He felt all the blood rush from his face. He stared at Alex, then at the ground, trying to keep himself from throwing up. Michelle’s voice broke him away from his trance, and brought him back to reality.

“You OK?”

Hudson looked up at her, and responded, his voice a little shaky, “Oh no. I’m good. Great even. I just so much to do and so little time it seems. Thanks for stopping by. I’ll be seeing you…talk to you later, Alex…” Hudson then stepped back inside his house, closing the door, locking it and he just stood there for a few brief moments, but realization set in, overwhelming him and he raced to the bathroom, burying his face in the toilet, letting the sickness flow.

After what felt like hours, Hudson drew away from the toilet and just laid on the bathroom floor, hugging himself. He even coughed a little. He closed his eyes and all he could see was the little boy, Alex, holding up the wrestling magazine. He opened his eyes and coughed, as if he were gagging, trying to catch his breath. He bolted up from the floor and stumbled to the sink. He splashed water over his face, several times, letting the warm water send tingles up and down his face, before his eyes locked in on his reflection, staring deep into his own eyes and he thought something, telling himself something that he felt would cure his ills, even if the cure was temporary, something he was used to.

He needed a drink.

Hudson began to ravage through his cabinets, looking for some sort of alcohol. He hadn’t bought groceries yet, but then again, he wasn’t very hungry. The aftermath of Retribution had left him a little bit depressed, as if he was not quite himself. He then made his way through the refrigerator, and just like in the kitchen cabinets, he found nothing. He then opened up the freezer and found a bottle of Absolut hundred proof vodka and he felt relieved. He then placed it on the kitchen counter, then made his way over to the sink and grabbed one of the numerous boxes that he hadn’t unpacked.

A box labeled “Alcohol Requirements”. He opened it up and pulled out four shot glasses. Four. Five. Then six. He ran each under the faucet, filling them with steaming hot water, not once, but twice and then he placed the shot glasses next to the bottle of vodka, before pouring himself six shots.

He stepped back away from them for a few minutes, his eyes locked on each shot, as his mind replayed the previous events. Little Alex. Michelle’s sister Trish Wiseman. Trish herself.

And then he downed each shot. One, two, three. He felt the burn as it tingled in his throat. Four. Five. The burning intensified. He then looked at the last shot, as Little Alex, Michelle, and Trish all ran through his mind once more. He grabbed the sixth shot glass and held it in his hand, his eyes studying it.

Josh Hudson spoke, “Down the hatch…”

And he downed the last shot, feeling the burn once again as it returned. He closed his eyes, shook his head a little bit from side to side, then up and down, before making a small circle, popping his neck in the process.

It was only ten thirty in the morning and Hudson’s day was already a wreck.

- - - - - -

Billy Mitchell is just like the rest. He loves the spotlight. He eats it up. He likes to have the world talking about him. He gets off on having the moronic female fans screaming and vying for his affection. Or at least his attention. Yeah, moronic female fans, who only tune in to see men half naked, showing off their muscles and ridiculously defined bodies. Mitchell is just like that. He has that sly smile, those eyes that would make any woman melt in their panties, but then again it’s easy to do that to whores, but that is neither here nor there. He probably spends more time in the gym than most people in the SCW, or wrestling period. He tells himself that the more time he spends working out, the better he’ll look, which will increase his chances of actually getting laid. He looks like the boy next door. The next door neighbor that men despise, because deep down they know their wives could and probably would cheat on them with him. He’s the “bad boy” that they could never be.

He’s an outlaw. God dammit, more cartoons. More gimmicks. Nobody can be themselves. They always have to have some sort of nickname.

Hell, give me a nickname. Call me the Crippler.

No wait. Scratch that. Nothing good is associated with that nickname.

So what makes ol’ Billy boy an outlaw? Is he on the run from the law? Has he committed a crime? Did he shoot the sheriff, and not the deputy? Maybe that’s it. He killed Sheriff Andy Taylor and his deputy Barney Fife is pissed off beyond all recognition. He has even trained the good sheriff’s son, Opie, in the fine arts of being a morally honorable man of the law and together they are out to track down the “Outlaw” , the “Bad Boy” Billy Mitchell. Maybe that’s a little far fetched, but it would be a much more interesting story to tell other than to hear Mitchell say that he’s outlaw, that he’s a bad boy, because he was at home one day, bored out of his mind, and he couldn’t come up with anything, no real nickname came to mind, something to truly define who he is. I mean, I admire his creative drive, and I guess I could give him a solid “A” for effort, but he gets a big fat “F” for content, because we’ve all seen and heard it before.

The outlaw.

The bad boy.

There is nothing more original than just being yourself. I am sure Mitchell would say otherwise, but what he thinks means very little to me. You can’t teach these rookies anything these days. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

Oh, our business, my sport…it’s such a sad state of affairs.


- - - - - -

“So the good doctor called the business end of the SCW to get me an agent and they sent you after me?”

Josh Hudson sat at a bar called Church Hills. It was a tiny bar, with a small sized restaurant upstairs. He was downstairs. He was drinking a White Russian, his personal favorite. He would tell anyone and everyone that there was nothing like a good Caucasian. Before him sat Charlie Owens, an agent of some sorts. Hudson’s doctor, Doctor Vaughn wanted to make sure Hudson didn’t get into any trouble, wanted Hudson to be taken care of. At least that’s what Owens had said. Hudson didn’t care.

Owens replied, sipping on his Club Soda, “Yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it. That, and I needed the work.”

Hudson took a sip, before speaking, “They sent you after me because Vaughn thinks I need a babysitter more or less. And you needed the work? I think you just needed some extra cash flow in your wallet, because it was getting a tad bit too light for your tastes.”

Owens, a bit startled, gulped down the rest of his drink, “Well, to be honest, Vaughn said you had some issues…”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Good point, but that’s between you two. As far as making some extra money, I gotta tell you, that’s another reason why I begged for this job. I won’t be making much, but it will be enough.”

“Yeah, I know right? It’s not like my T shirts are really flying off of the shelves. Nobody is buying any of the DVDs that the SCW haven’t made. I mean, financially you’re fucked. I don’t make any money off of merchandise. People hate me.”

“Well, that’s not necessarily true. If I remember correctly, after the promos…is that what they are called?”

Hudson nodded, rolling his eyes, as he downed the rest of his drink. Owens overlooked it, trying his best not to say something, anything to piss Hudson off, in fear of losing the job opportunity. He continued, “Well after those promos you cut for your last pay per view match, people have started to pay attention. Your smash mouth wrestling style, very methodical, very violent, has always had people’s attention. But now it seems people are even more interested in your thoughts. It seems that people want to know what you have to say.”

Hudson chuckled, “People are interested in what I have to say? What people? Who are you referring to? The fans?”

Owens nodded his head, a look of excitement in his eyes, “Yes, that is exactly who I’m talking about.”

Hudson leaned forward, speaking, “Do you have a gun?”

Owens’ look of excitement quickly vanished as Hudson’s words entered his ears, “Um…why?”

“Nobody gives a fuck about what I have to say? The fans…they don’t care. I speak the truth about the people I work with, people I encounter every week. The fans boo me. They hate me, because fans don’t have a mind of their own. One fan hears my music come on and the people around him are booing me, so instead of reacting on how he really feels, despite being a fan of mine, he joins the crowd and boos me as much, maybe even louder. So no…nobody gives a fuck about what I have to say.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I know that.”

“Well…why do you think they boo you? Or know…whatever…why do they boo you?”

“Because I am an asshole.”

“Why are do you know that they think you’re an asshole.”

“Because I am preachy motherfucker.”

Hudson leaned back and ordered another White Russian, before looking back at Owens and they locked eyes. Hudson reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, completely ignoring the “No Smoking” sign behind him, and he lit one up, taking a puff, before speaking again, “Who else have you worked for, Charlie?”

Owens spoke, a sense of worry in his voice, “I helped manage Michael Vick before he went to the pen for the whole animal cruelty thing.”

Hudson chuckled, “I thought that was funny. He ran a dog fighting ring, yet Hmong people can fucking eat dogs and cats. That’s not animal cruelty?”

“They just eat cat.”

“That’s just what Clint Eastwood wants you to think,” Hudson laughed a little bit, before taking another drag off of his cigarette. The bartender brought him his drink, just staring at the cigarette, before walking away. Hudson then looked back at Charlie. The details about Charlie were as follows: He was about six foot one, a little round, but his height helped. He easily weighed two hundred and ten pounds, but he wasn’t too flabby, but not to muscular either. He was bald, a pure baby face, with a small gap in his four front teeth, top row. And he had brown eyes for those of you who care.

“OK then….” Charlie ordered another club soda, a look of worry painted on his voice, much more noticeable than the worry in his voice.

“Do you have kids, Charlie?”

“No.”

“Are you married?”

“Yeah. Two years and running, man”, Charlie said with a smile, a sense of accomplishment in his voice this time, replacing the worry.

“Oh you poor bastard…”

Charlie looked up, his smile gone, “What was that?”

Hudson gulped a little bit of his drink ,”Nothing.”

Charlie just sat on his bar stool and stared at Hudson, who finished his cigarette, put it out on the bar, then gulped down the remainder of his drink, his mind still fresh on the events of his morning. He then looked back at Charlie, who continued to stare at him, a look of disbelief in his eyes.

“Well…Charlie…what would you do if you found out you had a kid? A son? That you didn’t know about, and one day, he comes knocking on your door…what would you do?”

“Well…I would try to find his mother and I would try to talk to her, to make sense out of the whole thing first. Hell, to make sure the kid is even mine in the first place.”

Hudson leaned forward again, before replying, “What if things had ended badly between the mother and you? What if you just up and left her, not even saying a word. No goodbye. No nice knowing you. No nothing. Just up and left. What then?”

Charlie finished the rest of his beverage, then responded, “I’d say it’s still worth a shot. Every boy needs a father. I mean, isn’t that what they say?”

Hudson looked at Charlie, their eyes locking once more and after a few moments, Hudson bolted off of his bar stool, “Fuck me…that is what they say…”, and started to make his way out of the bar and to the upstairs area, before Charlie yelled at him, “Hey…Josh! What are you doing? You can’t just leave and not pay your tab.”

Hudson turned and spoke once more, before jogging upstairs, “Yeah I can do that. You’re my agent. Manage my bar tab. We’ll talk soon, I’m sure.”

Hudson stepped outside, the cool March wind met him. He closed his eyes and let the wind run through his hair. He scratched his beard, before lighting up another cigarette and taking a nice long drag.

- - - - - -

“Do you ever feel like giving up?”

Josh Hudson sat down on the front porch of his mother’s house, while she stood, pacing back and forth, smoking a cigarette. Hudson sat there, with his hands together, staring off into space, waiting for his mother to respond.

“Yeah honey, I have. But not in a long time. Why? Do you feel like giving up?”

Hudson pulled a cig out of his coat, lit it up and inhaled, then exhaled, “Every single day. Every single fucking day.” He took another drag, then held it in, before blowing it out, making little smoke clouds and he watched as they faded into the night sky. His mother walked over to him and stood in front of him. He looked up and their eyes met. Her hair was slowly turning gray, but she continued to dye it. She was in pretty good shape given her age, 51.

“What’s got you down?’

“Well, Mom, to be honest, the better question would be what’s not got me down. The list is endless.”

She rolled her eyes, “Humor me.”

“To put it bluntly…I hate my life. I don’t know myself. I don’t know my family. I haven’t seen Jake and Jalyn in forever. I never see you. Hell, I didn’t see Dad much before he died.”

“Well, we miss you. You know that right? We miss you and we’d like to see you more than we do, but we tune in every week to see if you’re wrestling or just to hear you talk, so we can hear your voice. So in a way, we do see you, but…”

Hudson inhaled, then exhaled, “It’s not the same…”

She replied, “You already know the answer to that. You’re on the road. Always on the go. You get to see the world, something so many people want to do and something so very few actually get to do.”

Hudson chuckled, “Mom, I’ve seen the world and it all sucks. There is nothing good about it.”

“Everybody is entitled to their own opinion. But how about you cut the bullshit and tell me what’s really bothering you.”

Hudson shook his head, knowing that he never had the ability to hide anything from his mother. After all these years, he couldn’t believe it. “Well, mom…I had an interesting visit earlier this morning. Made me go straight to drinking. I woke up to somebody banging on my door. I got up and stomped down to my front door and opened it. When I opened it, there was a little boy named Alex. And his aunt, Michelle. Alex wanted my autograph. Normally I would’ve said go fuck yourself, but he was kid, so I signed it for him. And then after talking a little bit with Michelle, I discovered that the kid was the son of Trish Wiseman.”

His mother dropped her cigarette and stomped on it, before whispering something, shaking her head, “It was only a matter of time…”

“What does that mean?”

“Josh, when you left Trish…”

Hudson stood up, realization setting in fast. He shook his head a few times, dropping his cigarette as well and stomping it out.

“She came to me…”

Hudson got in her face, putting his hands on the side of her face, lifting it up, so they were looking eye to eye, “Stop! Mom stop! Don’t you say it! Don’t…fucking say it…Where does she live?”

His mother shook her head, “No Josh…you’ll only make things worse…”

Hudson spoke, “Worse than it already is? Mom…where does she live? Tell me where she lives. I know you know, so just fucking tell me!”

“Where…where you left her…”

After that, Hudson turned and stormed to his car, started it up and drove out of the driveway, spinning up gravel, as he sped down the street, his mother left sitting down, crying, burying her face into her trembling hands.

As Hudson drove, his hands gripping the steering wheel as tight as he could, squeezing the wheel like an anaconda squeezing it’s prey. He felt tears as they tried to build up, but he blinked and the watery substance on his eyelashes vanished. He drove and he drove, as memories flashed in his mind. Memories of himself and his time with Trish. They were engaged to be married back in late 2005, and then he just stepped away. He walked away, never saying goodbye. He saw himself kissing her and her smiling face, and Hudson slammed his fist against the steering wheel. He continued to drive, his mind still racing, flashes of little Alex from earlier in the morning and he once again felt the tears building up once more, and he blinked, but this time, they stayed. They hung on his eyelashes, until another round pushed them off so they could dangle from the tiny hair, and the fallen tears streamed down his face. He coughed, as if he were choking a bit, unable to catch his breath, as the tears began to fall faster and faster, his body shaking, as he cried harder and harder.

Hudson pulled into a little convenience store, The Gate, and he pulled away from all of the other cars, staying hidden in the shadows. He slumped down in his seat, trying to fight and wipe away the tears, but he couldn’t. They continued to flood. Hudson kicked and punched at his car, before grabbing his hair and coming close to pulling it out. He continued to cough and choke, unable to catch his breath. He leaned his head against his seat, looking up at the ceiling, as he worked on controlling his breathing, slowing it down, as fast as he could, before he finally caught it.

“Oh fuck….oh fuck…God…AHH!!! Fuck…fuck…fuck…”

He ran his right hand over his face, and he breathed in through his nose, sniffling a little bit too. He gripped the steering wheel for a few moments, rocking back and forth, before placing his forehead against the wheel and he just laid there.

What do I do?

Hudson twisted his head from side to side, trying to keep from crying again.

What do I do? What do I fucking do?

Hudson pushed himself away from the steering wheel. He wiped away any remaining tears and snot, then started his car again and put it in drive, before pulling out of the convenience store parking lot, driving off into the night.

- - - - - -

Learn from your mistakes, Billy. Remember that. Whether you think you’re perfect or not, you will make mistakes in the ring and I will pick up on them. I will use them against you. That’s just the way it is. You know it’s going to happen and I know it’s going to happen. You can say that I am being cocky, but I’m just being completely honest. Now I was cocky previously when I said that I am going to beat you, because…sticking with honesty, you could pull off the upset. I just have my doubts that you’ll do it. I am just talking from experience.

You got it right when you said I was the most dominant figure in the SCW, outside of Jake Starr. Greg Cherry can go fuck himself. Point blank. I have been in the ring against the best and I’ve beaten them. I am the best pound for pound competitor in this company. You got all of that right, but Billy, I don’t need my ass kissed. Many people will say that I need my ass kicked and I’d like you to try and do that. I want you to get my ass beat. I need it. I need a good ass kicking. It would do wonders for me.

I don’t like to be the one to always hurt someone. It gets boring. I mean, you can only hurt someone a number of ways, before it gets repetitive. I don’t mind doing it. It wakes me up in the morning. You see, as I’ve said before, wrestling is an escape for me. It takes me away from the bullshit in my personal life. It takes my mind off of how fucked up my life is. For a certain period of time, I am in control. I am able to dish out the punishment I feel life, the world has dished out upon me. I get to be a world beater in the ring so to speak. It’s not for the money, because I’d rather wipe my ass with a one hundred dollar bill then spend it on shit I don’t really need. It’s not for the fans, because I’ve stated how moronic they are. Yeah, they cheer you, but Billy they won’t always be there.

They will more than likely turn against you. They will find a new face to cheer or they will go back to the so called proven heroes like CHBK whenever his broken ass gets out of the hospital. They will stop caring for you, because that’s just the way today’s wrestling fans are. If you’re not flashy enough, if you’re not this and if you’re not that, then wave bye-bye to your fan base. It will be meaningless. You may not see that now, but Billy it’ll happen, just wait and see. I’ve gone through it for so long in my career, that I finally told them they can go eat shit and die and I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. Some of them may cheer, because they are more than likely drunk, mainly trying to be just like me, but you see, Billy, there is only me. People can have the same name as me, but they are not me.

You welcome autographs, I hate them. I may sign one for a kid, but I will be fighting back vomit the entire time, truth be told. I mean, how do you think I became the best pound for pound? I did it my way. I stopped trying to be everybody else. I stopped trying to be the pretty boy that you are trying to be, with your fashionable haircut and clothing sense. Not for me.

So take this week, our match, as a way to enlighten your career. I am trying to open your eyes, and show you the way this business works, because quite frankly, despite what you tell yourself to sleep better at night, you don’t know shit. I hope you will take what I’ve said to you this week seriously and that you will try your best to learn from me. This lesson will hurt you. I am pretty sure you’ve already realized that. You should know that I don’t step into the ring without the intention of hurting my opponents, of coming close to crippling them, if not succeeding entirely. You should know that I am out for blood and I don’t like to stop until I see it.

Breakdown, I want you to bring it and when I throw it back, I want you to bring it ten times harder. I know you will tire out, but don’t worry, I will admire your effort, even if they don’t stop me from putting you to sleep.

Enough said. See you in the ring.
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"Bad" Billy Mitchell
The Outlaw
[ *  *  * ]
OOC: Didn't come out quite the way I wanted it do, but I'm still happy with it. THANK YOU to Olek and Josh for allowing the extension. I wanted to make sure this was the closest match of the show! ...Good luck Josh!!

OOC 2: I will be making one edit after posting, to add color and HTML tags. That is all.

EDIT: Colors and Tags Added as stated.
====================================================

Quote:
 
The crowd cheers and Wheeler rolls over. Hudson looks up before turning and grabbing Wheeler. He then sees the blood coming from his head and starts to dig and scratch away at his head. Wheeler yells in pain and Hudson then turns and grabs Wheeler and drags him up by his head. He then looks down at Wheeler before spinning him around and throwing him face first into the top turnbuckle. Wheeler just bounces off and staggers back. Hudson hooks him up for another German suplex and again connects.

Wheeler shoots his shoulder up. Hudson rolls off and looks up. He then turns and grabs Wheeler and slowly drags him up. He then looks at him and smiles before driving Wheeler’s head into his knee. Wheeler falls to his knees. Hudson then grabs him and drags him back up. He then turns and grabs him from the side. He then looks around before taking him over with a side-waistlock back suplex, causing Wheeler to land awkwardly. The crowd groans in sympathy as Wheeler just goes limp, his body rolling to a stop at the ropes. Hudson  turns and pushes to a knee, a smile appearing when he notices the body.


Pausing the tape, Mitchell just leaned back against the battered black leather of the couch with a hard exhale. Dropping the remote onto the table, he massaged the nape as best he could, trying to get the kinks out of the muscles before leaning forward and bracing his arms on his knees, staring down at the mess of papers scattered across the coffee table. Sharper had left the folder on Hudson with him, calling it ‘homework’… so that’s how he’d spent the night: by cramming as much knowledge about Josh Hudson into his head as he could. His eyes had dried up three hours ago, and he could feel the beginnings of a migraine in the back of his skull, but he couldn’t afford to stop. There was too much to know, too much to prepare for… he could remember exams from college that didn’t need this much preparation. Hudson wasn’t just his toughest challenge to date… he’d probably be the toughest challenge in his career, both now, and years into the future. Looking up to the screen, he focused on the depraved twist of Hudson’s lips… it was supposed to be a smile, but it wasn’t. It was too sinister, too… evil. That was the only word he could think of that came close to fitting. Evil. Maybe it was too simplistic, but it was still a perfect fit. Evil.

Dropping his head back against the top of the couch, he cupped his face in both hands and just scrubbed as hard as he could… more to keep the sleep out of his eyes than anything else. It was a weird feeling, knowing that you’d been thrown to the wolves. But, at the same time… it lit something. Sparked a fire in him. Made him want to win just so he could find whoever signed the fight and rub their damned face in it.

Then again, he had to win first… and the more he learned about Josh Hudson, the smaller he saw his chances getting. Hudson had EVERYTHING on his side. He was bigger, stronger, more experienced, and worst of all, he had all the confidence. Sharper might be right about shaking it, but he’d never be able to completely break it. Hudson was a World Champion. That meant he’d seen, done and survived everything.

What the hell could he possibly do to throw a man like that off his game?

“You’re still up?” Thick with sleep, Jessie’s voice broke through his thoughts as she circled around the side of the couch and dropped down next to him, snuggling up into his side. “You need to get some sleep, Billy… you really think this jackass is gonna’ care if you’re tired?”

Lifting his arm so she could press against him, he just let it drop across the back of her shoulders, propping one bare foot up on the coffee table as he stared at the frozen image of Hudson. “I can’t yet, Jess. I don’t know if Sharper’s right, or off his damn rocker, but if Dad trusts him, there’s gotta’ be a reason, you know? …it’s just… everything I read, everything I see, everything I listen to about this guy, just makes it worse. There’s no belt he hasn’t worn, no name he hasn’t humiliated, no mountain he hasn’t climbed… it’s like being thrown in the shark pool to learn how to swim!”

Jess kept quiet for the longest time… letting her eyes drift from her brother’s face, to the cruel look on Hudson’s. Chewing at the inside of her bottom lip, she finally pushed herself upright, leaning back against the arm a little so she could face Mitchell. “Billy… what if you get hurt? …I mean like, REALLY get hurt? …Didn’t Mr. Sharper say this guy’d crippled people before?”

Letting her pull away, he turned to watch her out the corner of his eye. That same fire was back in those baby blues of hers, but it was tarnished now, wetted down by the fear she was trying so hard to hide. The same thought had crossed his mind more than once through the course of the night. Sharper had been adamant about him ‘withstanding’ all the pain. He was convinced that no matter what Hudson brought, he could take… but the way he ripped into Wheeler’s shoulder… the relentless assault he mounted against CHBK’s ribs… or the fight with AWOL. He hadn’t even been able to finish watching that one. He’d turned it off somewhere around the third series of head-butts. Sharper was overestimating him. Sure, he considered himself tough. He was proud of the fact that he could take a punch or two… but the kind of hurt Hudson was going to bring down on him… he wasn’t sure he could survive that. With Evans, the answer had been easy. Long as he kept the pressure on, he was in control. Evans was a reactor, he liked to hang back and pick his spots… Hudson didn’t do that. If there were no spots to pick, he made one himself.

When he didn’t answer, Jessie nudged him, her eyes growing darker with concern, shifting from the soft baby blue to a rich sapphire color. “Billy? …don’t go so quiet on me. C’mon, tell me what you’re thinking about…” Lifting a hand to his hair, she tucked a few strands of it behind his ear. “Are you scared?”

“Hell yes, I’m scared…” He sure as hell wasn’t gonna’ lie about that! …letting her toy with his hair, he let his head just slump back against the couch, staring up at the stained patterns in the ceiling. “I don’t know what scares me more… having to fight the son-of-a-bitch, or knowing that Dad’s gonna’ be watching, and expecting me to come out on top! …I mean, how… how the hell am I supposed to do that?!”

Watching him for the longest time, she finally pulled her hand away and cupped them in her lap, tucking her legs up beneath herself as she slouched back against the cushions. “I don’t know…”

“Me neither.”

Pushing up from the couch, he turned and started across the room. What the hell was he thinking? …did he honestly expect to get in the ring with a guy like Hudson and still walk out under his own power? …better men than him had gone for fifteen, twenty, even thirty minutes with the man, and every last one of them had been left facedown in a puddle of their own blood! …maybe if he was lucky, he’d wind up in a bed next to Casey. Elizabeth would love that! …she could pull the plug on both of them at the same time!

Circling around behind the counter, he ducked down and grabbed the handle on the fridge, yanking it open hard enough to rattle the collection of Buds and Coronas sitting inside. Licking his lips, he eyed one of the Mexican-made longnecks. He could already feel the cold wash down the back of his throat… but his hand reached for one of the bottled waters, instead. Snapping the cap off, he downed the first two pulls in record time, before thumping the plastic bottle down on the bar-top. Elizabeth. Just thinking about that back-stabbing harlot left his blood simmering. Squeezing his eyes shut, he ducked his head and rolled it, letting the bones in his neck sound off in sequence before balling his free hand into a solid fist. Ever since Gloria had snitched on her, the bitch had kept out of sight. No-one had seen or heard from her, but he wasn’t about to think she’d run off. As soon as she found a lawyer willing to push the courts, she’d be back, circling like the vulture she was, trying to take his little girl away from him. Gritting his teeth, he sucked a deep breath into his lungs and forced it back out again. She’d have to go over his dead body first.

It took a while for him to notice the water spilling down his fingers. His fist had closed tight around the bottle, sending the water gushing over his entire hand. Pulling it away, he wiped the palm off on his jeans, then turned and started checking the drawers for a dish-rag… biting back curses at the same time. When he finally found one, he mopped up the mess and just dumped the crushed bottle in the wastebin. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head and pressed both hands to the countertop, sucking another deep breath into his lungs and holding it, waiting for the wash of red to fade from his vision. He wouldn’t lose her. It didn’t matter how long it took, or who he had to take down to keep her with him… he wasn’t going to lose his baby girl. Not when she was all that he had left. She was his world. Plain and simple… his whole world.

A hand settled on his shoulder, as Jessie leaned up to brush a kiss to his cheek. Her voice came slow, soft… more of a whisper than anything else. “It’s okay… it’s ok. Whatever it is, it’s ok… just let it go.”

Curling both hands into fists, he felt his muscles tightening, the tendons cording like steel cables in his arms, his shoulders… until her fingers brushed against him, slow and gentle. Nothing too intimate, nothing beyond the usual, but either way… it helped. It distracted him. He pulled another breath into his lungs, but this time, he let it out slowly… forcing it to sweep the red haze away, to drag the rage along with it like an outgoing tide. Eventually, he was able to lift his head again. Opening his eyes, he found her staring up at him, concerned, mixed with love and something a little softer blending in her eyes as she offered him a knowing smile, and just pressed another kiss to the side of his jaw and gave his shoulder a little squeeze.

“When do you leave?”

“Hmm?” Blinking out of his daze, he glanced back down to her.

“You and Mr. Sharper are flying out today.”

“No, tomorrow.”

“Today is tomorrow, buddy… just ‘cause you never went to bed, it didn’t put the rest of us on pause.” Breaking into a gentle smile, she reached up to palm the side of his face. “When’s your flight?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he folded his arms atop the counter and gazed across the room, back towards the television, where the image of Hudson was still frozen on the screen. “’sposed to meet him at the airport around noon, I think… probably doesn’t give me a whole lot of time.”

“Mmm…” Pulling her arm back, Jessie pushed up the sleeve on her sweatshirt to check her watch. “You got about two hours.” Rubbing his back, she slapped it a couple times before matching his folded-arm pose. “Maybe you should go grab a quick cat-nap… Sharper’ll wanna’ grill you about that stuff the whole flight, probably.”

“Maybe.” Stepping back from the counter, he started back over to the couch and dropped down onto the end. Gathering up the papers, he stuffed them back into the folder as best he could, keeping hold of the bio-sheet, and a copy of the transcript from the man’s last audio monologue. That was another thing that had him worried. He wasn’t the talking type. He hated big speeches… shit, he’d fallen asleep at his own graduation ‘cause he was tired of listening to the guy talk! …Hudson, on the other hand… was like listening to Hannibal Lecter… you just couldn’t tune him out. Looking back up to the television, he reached for the remote and let his finger hover over the power button, while he locked eyes with the cold black pools that sat in the center of Hudson’s face. In less than a day he’d see them up close.

A chill crept down his spine as he pressed the button, and killed the power to the set.

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Hiking his bag a little higher on his shoulder, Mitchell did his best to wade through the endless masses crowded into the Ontario Airport. Even with L.A.X. only a two-hour drive away, Ontario was still the best choice when it came to hopping state lines. The people in Los Angeles were too busy dealing with the international stuff to really bother with ‘local transportation’. Still, smaller or not, the place was just as much a madhouse as any other terminal. Between the businessmen running people over with their damned suitcases, or the little kids ramming the carts into your leg, he was starting to remember why he hated flying so much! …’course the whole ‘fear of heights’ thing wasn’t going to help matters much either.

Stepping into line in front of the metal detectors, he spotted Sharper waiting just inside. Lifting a hand, the silver-haired gentleman nodded his greetings before playfully casting a concerned look towards his watch. Mitchell had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from spearing him with a look. Buried under a couple days worth of clothes was the near-five-pound folder on Hudson… the same one he’d spent all damned night trying to memorize inside and out… not that it had done any good. He still felt like that blonde chick in ‘King Kong’, just waiting for the overgrown ape to appear and smash him into a pancake!

“I was starting to wonder if you’d make it… cutting it a little close young man.” Offering up a warm smile, Sharper reached his arm out and wrapped it around the back of Mitchell’s shoulders. “I got a call from Jessie a few minutes ago, said she was on her way out the door, but wanted me to know that you’d been cramming all night.” As he went on, his voice grew a little more concerned, before he finally turned to face him. “You’re not starting to doubt yourself again, are you?”

“Again?” Mitchell tried to fight back the scoff, but it escaped him anyway. Shaking his head, he just rolled his eyes a little before shaking his head. “Mr. Sharper, I appreciate you trying to get me ready for this, but let’s be honest about something… Hudson is gonna’ kill me. We can talk about enduring the pain and making him doubt himself all we want, but the bottom line is: Guys like Hudson don’t doubt themselves.” Now it was his turn to grow a little sterner with his tone. “You said it yourself, he’s won every title there is, some of them more than once, he’s been undefeated for a whole year, and he’s probably the one guy in this company that EVERYONE fears, no questions asked. And you expect me to suddenly up and convince myself that I’m gonna’ break him in two in just ONE DAY?! …no offense, Sir, but you are out of your gat-damned mind!”

Stopping short, Sharper flashed him a stare through his thin-rimmed glasses. Behind the blue-tinted lenses, his faded blue eyes hardened like gunmetal, before he scanned the waiting area and noticed a private corner near one of the unused gates. With surprising quickness, he grabbed the lapel of Mitchell’s duster and drug him over to the thick bay windows looking out onto the tarmac. One or two people glanced up from their seats, but they all went back to their magazines, cell phones and PSP’s before long.

“Alright, listen to me, Mitchell, and listen good, ‘cause I’m not in the habit of repeating myself if I don’t have to.” Letting more than a little of the frustration show, Sharper zeroed in on Mitchell’s hazel-greens. “You’re right. You’ve got about a snowball’s chance in hell of beating Hudson, but that’s still a chance, and it’s better than a lot of others have had. You think someone like Aaron Rupp, or Blake Mason, or even Christian Savior would be able to bring Hudson down? …not a chance. Not a damned chance. Rupp, maybe, if he kept his head on straight and used his speed, but the others? …he’d break ‘em in half.”

“No shit, why the hell d’you think I’m wondering why the hell you got me so pumped up for!?”

“I just told you, it’s because I think you have a shot! …if Hudson was at his peak, at his best, no, I would have told you to stay home, call in sick, find a way to back out. But he’s not! …he’s hurt!” Lowering his voice, he reached out to grab the back of Mitchell’s neck, much like Cody had the night before. “CHBK and AWOL both left him hurt. He’s still too good for you to beat down, but like I said last night, he’s going to bring as much as he can as fast as he can and as hard as he can for as long as he can… all you need to do is keep your feet until it lulls out.” Loosening his grip, Sharper gave a quiet exhale, and let Mitchell straighten back up a little. “Look, Billy, if you want to keep second-guessing yourself; then go ahead. If I remember right, that’s one of the reasons Cody quit. I wanted to see him go all the way. I did. And now that I’ve seen you in the ring, you know what I think?”

Silent, Mitchell just shook his head. “What?”

Sharper didn’t even blink. “I think you’re twice the wrestler he was.” Bringing his hand back around to Mitchell’s front, he jabbed a single finger into the man’s chest, just above his heart. “I love your dad, Billy. Cody’s one of my closest friends, but he just wasn’t cut out for wrestling. YOU are. You’re faster, you’re more talented, you’re tough as hell, and most importantly, you’ve got the two things your father didn’t have.” Pulling his hand away, he counted them off. “You’ve got the heart, and you’ve got the determination. You WANT to be a wrestler. You KNOW that’s where you belong, and that’s what makes you so damned good… even good enough to bring down a monster like Hudson, if you can actually pick your head up long enough to BELIEVE you can. No, it won’t be easy… this is the SCW! …there’s no such thing as an easy win here! …you’re gonna’ get hurt, and you’re gonna’ get hurt bad; but damn it, I know you can tough it out, and so do you, so stop standing there trying to tell me you aren’t ready for this!”

Taking a step back, Mitchell just bowed his head and turned to the windows, lifting his eyes enough to watch one of the massive jets taxing out to the runway. Tightening his grip on the strap of his duffel, he pulled his attention back from the view, and focused it on the faint reflection in the glass… studying himself. Slowly, he found his eyes in the thick window, meeting his own stare as he let Sharper’s words mull around in the back of his head. He couldn’t bring himself to believe half of them… tougher than his Dad? …he doubted that. There wasn’t much Cody Mitchell couldn’t handle… he was stuck in a damned nightmare thanks to Elizabeth. A guy like Hudson didn’t just deserve a focused mind… he DEMANDED it… and instead, he was bouncing around like a damned pinball… Casey in the hospital… Elizabeth and the lawyer… Hudson… the IWC …nothing settled. Nothing ever held still long enough for him to devote any real time to it. Scatterbrained as he was right now, Hudson was going to rip him limb from fucking limb!

“Hey, I know that face… and it’s not allowed!”

Snapping his head up, he whipped around to see Jessie coming towards them, her strawberry-red hair pulled back in a loose tail and threaded through the hole of a ‘Dixie Chicks’ cap. Dragging a small overnight bag behind her, she sidled up to Sharper and nudged him with a shoulder. To his credit, the old man did his best to look shocked… but eventually fell into a warm smile and wrapped an arm around her.

“No.”

Mocking up a pout, Jessie turned and huffed at Mitchell, planting one hand to her hip. “The hell you mean ‘No’? …I just slapped down three hundred bucks just so I could be there to watch you kick the horse-shit outta’ that asshole, and now here you are tellin’ me ‘No’? …I don’t think so. I’m gettin’ on that plane, and there ain’t a damned thing you’re gonna’ do to stop me.”

“Watch me what?” Huffing out a heavy sigh, he dropped his bag onto one of the seats and threw his arms out to the sides. “What happened to ‘what if you really get hurt’?! …huh? …six hours ago you were ready to kick his ass over talking me into all this, now you come here ready to watch? …whatever the hell you’re smokin’ Jess, toss the shit, ‘cause I think it’s gone bad.”

Dropping her own bag, Jessie turned and offered a shy smile to Sharper. “Could you excuse us for a second, please? …we’ll be right there. I promise.” Turning a less polite smile towards her brother, she narrowed those already dark-sapphire eyes. “I promise.”

“Not a problem, Ms. Mitchell. I’ll see you both on the plane.” Taking up his bag, Sharper set a hand to Jessie’s shoulder, and winked over his own back at Mitchell, before heading off towards the gate.

Without looking away from her eyes, Mitchell just called after him. “No, you won’t!”

“Billy, look—”

“No, I won’t look.” He didn’t yell, but his voice went as hard and flat as solid stone. “What the hell are you pulling, Jess? …what the hell are you doing here?”

“Apologizing.”

“What?”

Giving a quiet sigh, she just lifted her hands, placating him. “Look, I’m sorry, ok? …about the thing with Casey, about getting so upset last night and the night before… all of it. I just… I worry about you! …you know that! …next to Dad, you and Casey are the only family I’ve got left, and I don’t want to lose that! …I don’t want to lose any of it!” Folding her arms around herself, she dropped her eyes, but only for a second, then they were back with the same burn behind them. “I don’t know if Casey said anything or not, but if you heard her, I should have been the first one to believe you. I wasn’t, and I’m sorry! …and this whole thing with Hudson… just… the thought of you getting hurt… or winding up like those guys in the pictures… I didn’t wanna’ see that happen! …I don’t want to see you get hurt!” Stepping forward, she closed her arms tight around his waist, burying her face into his chest. “I love you, Billy… I just got scared.”

“What… and you think I’m not?” Softening his own voice, he circled one arm around the back of her waist, and cupped the other one to her cheek. “I spend twenty-hours a day watching a bunch of machines do everything from breathe to piss for my daughter. Her own mother is trying to kill her off just to wrench the knife in my back, and I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna’ keep it from happening. I can’t remember the last time I woke up and wasn’t scared shitless! ...” Reaching up to sweep his fingers through his hair, he stepped back and turned towards the window again. “But like Dad said, what the hell else am I gonna’ do? …sit around that room waiting for the shit to hit the fan?! …look… I don’t give a rat’s ass WHAT Elizabeth says… Casey’s alive. She just needs time to wake up, and when she does, we can bring her home and everything will go back to normal.” He nodded to himself, needing to hear it just as much as anyone else. “Until then, all I can do is wait. I can’t do it in that room, and I sure as hell can’t sit around in the house all damned day, ‘cause all I do is think about my little girl… and when I think about my little girl, I start thinking about Elizabeth, and then I get pissed, and then I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself!” Slamming a palm to the window, he squeezed his eyes shut, seething his breathe through clenched teeth while waiting for the wave to pass. Dropping his head, he shook it a little, his voice thinning out to a half-defeated whisper. “At least this way, I can pretend she’s watching. I can get in that ring, and tell myself she’s waiting behind the curtain, just like she used to. Cheering louder than anyone else, and telling everyone she sees that that’s her Daddy in that ring.” When he lifted his head, he noticed the tears on his cheeks in the reflection. He hadn’t even felt them fall. “At least I have that to hold onto.”

For a long time, neither one of them said anything… until the soft ping of the intercom announced their flight was beginning to board. Looking back over her shoulder, Jessie watched the people starting to line up in front of the desk. Sharper was standing off to the side, waiting patiently, but watching them. When he saw her looking, he nodded with a gentle smile, but motioned to his wrist. Nodding her head, she reached down to grab her bag, slipping it back over her shoulder before moving over to Mitchell and setting a hand to his shoulder, gently turning him from the window to face her making him meet her eyes.

“Ok.” Smiling, she reached up to brush one of the tears away with her thumb, and settled her palm against his unshaven cheek. “Then pick up your bag… and get on the plane. ‘Cause she’s waiting to see her Daddy beat the livin’ hell out Mr. Josh Hudson.” Without another word, she simply turned and started towards the gate, leaving him standing at the window.

Taking a second to reach up and wipe the back of his hand against his eyes… Mitchell let out a heavy breath, before turning and picking his bag off the floor. Hiking it up high on his shoulder, he took one last look at his reflection in the glass, and then started towards the gate. Time to give his little girl a show…
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