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The Redeemer vs. Joss Morrison
Topic Started: Jan 11 2012, 08:13 PM (169 Views)
Kassie Khane
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Admin and Second in Command of the Nation of Moderation
[ *  *  * ]
SCW PRESENTS: Featuring:

The Redeemer vs. Joss Morrison

RP Limit: 1 RP each
Deadline: Noon EST Tuesday January 17, 2012

~~Good Luck Everyone!~~
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Max Kane
Andrew
[ *  *  * ]
Disclaimer:Surprised I got anything off given how crazy the past week has been. Alright so this actually begins a new story arc for Morrison and Allison. Since Allison technically counts as a member of YNFTT, she too will have a story down the road and all three stories(including the Collin Cole Chronicles) will intertwine with each other, which this one actually does. The CD is just a prologue and foreshadowing for the Collin Cole Chronicles as well so Good Luck and Enjoy!

Ford Mustang:The Trials of Love

Prologue: Dude I Think I Love Her

Monday, January 2nd, 2012 around 10:00 A.M. in Las Vegas, Nevada

"You're still tired Joss," Allison stated as the two were sitting on the couch in the living room. Allison slowly picked up her head from Joss' chest and saw Joss' eyes closed, which prompted her to ask such a question.

"No totally got my eight hours of sleep last night," Joss muttered.

"So why do you have your eyes closed silly?"

"I'm picturing us somewhere that's you know peaceful and stuff."

"Well isn't this peaceful enough?"

"I mean yeah it is. But when we open our eyes, we can only imagine and do what we see. When we our eyes closed, we can imagine anything you know? I mean the things we can think of are just unlimited. In a way it kinda helps me not think about what happened on this day seven years ago." Allison stared at Joss for a moment, knowing exactly what he was talking about. Seven years ago on this day Joss saw his drunken father abusing his mother late at night. On that night Joss tried to protect his mother however he too suffered a beating from him.

It was no secret that he was extremely naive but what people don't know is that every now and then Joss shows some flashes of brilliance. He's also shown to have a very creative mind; which was evident of his excellent artistic ability. Since they've dated, Allison has come to see a different side of Joss; not the goofy, idiotic side the world sees but a more serious yet compassionate side of him. She liked this side of Joss; not that she hated his usual goofy nature; granted when they first met she loathed it but over time she has come to appreciate who he is.

"Oh yeah I forgot about that," Allison stated.

"My mother told me and my sister that when she was fighting with my dad and stuff. It's how my sis and I got through the whole thing." Joss finally began to slowly open his light green eyes. "I still hate that man. He always called Cat and I mistakes. Well the word he described us was abominations."

"And that's fine Joss. You should still be angry for what he put you and your mother and sister though. And you shouldn't care what he said about you because it doesn't matter. You're clearly not a mistake Joss. You are better than your father in so many ways that his words should be irrelevant to you." Allison soon brought her eyes to peer into Joss'.

"Everyday you prove him wrong Joss. Everyday you prove that you will never as scummy as your father. And besides you, your sister and your mother are much better off now. So just stop thinking about your father, he's in the past now." Joss soon smiled, realizing that Allison was right.

"You know Alli, you are a totally awesome girlfriend," Joss smiled as Allison smiled back as they held hands.

"Well I try," Allison teased. Suddenly, the two saw Rufus walk in the living along with Collin, who hasn't been home since Friday night.

"Collin you're back," Allison sated as Collin remained looking indifferent.

"Yeah I'm back," he responded.

"How's Aubrey doing?"

"She was in critical condition when I got there. But luckily they stabilized her so she's going to pull through."

"Oh thank god dude," Joss replied. Soon Allison's phone began ringing and Allison quickly grabs it from the table.

"Hello," she answered.

"Who is it," Joss asked.

"It's Lauren." Allison quickly got off the couch and began walking upstairs while on the phone with her older sister. Meanwhile Collin soon sat on the couch next to Joss.

"Well dude it's totally great that Aubrey's going to make it," Joss said with a smile however Collin didn't feel the same happiness Joss did.

"Yeah great right," Collin muttered.

"Dude what's wrong? Isn't this what we wanted? I mean like Aubrey could have died in that accident. Come on man get happy!"

"Look I am glad that she didn't die but I don't feel as happy as you."

"Dude I totally don't know what you're talking about."

"Joss, I think Allison was right man."

"She was right about what?"

"Joss I think I love her." Joss' eyes grew wide open as he just stared at his best friend. Collin let out a deep sigh before running his hands through his hair.

"When I went to hospital and the doctors let me go in her room and when I saw her on that bed with tubes in her arms and her connected to the machine as support to keep her alive; I realized just how much she means to me and how I guess empty my life would be if she was gone. And the crazy thing is that she's on that bed because of me." Collin hung his head as Joss padded him on his shoulder.

"Dude that's totally not true. I mean you totally wasn't there when she got in that accident so there's no way that it could be your fault man."

"No you're wrong Joss. When she was driving that night, I know she was hurting. Think about it dude, it was the Holidays, his mother just died and the person that she loved basically stomped on how she felt about him. If I never did that Joss she wouldn't have never got in that accident. And now she probably hates me." Joss shakes his head as Collin continues to hold his head down.

"Dude you got to stop beating yourself up man. All I've heard from you lately is you talking how you wished you didn't do this or how you wished you didn't do that. Look dude, it happened and there's nothing you can do about it to change that. However that doesn't mean you can't change what happens next. Aubrey loves you man and now you realize you love her and if that's the case, that's all that matters. My mom told once told me love conquers all and once you find that one person that you love, everything goes away. Aubrey that's person Collin, so what are you waiting for?" Collin soon picked his head up and stared at Joss.

"Wow dude that's pretty deep coming from you," Collin said with a serious tone but also as a way to take a jab at Joss.

"What's that suppose to mean," Joss fired back, feeling insulted. Collin soon let out a laugh before putting his hands on Joss' shoulders.

"Relax Joss I'm just joking. But you're right. Allison was right. You both have been right and yet I've been ignorant to admit the truth."

"So what are you going to do then?"

"I don't know yet dude. I'll come up with something I'm sure."

"You better hope so Collin. But dude, you're not the only one in love man?" Collin soon raised a smile to his face, knowing exactly what Joss was talking about.

"So let me guess, you're falling in love with Allison," Collin asked.

"Dude you totally read my mind. This is like the first time I've felt this way for a girl that I've dated."

"So this isn't like when we were juniors back in high school and you said you loved the head cheerleader Hayley Crawford because she would give you blowjobs after all of your football practices, parties, during study hall until you heard that she had STDs and you totally panicked?"

"Dude I thought we agreed to like never bring that up ever again. Not cool!"

"Alright then but in all of seriousness I don't blame you dude. Allison's a good girl and she makes you happy-"

"Yeah exactly dude. But I don't know if I should tell her now. I mean we've been going out for like four months. Is that too soon? Besides dude isn't it like a rule that the girl is suppose to say I love you to the dude rather than the other way around?" Collin once again smirks before shaking his head.

"Dude," Collin replied while speaking in a low voice, "we're not in high school anymore. We've all grown up now so ignore the whole "the girl is suppose to tell the dude she loves him first." You and Allison have something while I've been juggling between different women the past three months. All I'm going to say is don't make the same mistake I just did. If you feel that way; tell her. I'm sure she feels the same way dude." Collin flashes a smile as Joss nods his head.

"Yeah you're right dude," Joss stated before the two bumped knuckles.

"So dude we should go out tonight," Collin said with a smirk. "I mean it's been a while since we did."

"HA dude that sounds epic!"

"Of course it does dude."
_____________________________________________________________________
Upstairs in Allison's room

"Wait he's back," Allison said on disbelief while laying on her back Indian style still on the phone.

"I couldn't believe it either," said Lauren, who was on the other end.

"I thought he was dead."

"He was presumed dead Alli remember?"

"But still no one saw in since that day Lauren. It's been two years there's no way this is possible."

"Alli, I'm telling you, he was here and he was looking for you." Allison remained silent, frozen to what she had here.

"Alright I'll be there later tonight ok?"

"Alright Alli. See ya when you get here." Allison hung up the phone and just laid on the bed in absolute shock. She thought he was dead. There's no way he could be alive. She had to find out for herself. She had to see him again.

"Ms. Ford Joss and Collin are about to head off and they wanted to know if you wanted to accompany them," said Rufus as he slowly opened the door.

"Tell them to leave without me," Allison said with a low tone.

"I'll pass it along but you seem troubled? Care to tell what's wrong?"

"I'm fine. But could you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Could you somehow arrange a jet so I can go to Reno. It's an emergency." Rufus could tell by the tone of her voice that this was urgent.

"I can see that. Alright I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks."
_____________________________________________________________________
The SCW spots Joss Morrison in the YNFTT locker room sporting a black Ford Mustang shirt with black skinny jeans and a silver spike bracelet on his right wrist. One thing that is also noticeable is the bandage on top of his head.

Joss: OK so like at Friday Night Ammo was my first ever Underground match. i was super stoked going in because I've already said that i plan on totally ruling the Underground one day. People think I'm crazy for even thinking about doing what I'm doing and dudes; perhaps I am crazy. That's what the Underground division is like all about. It's all about being extreme and Mustang Morrison can get extreme.

And besides, Collin was right when he said that SCW was a land of opportunity or something like that. I mean my bro is starting to prove people wrong. People said that he was a "tag team wrestler" and yet he totally PWNed Alex Jr, who was like a former Adrenaline Champion. And although he lost to Shaun Cruze, he's still proving that he totally can hang with anybody.

And that's what I want dudes. I want to prove myself to everyone that I too can hang with the best. I too want to make my own name. Yeah dudes Collin and I are Your New Favorite Tag Team, but we're also guys that want singles success also. And so I see the Underground division as my chance to do that. My chance to make Mustang Morrison a real big name around here.

I've heard what everyone has said about me going this road. That I'm too worried about my beautiful face to even last in the Underground. That I'm in Collin's shadow. But dudes I'm totally not and I'm going to prove it to all of the YNFTT fans out there. I promise you guys I will work as hard as possible to make this happen. Because Mustang Morrison doesn't do down without a fight dudes.

Joss smirks for a moment.

Morrison: Alright this week guys I have a perfect chance to redeem myself from losing to Natalie Nichols against the Redeemer. HA that's totally ironic dudes. I have a chance to redeem myself against a dude name the Redeemer! OK so Redeemer, like I've seen you in the ring and you're one tough dude. I mean you totally took an ass kicking by that Ebdon dude and yet you came back with a vengeance. That's takes like so much guts.

But dude, I have to ask you; do you totally think you can destroy Infamous by yourself? I mean dude I know I wasn't the best guy in math but you're like outnumbered seven to one. It's not like you have super powers and stuff although your mask really kinda makes you look like a superhero. But still dude I'm sure you could like come up with a better plan since you're like so obsessed with them. Seriously dude you're totally on the border of being a stalker dude.

Now I'm totally not trying to call you stupid because you look like you get really angry. I'm just saying dude if you keep going after those dues you're going to end up way worst then you did last time.

Redeemer, this week you're going against me and I'm sure you think you're going to completely destroy me like how Tebow got PWNed by the Patriots. But don't underestimate me dude because you haven't seen the best of Mustang Morrison. In fact, I've only warmed up. Sure I took a gnarly spill at Ammo and my beautiful face was totally covered in blood, but I'm going to be one hundred percent for our match.

I seriously hope you're not worried about Lucas Knight because you have to deal with me first and trust me, it's going to take a lot to put Mustang Morrison down. At Breakdown, I'm going to go all out no matter how much I damage my body. See that match with Natalie I guess taught me something. It taught me that sometimes you must make sacrifices and if I have to put this face on the line to win, I will. It doesn't matter how many times I bleed or like get a black eye, I will do anything to win. So if you are like underestimating me dude, you're totally making a mistake because I will make you regret it.

At Breakdown, win, lose or draw, I'm going to leave everything in that ring and prove to everyone that I can be something. That just like Collin I too can have success around here. So Redeemer, I just bring it on dude! Bring you best because this Mustang's engine is revved up and it's ready to go!

Joss smirks in confidence for a moment.

Morrison: See you out there Redeemer.
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megaron
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So it goes.
[ *  * ]
[align=center]Chapter IX: Hatchet Job

1. Dear Joanna
[/align]
The celebration was long and more than inspired. Their bodies ached from passion and lust, and he felt like a king yet again in the afterglow. Despite this, he knew that there was a new challenge on the horizon, and that there was some business that he had to take care of in Houston, Texas. She returned from the bathroom and draped her arm over his body, and nuzzled his chest. His heart was still beating rapidly, but it was more out of nervousness than affection. She didn't know that, though. He knew that he couldn't allow her to get involved, he couldn't allow her to get hurt. She needed to remain anonymous to the wrestling world, so that the Order and Infamous wouldn't target her. He left her in Charlotte with a note bearing his name.

She woke up with her hand on his pillow just after he passed through the metal detectors at the airport. Confused by his absence, she threw the comforter over her shoulders and peeked out the door to the end of the hall where the ice machine stood. He wasn't there. She glanced in the other direction, and when she couldn't find him, she cursed his name as a lonely tear rolled down her pink cheek. She felt violated and betrayed, like she had with every other guy before him. She grabbed her cell phone and dialled her brother's number. He picked up almost immediately.

“Mickey, here,” she hated his way of answering the phone, but she couldn't really do anything about it. He was convinced that just because he had a blog on a wrestling rumours site, that he was J. Jonah Jameson. Meanwhile, Mickey was sitting in his bedroom some hundreds of miles away in Rochester, NY. He was hammering out his thoughts on tonight's episode of Friday Night Ammo in boxers and a loose white t-shirt, surrounded by cold pizza and stale beer.

“Mickey, it's Jo. He's gone,” she said, adjusting the comforter over her chest. Even though he was far away, she still felt wrong talking to him with her breasts exposed. “Duff, he... went away. He's gone. I don't know where he is, but I've got a bad feeling, regardless.”

“Are you sure he didn't just go out for a cigarette, or a bag of Doritos, or something?”

“Pretty sure,” she replied. “I don't think that 4 a.m. is an ideal time to go for a snack run. I would say that I'm certain that he hasn't returned to his tobacco habit, but you never can tell with nicotine addicts.”

“Try telling that to the Hammets,” he snorted. The Hammets were the neighbourhood pot-heads. Their living room looked like it had seen more smoke damage than a Whitesnake concert, and it smelled like Woodstock.

“Mickey, this isn't funny,” she insisted. “I'm really worried. What if he's hurt or something? What if he's been kidnapped? Oh, that would figure,” she put her palm to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Just days before his big showdown with Lucas Knight, and he gets kidnapped.”

“I doubt very much that he's been kidnapped,” Mickey said.

“Oh, yeah?” Joanna knew that he could feel her eyes staring through him. “We snapped him up pretty easily. All we needed were roofies and a car to conveniently help him into.”

Mickey was quiet for a few moments. “Shit, you're right I guess it's not that difficult to abduct someone. Still, what are the chances of that happening right now? I mean, he has to be on the look-out this close to the biggest match in his SCW career. He's fighting Lucas Knight in less than a week, there's no way he'd let someone fuck that up for him. Did he leave a note or anything?”

She had to admit that she hadn't checked for a note. As a fan of the short-lived television show, Arrested Development, she knew that failing to leave a note was a cardinal sin. She told her brother to hold on as she looked through the drawers, flipped through the Gideons' Bible, scoured the mini-fridge, and when all else failed, she got on her hands and knees and looked under the bed. She threw his pillow against the wall, frustrated by her fruitless search, and there it was, written on the hotel's “Dew Drop Inn” stationary. She picked up the phone.

“Mickey? I've found it,” she said.

“Very nice, what does it say?” he readied his hands to type out his breaking news story about the apparent suicide of Duff Côte d'Ivoire, the story that would make him famous and probably land him a gig writing a sports editorial at some big wrestling magazine. He eagerly waited on her words.

“Gone to make peace,” she said. “Back later.”

Mickey finished typing and stared at the blinking cursor for a few moments with a puzzled look on his face. How could that be anything bad, or worth sending in to his bosses at the wrestling rumours site, WrestleWireLine.com? He turned it over in his head and looked for some kind of secret code, but nothing obvious jumped out at him. Duff didn't have many friends, most of them were dead or retired. He only had enemies. Mickey shrugged his shoulders, and assumed that Duff was talking about his buddies, Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker. Maybe he was meeting up with a dealer to score some drugs. Or, what if....

“What if he's going back to Alexis Sharpcraft?” Joanna asked her brother.

The idea hadn't occurred to Mickey, but when she said that to him, the hairs on his neck stood on end. He could feel electricity pulsing through him, and he had to do everything to keep himself from jumping into the air and doing a fist-pump. Bringing Alexis Sharpcraft back into the fold would mean that Duff would never lose, but first, he would have to convince her that he was a changed man and that they could make peace with one another. Yes, Duff had a lot of work to do if that was, in fact, the case.

“I think,” started Mickey. “If Duff went back to Alexis Sharpcraft, there would be no chance of him losing come Body, Heart, and Soul. She's always been able to inspire him to do great things, and she's more than capable of defending herself if someone decided to run down and interrupt the match. I think that you might be on to something, sis.”

Joanna could feel the warm streak of jealous tears running down her cheek. She wanted her brother to say anything else. Anything that didn't involve one of Duff's ex-lovers; that it was a possibility that he was going to go and reform the Canadian Alliance with “Highflyin'” Chris Cannon, or maybe he was talking with someone else – anyone else – about watching his back at Body, Heart, and Soul. Just as long as it wasn't Alexis Sharpcraft.

“Yeah,” she said, half-heartedly before putting the phone down on the receiver. She looked at her clothes in a cluttered mess on the floor, and began putting them on. She wondered to herself how someone she had admired for such a long time could have done something like this to her. She had always read horror stories about people who met their celebrity heroes, and they always ended up being huge ass holes in the end. She didn't want to believe that this could be true of Duff, too.


[align=center]2. Mrs. Strader and the Outlaw Torn[/align]
The day started out normal. Amy Nash Strader was still getting used to that. She opened her jaded green eyes to the irritating sound of an old fake-wood panelled alarm clock. Kids these days would call such craftsmanship 'vintage.' It had been almost eight months to the day since she had lost her girls and her estranged husband to the white-hot bullets of a crazed fanatic's Glock. Their names were Meghan, Tamika, and Scott Nash Strader, and it was strange to see a world without them in it, but that's what she witnessed every time she opened those emerald eyes. In spite of this, there was an old saying that she had seen on posters, books, and journals inside of supermarkets that had taken root in her heart: keep calm and carry on.

She took a shower, cleansing herself of last night's sweat wrought from a million restless thrashes at comfort. She washed the name-brand conditioner out of her vibrant red locks, and dried off. She threw on her black robe and wrapped a towel around her hair before stopping in her bedroom and grabbing her pack of smokes. She lit one and took that first sweet inhale of the day. Her lungs filled with cancer. She had started smoking her ex-husband's favourite brand ever since he passed on. It was her way of holding on to every little piece of him that she could, but as any professional psychiatrist can tell you, whiskey and cigarettes are not the most proactive ingredients for a grieving process.

“Fuck 'em,” she thought to herself. Every time the picture of some pencil-necked, granola-munching, hippie blue-stater with a Ph.D. in psychology sprang up in her mind, that's what she would say. Fuck 'em. They didn't know her, or her struggle, and they would never understand it for as long as they crawled around on the muddy earth. She knew that there were no pills that could douse the intense anguish inside of her, and it wasn't from lack of trying.

The boys still stopped in every once in a while. Strapping men wearing bandanas and whose skin was coloured with ink and scars. Men with stories to tell. Men with the same tattoo. They were called the Brothers of Mayhem. After the Cowboys from Hell fell away into obscurity, Scott had decided that it would be a good idea to launch his own bike club in its wake. He partnered up with another group of bikers, known as the Bandidos, and they formed a peaceful alliance.

She got dressed and headed out to her old four-door sedan. Life insurance had paid out pretty nicely, allowed her to find a new home and start up a business of her own. Specifically, a bar named 'Crime and Punishment.' She had spent a lot of time there when she was younger, running around with Scott and the boys. When its previous owner packed up stake and moved to friendlier grounds, she was more than happy to swoop in and pick up the deed.

Amy Nash Strader unlocked the door to Crime and Punishment and walked into its vast music hall. They hosted live music every week; no major bands, but they still drew a pretty good 21-and-over crowd. Good enough to keep them afloat, anyway. The hardwood floors were mopped nightly, even on the nights when there was no blood and no beer staining it. There were photos lining the walls here, family portraits of a sort. Pictures of her boys and her girls who had helped her build this place up to what she really wanted it to be. She smiled, and walked to the office in the back.

The office was decorated with a south western American Indian motif. There were wooden cactuses beside the desk, and a red-and-white throw rug decorated in a sort of tribal pattern. Her eyes immediately looked up at the picture of Scott, Tamika, and Meghan all standing together. It was a publicity shot from the Pioneer Wrestling Association, and they had mailed it to her upon news of Scott's demise. She kept it over her desk, thinking that they were watching over her at all times. She would turn and ask them for help when she needed guidance with business decisions.

“Mornin', guys,” she said, instinctively popping the day's second smoke from her pack and lighting up with Scott's trademark chrome-plated Zippo. She took a drag and exhaled, scenting the air with his smoky breath. It had become a tradition for her, like LeBron James' famous salt throwing before a big game.

“You know, those things'll kill ya,” he said. Her heart stalled for a moment and her eyes dropped to the office chair that she had somehow failed to notice swinging back and forth like a pendulum. The man spun around to face her, and she knew him instantly though she hadn't seen him in years. He was Scott's protégé at one point in time, set to inherit the Cowboys from Hell when he retired. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt and blue jeans. His hair was all slicked back but his beard was wild. He put his cowboy boots up on her desk, and she just stared at him like a priest looking at the devil himself.

The cigarette fell from her lips and the small specks of ember died in the air. She promptly snuffed the butt with her own leather boot, never breaking her defensive stance.

When Scott Nash Strader died, he was not on the best terms with Duff Côte d'Ivoire. In fact, he stabbed Duff in the back and joined the Order of Chaos before he perished. Months after that happened, the entire Strader clan attempted to apologize to Duff. They wanted to put it all behind them, but Duff would not have it. He never forgave Scott Nash Strader or his daughters, and now, the man that she knew as Duff was sitting in Crime and Punishment with Scott Nash Strader's ex-wife, twirling a hatchet in his hand like a bored student with a pencil.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “Are you here to kill me? Get some form of payback for what Scott did to you when he was still walking this planet? He apologized, you know. He said that he was sorry, and he meant it.”

The man watched her with a flat face and continued playing with the hatchet. Finally, he broke a grin.

“Mrs. Strader, it's so good to see you. It's been some time,” he rose to his feet. “I assure you, I am not here to gain vengeance through you. I visited Scott and the girls earlier today and... well,” he walked over to the wall, placing the hatchet in its leather sheath with its twin in an 'X' formation before turning to Amy again with a smile.

“I guess you could say that we buried the hatchet.” He shrugged. “Life is too short for me to eternally fight the people I considered family at one time, and I don't want there to be any bad blood between myself and future Strader kin. You guys procreate like bunnies, and I've already got enough on my plate.”

Amy glared at him, unconvinced, and lit another smoke. She was unwilling to bend down and retrieve the one she had stomped out earlier because she wasn't entirely sure that he was being sincere. Her nerves weren't eased by the absorption of nicotine into her system.

“You didn't just come here because you wanted to say you've made your amends with Scott, now cut to the chase. I don't have time for philosophical discussions, I'm running a business here. What do you want?”

He chuckled under his breath and got closer to her. Amy began backing away, she didn't want to be anywhere near this guy. He had always been a loose cannon, according to Scott, and she didn't want to be anywhere within arm's reach if he went off.

“No bullshit,” he said, smirking. “Just like the good old days.”

“I don't have time to wax reminiscent, either,” she said, slowly moving to the other side of the desk. “Cut. To. The. Chase.”

“Bottom line is this,” he stopped walking towards her and clapped his hands together. “Amy: I wanted to get your opinion on something.”

“My opinion?” Her eyebrow jumped and her voice followed it. “On what? Politics? I don't care for socialism. Fashion? Your peach fuzz could definitely use a trim. Sports? The Red Wings are going to destroy the Sabres tonight. If it's anything other than that, then you've come to the wrong place. I don't know you that well, Duff, but I know that I don't like you breaking into my establishment, playing with my wall ornaments, and –”

“I don't need your opinion on me,” he shouted, slamming his hands on the desk and interrupting her tirade. He lowered his voice to meet the newly born silence, and his eyes so that they were level with hers. The intensity of the moment and the softness of his voice clashed. “I need your opinion on Scott. More specifically, I need your opinion on what he would do.”

She didn't understand. He sat down on the metal folding chair across from the leather office chair that Amy gripped like a hawk with its dinner.

“What would Scott Nash Strader do?” The man known publicly as the Redeemer asked. “If the odds were stacked against him, what would Scott Nash Strader do? For months now, I've been fighting this group called Infamous. They bully the roster in Supreme Championship Wrestling, they try to twist the arm of the establishment to get what they want, and their leaders are in with the Order of Chaos. I'm the only guy fighting these people, and it's hard, Amy. It's real hard. Three months ago, they gave me a concussion and almost broke my neck. I haven't been able to secure a win against any of their members. There's always someone from the group there to trip me up just enough. I'm going up against their leader at Body, Heart, and Soul and I can't run the risk that I'll be put out of commission again.”

“What do you want me to do about it? Anyone with an ounce of sense will tell you that it's all your fault for biting off more than you can chew.”

“Trust me, I know,” he said. “That's all that anyone has been telling me ever since I started this. To say that I haven't thought about just waving the white flag and going about the rest of my career blissfully under the radar of Infamous would be a lie. Believe me, it goes through my mind every single day. I ask myself: is it worth it?”

He looks away for a moment to reflect in the disgust that he feels with himself for even questioning his mission. Three years and many good friends lost, and here he was questioning his abilities. He frowned and looked back at Amy, who was still holding the leather chair to buffer herself from the crazy man in front of her.

“Is eliminating Infamous really worth the blood that I'll spill, or the bones that I'll break? Every day, I come back with the same answer, Amy. I come to the conclusion that it is worth it because I'm going to die someday, and when the day comes that death's cold hand touches my body, I'll be able to tell my grandchildren that I fucking did something with my life, and that I fought for what I believe in,” he removes his sunglasses and clips them to his shirt before looking Mrs. Strader in the eye for the first time with the piercing gaze that was emblazoned on Mickey White's old t-shirt. “But I can't do it alone.”

She knew what this was about now. She knew what he was going to ask, and she knew that she couldn't make any promises. She also knew that she wasn't adverse to lying for the sake of conflict resolution. Finally, she let go of the chair and flicked her cigarette – which had been extinguished on its own while Duff was speaking – into the crystal ash tray on the desk. It, too, had been Scott's.

“So, you want the Brothers of Mayhem to stand in your corner when you go in and fight this guy?” She smirked, and reignited her smoke. “I'm sure we can work something out.”


[align=center]3. Columbia[/align]
The Redeemer had adopted a new policy whenever he was in public: never have your back to a door. Today, the SCW cameras have found him in the corner of a bar in Houston, TX. The person manning the equipment is sitting next to him, so we get a good look at the shot of whiskey in his hand, and the cow's skull hanging from the wooden walls, directly over his head. He's not wearing his mask, but instead, he's donned a pair of sunglasses that hide the windows to his soul. He always loved to cut a promo wearing sunglasses, it made him feel cool. If he wasn't so sure that he would get hooked again, he would also be puffing on a Marlboro cigarette to go along with it. Something about breathing smoke just made him feel manlier.

“You know, there are some things that I'll always appreciate,” he started. “One of those things is that high that you get whenever you've declared victory over someone else, especially when that someone else claims to be the better wrestler; it just goes to show you that you don't need to out-wrestle your opponent to pick up a win in this business, you just have to pin their shoulders to the mat for three seconds. That should have been the second lesson that you learned from the 'best wrestlers in the world,' Francis Royal. Cheers.”

He held up his glass to the camera, making a toast to his fallen foe, and took in a throat-full of fire. His oesophagus sizzled with alcohol trickling into his stomach, but his face didn't reflect it. He had only recently overcome his involuntary sneer that came from drinking whiskey. He slammed the glass on the table and let out a satisfied 'ah,' as if he had just done a spot for Coca-Cola.

“It's no secret that the last few weeks have been very busy for yours truly. I show up on Breakdown and take out Lucas Knight, Chris Richter, and Christy Matthews. I get to Friday Night Ammo, and I showed Francis Royal that you don't have to be a genius to beat someone who puts all of his trust in history's 'well-made plans.' And now? I'm facing this young upstart named Mustang Morrison,” the Redeemer smirks. He couldn't deny that he was a fan of Joss Morrison. The women at the shows loved his amazing physique, and it was true that the guy had potential. He just hoped that 'Mustang' wouldn't snuff it out before he reached the zenith of his young career.

“I won't lie, Joss: you seem like a pretty cool guy, if not a little immature. You've got a lot of spirit in you, and you'd better believe that I was watching your match on Ammo with Natalie Nichols. It took some real balls to take a risk like you did – flying off of the stage and trying to end the match by driving your elbow through Natalie's heart like that – and even though it didn't pay off, I can respect that you tried. That said, I feel that I need to be the grizzled old veteran that I am and give you some advice,” the Redeemer cleared his throat, and sat up straighter. Now was as good a time as any to play mentor to 'Mustang.' “There's a fine line between courageous and reckless. What you did against Natalie Nichols, leaving her on the table like that while you climbed the stage, was what I would define as reckless. You gave her an opening to get out of dodge when you weren't expecting it, and she took it. You have no one but yourself to blame for that. Being courageous, on the other hand, entails something different.”

“You asked me if I thought that I could take Infamous out on my own,” he paused. He really wanted to air how he really felt about the situation: hopeless and alone, but the sunglasses kept that from showing in his eyes. “Typically, I'd tell you to fuck off and shove your doubts up your ass, but I'll give you a straight answer because I feel like it will impact your career for many years to come. I ask myself that same question every single day, Joss. I ask myself if I can bring myself to the top of the mountain, and knock Lucas Knight and Pete Ebdon down from atop of it. Every day, I train a little bit harder, and push myself a little bit further because I know that this endeavour will not be easy. It's going to be long and arduous, and my mettle will be tested like never before. I know that there's a long way to go in ridding the SCW of something so big as Infamous, but every day, I come to the same conclusion: yes, it is possible.”

“I'll admit that the odds aren't in my favour, but I'll tell you just what I keep telling everyone else: I'm going to continue to fight for what I believe in, and if I end up worst for wear, then so be it. I would hope that the locker room would be able to appreciate the notion of someone fighting for something other than leather and gold, but they all seem more preoccupied with their own endeavours to learn anything about perseverance,” he hoped that the message was sinking into Joss Morrison's malleable mind. “I've never been a betting man, Joss; the doctors told me that I wouldn't be able to get in the ring for at least a year, and I came back in under three months. Odds are that I'll end up paying for that in the long run, but when the great debt collector comes, I'll be more than happy to foot the bill as long as someone gained something from it. Infamous could outnumber me 100:1, and I would still keep fighting for as long as this body is standing. A lot of people would call this behaviour reckless, but they're wrong. What I do against Infamous is the epitome of courageousness. That's all that I've got to say on the matter of Infamous, because outside of that little speech, they won't play a role in our match.”

“As for you,” he said, playing with his shot glass. “As much as I like you, I think that you're in way over your head here. You're more than a tag-team wrestler, I'll give you that. T-M-N-T... I mean U-N-F-I-T... that tag team that you're a part of, whatever it's called, is an important part of your career, but it's not the defining aspect. I think that someday, you'll grow up to be a great wrestler, but right now, you're just a fledgling kid who is still learning the ropes. It shows in the mistakes that you make in the ring, and I'll be more than happy to highlight those for you when we meet up in Columbia, SC. Believe me, rookie, when you slip up in a fight with me, you'll know it. And even though your 'beautiful face' won't think of it as true at the time, later on in life, you'll realize that the night that I kicked your ass from pillar-to-post, it was the most educational experience of your life. When we pass in the halls sometime down the line,” he chuckles to himself, and looks down, removing his sunglasses. “When you can talk without the assistance of a chalk-board around your neck... you'll thank me for showing you the error of your ways. You can fly through the air like an acrobat all you want, but when you plummet back down to earth, you'll find that there's no net waiting for you. The only thing that will rise to greet you is the hard, unfeeling mat, constructed of wood and steel. When you wake up from that nasty fall that you took, you'll see the referee raising my hand as my theme music plays you off to a comatose slumber. You dig... dude?”


4. Dear Joanna, pt. 2[/align]

Joanna White watched with crossed arms as the man known publicly as the Redeemer strolled down the hall, carrying a duffel bag filled with who knows what, wearing what most scholars would define as a shit-eating grin. He dropped his bags, and hugged her. She did not reciprocate.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said. “How are you?”

He didn't need to ask, her face said everything: she was ready to slice off his balls and mail them to the people he had just made peace with. It was not an expression with which he was unfamiliar. He frowned.

“What's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me?”

She threw his note at him and sneered, “I would have appreciated it if you had just said 'goodbye.' A kiss would have been nice, but a note? That was just...” she began to sob. She had been broken up with in many formats in the past, among them was text messaging and phone calls. No one had ever just said it to her face, and she hated that. He didn't know what to do. Should he comfort her by holding her close and making promises that he wasn't sure he could keep? Should he leave her alone to stew on her own? Woman were such volatile creatures in the mind of Duff Côte d'Ivoire, likely to explode at any moment.

“Well?” She said, glaring at him through red eyes. “Aren't you going to do something? Or are you just going to be that emotionless wall that Alexis described in her book?”

He removed his sunglasses, and clipped them to his shirt. She was a foot shorter than him, but she had succeeded in making him feel much smaller than her. He sighed, and dropped his duffel bag, and she jumped into his arms. After a few moments of staggering and squeezing, they broke their embrace.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “It's not fair of me to assume that you're just going to be some brave Prince Charming come to sweep me off of my feet and whisk me away to happiness. I'm just supposed to be your muse. Someone you draw inspiration from, at least until Alexis agrees to come back to you.” The man tried to ask why Alexis would come back to him, but he couldn't get a word in when she was talking at a hundred miles per hour. “I just don't like being used, is all. I thought that I would enjoy this casual... thing that we've got going, but I realized last night that I can't do that. If I'm going to be your muse, then I have to be your lover, too. I know that we've only known each other for a week, but I want this to be a real thing, not just some fling while you scope out the real 'Mrs. Right.' I mean,” Duff put his massive finger on her lips and she stopped talking. He smiled at her, and kissed her before taking her hand.

“Come with me,” he said.

“What do you mean? Where are we going?” she asked.

“I'm inviting you to travel with me,” he said. She looked stunned. “You and Mickey were both right: I need a muse, and I need to right my game plan. Tonight, we're leaving for Columbia, SC. You can come along if you really want to be more than just friends with benefits, but just remember that it won't always be easy. It's not all glitz and glamour. It's harder than that, and there will be strains put on us. If you think that you're strong enough to be a pro wrestler's girlfriend, then you're invited to come along. If it doesn't work out,” he shrugged. “At least we had a good time.”

She thought to herself for a few moments about whether or not this was really a good idea. She had never been so far away from home before in her life, and agreeing to be with this man was by any logical sense stupid, at the least. He had a bad reputation for treating women badly, but she wanted to believe so badly that he had changed since his run-in with Mickey. There's an old saying from a Stephen King novel that goes something like, “You either get busy living, or you get busy dying.”

Joanna was more than happy to agree with Duff's proposal, and so, they embarked for Columbia with the prospect of a new day on the horizon. Mickey, meanwhile, was preparing to post his thoughts on Ammo.

“I hope this is what they wanted,” he said, as he hit 'enter.'
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