Ten Pounds of Gold: A Pro Wrestling Quest

[Vesvius]

It's taken you almost a month to get back into Horizon Academy. You were ignored dozens of times, rejected twice as many times, and outright laughed at by your teacher on at least six occasions. But you did it. You finally did it. You don't know how you finally convinced Daybreak to listen to you, but you did. Nineteen days after your graduation, you're back in the familiar basement.

Your time away has only made you appreciate it more. The ring is well constructed, well maintained; compared to Duncan's ring, you might as well be bumping on a cloud. Daybreak's video library is immense; half of this stuff isn't even on DVD, let alone up online. The ceiling is higher than the average basement roof; it gives you plenty of space to practice your dives.

All in all Horizon really is a state-of-the-art facility. So why aren't you enjoying it more?

"Cower faster Martin! You can do better than that!"

Ah, yes. Your teacher.

You like Daybreak. You respect Daybreak. You might trust her more than absolutely any other authority figure you've ever had in your life. She's a good teacher and clearly loves her work, despite her hangups with the wrestler's lifestyle.

Which is actually part of the problem. When she had heard that you wanted to work on your selling all day her eyes had lit up like a kid on christmas morning. Daybreak had practically dragged you down to the basement, ignoring your protests that you hadn't wanted to bother her and just wanted to work on your own. Once the two of you were in the ring, she had had you stand in the center, muscles relaxed and ready to fall.

And then she'd slugged you as hard as she could in the gut. You'd gone down like a heap of bricks.

So went Daybreak's selling lesson. She'd hit you once and see how you reacted, and then stand you up and work a hit in the same area. If you didn't react the exact same way both times she decided it was a failure and went back to hitting you as hard as possible. You're pretty sure you're going to look like a gang worked over your stomach after this.

Daybreak throws another fist into your gut, and you fall to your knees, clasping your belly before you register that she didn't even touch you. She looks down at you with an approving nod before she reaches out and pokes your cheek. "Facials, Martin! If I've told you once, then I've told you enough times: it all comes down to your face. You wouldn't think I'd have to teach you that one more than once, what with your puppy dog eyes and everything."

You glare up at her and she chuckles slightly. "See? Right now you're going for 'I will kill you'. What I'm getting is 'Can you balance something on my nose please'. You need work."

By some god's mercy, Daybreak decides you've had enough for now and has mercy on you. You stagger to your feet and drop into a chair set up outside. Delilah hands you a cold bottle of water which you take with an appreciative nod. You don't drink any yet; you want to give your gut a chance to settle after the punishment it just went through. You just hold it to your head and let the icy sensation flood through you.

Daybreak does much the same, only soothing her knuckles. "After you're done refreshing yourself, we'll move on to limbs. You can only get so much out of working the body after all."

You want to protest, but you hold it in. Protesting might make Daybreak step it up a notch. Or worse, she might leave. You know how lucky you are right now; Daybreak's under no obligation to help you out like she is.

After a few moments you calm enough to take a sip of the water and open your eyes. Horizon looks different than before. Quieter. More peaceful. You can chalk that up to a lack of other people you guess. "Hey," you say. "When does class start up again?"

Daybreak lets out a long breath, blowing her hair away from her face. "First week of the new year." she answers. "Looking at a big group this time. Over thirty new scrubs who think they can handle it."

"That makes what, maybe fifteen grads?"

"If that. Your group had a couple more than I expected; I figured Leaver would wash out sometime around week six. So I'd say maybe ten from the new crop. Maybe four or five who'll be worth the time."

Daybreak looks you up and down. "Speaking of. We're not here to talk about my next batch of minions. How're you doing? Still with the other two stooges?"

You start to nod but freeze halfway through. "Wait. With them? How do you mean? Because the rest of the class had some weird ideas and-"

Your teacher just laughs at that. "Please. Like I'm that stupid. Would never happen."

Delilah looks up from the match she's watching to arch her eyebrow questioningly in a gesture clearly picked up from her mother. "What're you talkin about? Is this-"

"Go do your homework kid." Daybreak says without looking up.

"But it's winter vacation!"

"Then go do my homework. I hear that someone spilled juice on the hardwood and it needs to be shined!" Delilah grumbles, but does as ordered. The door slams shut behind her and Daybreak laughs softly. "God save me from giving the talk to an eight-year old."

You chuckle. "When are you planning on giving her the talk?"

"Never." Daybreak answers promptly. "I'll leave it all completely blank and let schoolyard gossip and public education take care of the rest. When she starts laughing at the hidden jokes in those cartoons of hers, I'll know the job's done. Anyway. We've changed the subject again. How goes the career?"

Despite her laid-back manner, Daybreak seems honestly interested. You launch into a recap of the last few weeks, sparing no details. Daybreak proves an attentive listener, asking questions where she needs to, howling at the state of Duncan's show, and being suitably outraged at Betamax's attitude.

When you get to the part where Allie got hurt, Daybreak doesn't fly off the handle like you half expect her to. She just sits in her chair, opening and closing one hand slowly while her nostrils flare. You pause while she collects herself and holds back her anger. When you're sure she's not going to scream, you explain, "It was a routine thing. An armdrag. I didn't see what happened, but she swears she bumped wrong on it, that she was trying something a little too flashy. Shoulder got separated, but nothing too bad. Doctor said she'd be ship shape in a couple weeks."

Daybreak slowly nods. "I figured she'd be the example. The ones who it comes naturally to normally are."

You don't really have an answer to that. "It could've been worse." you lamely add.

Your teacher snorts. "Yeah. Still sucks though. Separated shoulders are no small potatoes. They hurt like a bitch, and getting one means you're more likely to do it again."

"Makes sense," you reply, taking another sip of your water. "She said she's had them before. That she just kind of popped it back in herself back then. She almost tore my head off when me and Jack dragged her to the ER."

That brings an honest laugh from Daybreak. "No surprise there. Gray's got more balls then sense. I had a friend like that back when I first got started."

"Oh?" you ask, leaning forward. Stories from Daybreak are always a treat, made all the more special by how reluctant she is to share them.

Daybreak either doesn't notice or doesn't care about your newfound attentiveness. Her gaze is far away as she reminisces. "Yeah. Back… has to be thirty years ago now. Shit, when did I get fucking old… but yeah. Thirty years ago. I was green as goose shit and was riding with a regular group of six. One tag, three singles guys, and one dude's girlfriend who wanted to be a manager. We were all awful- almost as bad as you are now, Martin."

...does she have to insult you even while she's reminiscing? You shrug and let it roll of your back. At this point it's just part of her 'charm'.

"The tag stuck together, and the dude and his girlfriend always rode in the back of the van doing god knows what; I tried to ignore it after the time I saw her doing lines off his abs. That left me with Faust." You wrack your brain, trying to recognize the name, but she shakes her head at your efforts. "Don't bother. You don't know him. But we were tight. Kinda like you and your musketeers there. Even got some of the same rumors- of course, we beat the fuck out of the guy who started those. They stopped after that."

"Faust was good. I liked to think that I was the Queen Shit of the ring back then but I couldn't hold a candle to what Faust could do. It wasn't about the moves; it was about the knowhow. Guys could do flips and dives and kiss a guy's mother in front of em, and they wouldn't get the reaction Rex would get by standing in the ring and reading the phonebook. That's not an exaggeration either; he once nearly caused a riot by reading the phonebook."

Daybreak's face is frozen in a half-smile as she sees something in the far-off past. "What happened?" you ask, dreading the answer. You can tell that this is not going to go anywhere pleasant.

Sure enough, the smile vanishes. "What else? He got hurt. We all got hurt and worked through it, but Rex was so giving in the ring that he took way more offense than the rest of us. He got knocked around and beaten so much; never took a day off, never missed a show. But…"

"But then he got retired. Forcibly. He got his bell rung good; was out of it for a good few minutes. His jackass opponent didn't want to stop and let him recover though. He wanted to hit all his moves. So he picked up Faust and gave him a leg whip; the fucker thought he was some kind of submission guru."

"Faust was still on dream street. He couldn't have bumped right if there had been a million bucks and an orgy in it for him. Snapped his femur and fibula in three places. The ref finally did his fuckng job after that and pulled him out. Got him to an ER thirty minutes later but they couldn't do anything. Rex lost his leg."

Oh. Shit.

Daybreak notices the look on your face and lets a crooked, sad little smile cross her features. "Yeah. Sucks. He was in good spirits about it though. We kept in contact as long as we could before life just kinda… happened. I try to keep tabs on him when I can; apparently he's selling real estate now. Doing a shitton better then I am. Apparently he makes a killing as 'The One Legged Man in the House Selling Contest'."

"Anyway." Daybreak says, slapping her legs. "I didn't mean to bring the mood down. Rex made it out okay, and he made out better than most. But remember. Having balls is good. But if you need to take a break, you take a fucking break. Pass that on."

"Now! You came here to train. You came to work on your selling! And this whole thing's given me an idea! So finish your drink, get your ass back in the ring, and I'll-"

***
"-kicked me in the balls!" You yell to Allie a few hours later. "She just hauled off and kicked me in the balls! Wouldn't stop talking about how important it is to sell a good nutshot!"

Allie's not even bothering to hide her laughter. She's curled up in a ball on her bed, laughing so hard that the pieces on the board are shaking. As you watch, Professor Plum falls off of the Conservatory, on to the rug below. Allie doesn't pay it any attention. Tears are coming out of her eyes. "In her defense," she chokes out, "It's a very important thing!"

"I know!" You yell, waving your arms for emphasis. "I know how important it is to sell a nut shot! But I already know how! It's easy! Every man who's ever been hit in the balls knows how! So every man knows how! You drop! You clutch! You scream! It is not rocket science!"

"Do I want to know how you've gotten so much experience?" Allie gasps.

You glare at her. Somehow, you don't think she's taking this as seriously as you are. "I played goalie in grade school." You mutter. "Stopped a few goals that way."

Allie blinks the tears from her eyes and looks up at you. "Wow. Really? Fucking hardcore."

You flinch at the remembered pain. Even now, the sight of a soccer ball makes you shiver. Come to think of it, that might be why you stopped playing sports in fifth grade.

Small aftershocks of laughter ripple through Allie as she tries to get it back under control. With a wounded dignity, you stick your nose in the air away from her mirth and stare at your Clue sheet. Hm. You think you've got it actually. The last laugh will be yours!

"Mrs. White in the Kitchen with the wrench." you say.

Allie freezes and shuffles through her cards. "I… I can't disprove." she grates out. Triumphantly, you pull open the case file and take out the three cards within. Mrs. White in her maid getup greets you, followed by the cold tile of the Kitchen card, and the small card-shaped piece of paper you cut out to replace the missing wrench card. Victory!

"I don't know how... " Allie grates out, laughter forgotten. "But you're cheating. I know you're cheating. No one can win six in a row. I just have to prove it."

"Mhm." you agree, leaving back as you bask in your victory. "My methods are a bit out there, but I hope you can understand them- it's called "basic deduction". In it, I-" A thrown pillow cuts of your victory monologue.

After the ensuing pillow fight, you're on the floor, game forgotten. Allie's laying with her head on your leg. "Fucking cheater." she groans out. "Think I pulled something."

Your victory afterglow is gone just as quick as Allie's laughter was. "Shit." you bite out. "You alright? Is it your shoulder? I-"

Allie snorts. "I'm fine, really. I just fell on my leg. My arm is just fine. See?" She moves the shoulder in question, rotating it around. You grab it before it can do more than twitch.

"I believe you." You say hastily. "No need to prove it."

Your friend looks up at you, her light blue eyes meeting your own. "Seriously, T, I'm fine." she gently stretches. "It wasn't even bad enough for them to prescribe me the hard stuff. I barely feel it right now."

You breathe out deeply, letting your worry flow out of you. You know you've been hovering a bit; maybe you've been letting it get a bit out of hand. "Alright," you relent. "Good."

Allie nods once, decisively, and you get the feeling that some kind of decision's just been made. "You gonna stop being a little nursemaid?" she asks. At your reluctant nod, she smile and claps once. "Perfect! So let's talk about our show."

"Our show?" you ask slowly.

"Yeah. Booking in a day or two." She goes on. "Kid's party? We're wrestling? Wrestling is a thing we do to try and make money but fail at? Ringing any bells here?"

You try and choose your words carefully. "I hadn't thought you were coming."

She snorts. "Well, I am. It'll take more than this-" she shrugs her shoulder. "-to keep me out of action. I barely got to do anything last time! Time to make up for lost time."

You're too busy trying to figure out the sudden turn this conversation's taken to interrupt her, so she goes on. "I talked with the mom who's setting all this up. She seems like a really nice woman- strange though. Who decides to have a two-match card for her kid's party? Really, who does that? But that's not important."

"What is important is that there's only going to be maybe six workers there. She wants one tag and one singles match. Nothing extreme. Maybe fifteen minutes each, and then we hang around and make nice with kids for an hour or two. I'm just trying to figure out what to do."

It slowly begins to dawn on you that she's planning on wrestling with a hurt shoulder. What's worse, you don't think you'll be able to stop her. Allie goes on, heedless of your thoughts. "We're not going to be able to trio up like normal. One of us is going to get the singles, and the other two will wind up in the tag. Any idea?"

Well. Allie's a wrestler, and you knew there was going to come a time when you'd see or be someone that worked hurt. You know you'd be chomping at the bit to get back in there if it was you. But Daybreak's story is still bouncing around in your head, a story about a man who worked hurt too often and paid for it.

Allie's looking at you with an expectant look on her face. She's waiting for an answer.
[] Allie can take care of herself. More then that, she needs the experience. You and Jack will take the tag match, and Allie will work the single.
[] Not only can Allie take care of herself, this is an oppertunity. She and Jack haven't really been gelling and this is the perfect opportunity to both get some singles experience and let them work on it. You'll take the singles, and Allie and Jack will work the tag.
[] You trust Allie to know her own body, but you'd feel better if you were there. Plus, you like working tag matches. It's fun! You and Allie will take the tag, and Jack will work the single.
[] Maybe you can convince her to wait a little more? The doctor did say wait two weeks to prevent further damage, and it'll barely have been one when you go to the party. Try and convince Allie to work as a manager for you and maybe Jack. You'll both get singles. (Requires DC60 Charisma check. If passed, Allie sees the sense in your idea. If failed, Allie takes the single, and your relationship will be damaged.)

 

[Vesvius]

You think it over for a few seconds. Part of you wants to ask Allie to just be a manager for this one. Not blatantly; all subtle-like. You'd kind of slide it into the conversation and mention how it sucks that there're no good managers out there, maybe go on for a second about she'd make a good one, and- no. You discard that idea almost immediately. Allie's a big girl and can take care of herself; plus, you're not sure you can be that subtle.

A bigger part of you just wants to take the singles match. You didn't get into this to be a tag-team guy, plus you'd get to make Allie and Jack work together. It might get through that strange awkwardness that happens when both of them are around. But you discard that too.

You might not have wanted to be a tag guy, but you're finding out that it's a lot of fun. Plus, while Allie can take care of herself, you'd feel a little better if you were there in the ring with her. Just in case.

So you say as much to her- not that last part though. "You mind teaming up?" you ask. "I've got some ideas that I kinda want to try out."

Allie beams up at you. "Awesome! I was hoping you'd go for that. I've got some stuff in mind too. That spinning dropkick thing you're working on looks like it's going to be nice when it's done. Can you do that with a double foot-stomp?"

You pause, thinking that one over, picturing yourself diving down off the top rope, feet straight down and ready to stomp into a guy. But the picture goes on and carries through to it's logical conclusion. "No," you say, shaking your head. "Not going to work. Not without just killing the guy." A diving double foot-stomp relies entirely on the guy giving the move to protect his target, usually by sitting down in midair so that their full body weight doesn't really come crashing down on their opponent's sternum. You can probably do one, but definitely not while spinning.

"Maybe something a bit more basic." You suggest. "A double-team? Maybe we lay a guy out, and then I boost you up and you do a moonsault?"

Allie taps her finger to her lips contemplatively. "Seems simple enough. Think we can do it both ways? I'm pretty sure I can give you enough lift to hit some kind of splash."

The two of you swap ideas for a while without moving off of the floor. You try and get up once, your leg a mass of pins and needles, but you're forced to remain in place by Allie's pout. Apparently she's comfortable. You ignore it and go back to talking about your match. A lot of what you want to do will depend on your opponents, but you're pretty sure you've come up with some cool things.

You can only talk about wrestling for so long. Eventually the conversation peters out and you glance around Allie's room for a new topic. Your eyes settle on the discarded Clue board, still lying on the floor where it landed after your impromptu scuffle. "So," you ask. "Should we get some more board games?"

Allie thinks for a second and nods. "Yeah. We'll only get so much out of the basics. I'll look for a nerd store and see if they've got anything on the discount rack later."

"Nerd store?" you ask. "They sell nerds? Like the candy or-"

She cuts you off with a slap to the numb leg that you don't feel. "You know what I mean. The place that sells comics, really complicated games, and those models you paint. Dad used to take me all the time. It wasn't really my thing but we picked up some good games there. Oooh!" Allie starts, sitting straight up. You take the opportunity to flex some circulation back into your leg.

"We should get Red Dragon Inn!" she squeals. At your dubious look, she glares at you. "What? It's a fun game. The whole thing is you're a bunch of fantasy characters who just got done looting a dungeon or whatever, and now you're going to get shitfaced drunk. It's alright normally, but if you play it as a drinking game it's fucking great."

Allie's halfway through what's proving to be a long, drawn out explanation of the mechanics of this game that you're only barely following when the door cracks open, letting Jack in complete with his aura of cleanliness. He looks like he's ready to fall over. You watch him, concerned, as he looks the door behind him and staggers over to his sleeping bag.

You and Allie trade looks before getting up and heading over to him. He's already zipped up in the seconds it takes you to get to him. "Hey," you say gently. "You alive in there." An unintelligible grumble is your only response.

The bag shakes a little as Jack re positions himself and his head pops out of the top. "Highrise." he mutters. "Big fancy office building. Hector, Manuel, and Olivia no showed. Guess who got to do the bottom three floors by himself?"

You shudder. You're starting to get the idea that you really lucked out when you stumbled into UR Storage. "Shit, man. You need to find another job."

He shakes his head, a stubborn look on his face. "If I quit, then they've won." he hisses.

"Who's won?"

"Them. All of them. The people. The chemicals. That place on Raven and 82nd. They'll all have won. But they won't win. I will destroy them!"

O-kay then. Jack seems to be going slightly over the deep end. This can't be healthy for him- at least, not for the long term. In the short term, it's great for him. All this hostility is really going to help his promos if he can channel it the right way.

A snarl from Jack's gut interrupts your thought. "When's the last time you ate?" you ask. Knowing him…

"What's today again?"

Yeah, that sounds about right. "Stay awake." you order. "Allie, make sure he doesn't just pass out. I'll go reheat some of that chicken from yesterday. You need food, especially if we're going to work tomorrow."

"Oh, right." he mutters. "I knew there was a reason that I was off tomorrow. It's for that kid's party, right? Are we trioing up again?"

Allie starts to fill him in while you get up and go nuke some chicken in the microwave. She tells him about how he's working solo for once, which he responds with something monosyllabic and hard to hear. It only takes you two minutes to get the chicken how it should be- dry as a desert and hotter than hell- but by the time you get out there, they've stopped talking and are sitting in an uncomfortable silence.

You hold back a sigh. You hadn't noticed at first, but yeah, they're still awkward with each other. You've got no idea why; they really do have a lot in common, and you'd think they would click just like you do with both of them individually. But no. No matter how long they spend with each other, it always defaults back to one of them talking with you and the other one twiddling their thumbs.

If you want to stick with this trio thing, you're really going to need to work on this thing. But you're not getting a chance tonight. You're barely out of the kitchen before Allie's up on her feet, saying goodnight. And Jack passes out after he's done shoveling chicken into his face.

And the next day, everything stays the same and follows the same pattern. During the two hour bus ride to where this birthday party is, you get stuck in the middle seat of a small row and wind up as the center of conversation again. When Jack talks, Allie pulls out her earphones. When Allie talks, Jack grabs his DS. No matter how many times you try to draw them into conversation with each other and then fade out, it doesn't work.

You're starting to get a little angry by the time you get to the address you were given. But the sense of familiarity hits you, and your annoyance fades away into the back of your mind. You've never been here before, but the house could be a carbon copy of Daybreak's. You feel the tension in your muscles ease as you approach the white picket fence.

There's a sign taped on the front that reads 'Wrestlers: go around back please!'. You follow it's instructions and wind up in an enormous backyard, dominated by a large ring set up in the middle. A few dozen folding chairs, the kind with the padding, are set up around it. You glance at the ring quickly; there's no logo on the ring apron and nothing on the canvas. It's probably from whatever rental place handled Duncan's ring.

On the other side of the ring is a small tent. It's an actual camping tent, not one of the big pavilions that you saw at the flea market. It's not a giant leap of logic to figure out that this your locker room. The three of you go around the ring and the setup and let yourself in.

If there are really only six workers on this show then you're the last to arrive. A man you don't know looks up at you and grins as you enter. He sticks his hand out before you can do the same. "Hey," he says with an easy smile. "You guys new around the circuit too?"

You're confused by his word choice until you register the other people in the tent. Caleb waves at you from his seat on the cold ground, where he's pulling on his boots, and Leah nods at you all in a general greeting. You shouldn't be surprised- the Indy scene can only be so big in the area- but you are.

Jack answers for you. "Yeah." he says. "We trained with them. Jack Silvia. Nice to meet you."

The new man trades handshakes and smiles with all of you. "Good to meet you all. I'm Frank, and I'm doing the singles match today. Who am I working with?" Jack raises his hand slightly, and Frank nods. "Alright. Let's talk."

He pulls Jack aside, leaving you and Allie to head over towards Leah and Caleb. Caleb has a bit more definition in his arms, and Leah's trying something new with her hair. Other then that, their appearances are identical; it's only been a month after all.

What isn't the same is their gear. Leah has traded in her plain trunks and top for a bright red top and white and blue slashed trunks with a skirt sewn in. As you watch, she throws a red cape similar to Jack's around her neck. Caleb's transition is even more dramatic; gone is the fire-engine red. Now he's in torn jeans and a flannel shirt, held together by dark suspenders.

"Hey!" Caleb greets you with a smile as you get close to him. "Didn't know we'd be working with you guys today! How's it going? Everything smooth?" He pops up and the two of you slap hands before you can really register what's going on.

"It's going good." you say cautiously. Allie's content to remain silent, staring a hole through the redhead. "We've been getting some good gigs; nothing huge, but some nice ones."

"They don't pay for shit, right?" Leah chimes in. She's locked eyes with Allie, and the two seem to be engaging in some kind of silent conversation. She doesn't look away as she goes on. "Gets that's why it's called 'paying your dues' and not 'getting your dues paid'."

Allie chuckles, and is it your imagination or is it a bit more menacing than usual? Leah's answering giggle sounds just as fake. Caleb either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "So you guys ready to rock this?"

You nod once. "Yeah." Conversation falls to a lull after that, and tension from the girls is rising quickly. More to distract anyone than out of any curiosity, you speak up again. "So, what's with the getup?"

"Oh, this?" Caleb replies, pulling at his flannel. "We've been working as a team most of the time, so we needed a gimmick. Leah's going as 'Leah Red Riding Hood' and I'm 'the Woodsman'."

"So you work face?" you ask.

He shrugs. "It can go either way. We can get some good heat bashing someone over the head with a picnic basket. There's a real market for the whole fractured fairy tale thing."

You manage to keep regular conversation going long enough for the tent flap to open again. The newcomer is a very large, very jolly looking woman who looks at the six men and women in tights with some sort of maternal pride. "Everyone here?" she asks.

There's a murmur of agreement, and she nods decisively. "Alright then! For those of you who missed it earlier, I'm Lena Greenwood, and I just want to thank you so much for taking the time to come to my Leif's party. He's such a big fan of wrestling; he's been so excited ever since we told him what was going on!"

"You know your business better than I do, I'm sure, so I won't get in your way with too many finicky details. There's just a few things I want to make sure of. We want a clean show, so none of that raunchy stuff you see on television. No foul language, of course. We want a good, positive show, so whoever the good guy is should win. And…" Mrs. Greenwood scans the tent and her eyes light on your little group. "And you're the tag team match? I thought I remembered there being two man-woman teams. Can you not…?"

She flounders for a word, but Leah picks up what she wants to say first. "Don't worry, ma'am." she soothes. "We can keep away from man-woman violence. We'll just have a good, mixed tag."

Mrs. Greenwood smiles broadly. "Bless your heart. I just don't want to teach him that it's alright to strike a lady, even in play. Er- not that what you do is bad per say it's just-"

Jack saves the day this time, standing up and walking over to the woman. "We understand completely, miss. And for all of us here, we just want to thank you for choosing us out of so many talented wrestlers around here." Your friend lays on a thick coat of flattery before sending the buttered up woman back out the flap with a smile on her face.

You watch her go with a frown. A mixed tag, huh? That's a bit different from your normal intergender matches. In those, anyone can hit anyone. In a mixed tag, the men can only fight the men and the women can only fight the women.

You'll admit, your time at Horizon had kind of skewed your perception of what was normal. Half your class was women; if you hadn't worked with them you would have been very limited. Hell, Daybreak beat the fuck out of you the most. Your ribs still ache from the thought of it!

Still. The booker's given you a request. You'd better follow it.

Joker's Wild ('Wildcard' Tommy Martin and Allie Skyy) vs. Fractured Fairy Tale (Leah Red Riding Hood and the Woodsman)
Time: 15 Minutes
Finish: Faces go over
DC: 20

Who's working face?
[] Joker's Wild is working face.
[] Fractured Fairy Tale is working face.

Plan Your Match!
[] Plan Basic

Spoiler: Plan Basic

You'll have a really, really basic match. Faces will get some of their moves in, Heels will cut them off get the heat, Faces will make a comeback and someone will hit their finish and win (Who gets the pin will be determined randomly).

[] Plan Kiddy

Spoiler: Plan Kiddy

You're wrestling in front of a class of nine year olds. This is the perfect time to bust out your comedy chops. You'll have a comedy driven match up with plenty of crowd interaction. Eventually the faces will hit their finish and win (Who gets the pin will be determined randomly).

[] Call It In The Ring
See Match Mechanics
[] Plan Some Spots (Write In)
See Match Mechanics
[] Script It (Write In)
See Match Mechanics

Workers
Tommy: See Character Sheet
Allie: See Dramatis Personae
Caleb: See Dramatis Personae
Leah: See Dramatis Personae

 

[Vesvius]

With Mrs. Greenwood having given her marching orders, you sit down with your partner and your opponents to plan the match. You're halfway through constructing it when an idea hits you. You look from face to face and ask, "Why are we doing a normal match?"

"What do you mean?" Leah asks from her perch on Caleb's lap.

"I mean that they're kids. Little kids. The birthday boy's like nine if I remember right. So we do something a little more kid-friendly? I mean, you guys are already dressed up like a fairy tale." You say, gesturing to your opponents. "Why don't we just build something quick and easy and do some comedy?"

"Hmm," Caleb muses, stroking his chin. "Sounds like it could be fun."

Leah quirks an eyebrow. "Are you sure? We haven't really done any comedy matches yet."

Caleb snorts. "No better time than now. That's why we work these small shows instead of camping out in front of the big places, right? To practice and try out new things. Plus," he goes on, gently stroking his girlfriend's back, "Comedy matches are supposed to be easier on the body. You've got work tomorrow, right?"

The petite girl crosses her arms and pouts, but you can see her cheeks glow with pleasure. "That's true. You're always looking out for me babe."

Beside you, Allie's as stiff as a board. You can't even hear her breathing. An elbow to her gut breaks her out of whatever trance she's in, and she claps once to draw everyone's attention. "So, a comedy match? I've got a few ideas for that."

With the direction set the actual planning process is simple and easy. The theme of the match is set and the signature spots are planned out. The only thing you're not sure of is the finish. You've decided to work heel, and so Caleb's going to wind up pinning you. The thing is, he wants to use his finish. And his finish…

"Ok, I'm the Woodsman, right? So my finish is a series of double axe handles." he explains, miming clasping his hands together and swinging at your knees. "First I chop you down to size. Once you're down on one knee I nail you in the head and that's the match. Simple, right?"

His finish kinda sucks. But you can't really expect him to come up with a new one on ten minute's notice. You'll just have to sell the everloving hell out of it.

You finish planning the match with time to spare. Allie retreats into her pre-match music, and Leah takes out a hand mirror to tweak her makeup. Jack's still over with Frank going over their match, leaving you to chat with Caleb for the little while it takes for the kids to be gathered around the ring. Apparently his career's been going alright; this is his seventh match after Horizon, and Leah's third.

"The trick is to go to a show a few hours before," he explains, "And wait. Meet some people, shake some hands. If you get lucky, someone no-shows and they put you on the card. If not, you've put the idea in their head for next time."

"Sounds nice. Can't really work that into my schedule though." You answer. "The day job takes up a lot of time."

Caleb shrugs. "Yeah, sounds it."

You shoot him a questioning look. He's not working? You know he's not making any money at the wrestling game yet, so how's he paying the bills? Before you can ask him, the tent flap opens up and Mrs. Greenwood steps back into the enclosure.

"Alright, everyone ready?" She asks. At the answering chorus, she beams at you all. "We're having the tag team match first! Here we go!"

She leaves and you peek out the flap. Over thirty kids are sitting in the seats, some bouncing up and down with anticipation and a few looking around, bored as hell. One little girl has a microphone and an index card and is running a finger along one line, mouthing the words. In the center of the ring stands a heavyset man with thinning hair in a white shirt, black lines drawn on it in what looks like sharpie.

You never thought you'd be wrestling somewhere like this. But hell, it's something new. And now you'll have a road story of your own next time you talk with a vet.

The girl thumbs on the microphone. "Introducing first," she begins. You wait, but no music plays. It's only then that you realize that you don't see any speakers or a computer or anything. Looks like you're going without today. "From the pages of Grimm and Disney! Weighing in at Three Hundred and Eighteen Pounds! Leah Red Riding Hood and the Woodsman, The Fractured Fairy Tale!"

Caleb offers his arm and Leah takes it without missing a beat, throwing up her hood. The two of them literally skip to the ring, waving and slapping hands with the kids. Caleb springs to the ring apron and holds open the ropes, allowing Leah to step through with a delicate twirl of her cape. The two of them stand in the middle of the ring, shake hands with the referee, and bow and curtsy once more.

When they're all done, the girl clears her throat right into the microphone and you can't help but wince. That did not sound pleasant! But she goes one. "And their opponents! Weighing in at Three Hundred and Thirty Seven Pounds! Allie Sky and Tommy 'Wildcard' Martin! Joker's Wild!"

You and Allie don't do any of the playing to the crowd that Leah and Caleb do. You blow out of the tent with determined looks on your face, stopping only to scowl at a particularly bored looking kid. You get what you want: boos. At least, you do.

After the two of you jump over the top rope to minor ooh's, you discretely elbow Allie in the side. "Stop. Smiling." you hiss.

"I can't help it!" she hurriedly replies. "Kids are adorable! Did you see that one in the third row? She-"

"Yes. The one who's cheering you. Make her hate you!"

You and Caleb square off in the center of the ring, leaving the girls in the corners. Behind you, you hear Allie turning to the crowd. "Ummm… I don't like your…" she says, pausing in the middle of what would no doubt be a cutting insult. "Hey, can someone tell me what sport's going on right now?"

One of the dads takes pity on her. "Football."

"Thanks!" She says, and you can hear the smile in her voice. You have to fight palming your face, and from Caleb's snort of laughter, it's obvious. "I don't like your local football team! Who names a team the Ravens, anyway? Could you get one of the good birds?" A ripple of laughter is her response. Wow. She is terrible at this whole heel thing.

You have to draw the attention. With a nod at Caleb, the two of you launch into a really basic sequence, the shoulder-tackle drop down spot that everyone learns on their first day of wrestling class. It's not much, but it gets eyes off of Allie, who you're pretty sure is banging her head against the turnbuckle. She really, really hates failure.

After a few more basic moves, you call a spot and stand back. Time to set up the comedy. Caleb gives you a basic arm drag, and then another, and you wind up with your back in a neutral corner. Caleb draws his arm back for a chop-

And you hold up your hands in protest. "WAIT!" you scream at the top of your lungs. Caleb freezes, and you wave your hands again. "No chops!"

Caleb backs off, and you step forward. "Come on, man!" you whine. "Chops really hurt! And they leave marks! Can we just not?"

Already, you can hear a small chant coming from the kids- "Chop him! Chop him! Chop him!" But Caleb nods amiably and backs away.

"No problem." he says. "We'll have a good, fun, chop-free match!" Caleb sticks out his hand, which you shake with a broad smile.

And then you chop him, right in the flannel.

The crowd boos as you press forward, laying knife-edge chop after knife-edge chop into him. His thick shirt protects him though. You lay it in as hard as you can, over and over and over again. But without feeling the full impact, his selling is lacking. Still he basically runs from you and tags in Leah.

You almost go after her before remembering that no, this isn't an actual intergender tag. You hop out of the ring yourself and let Allie go to work. Whatever issues she has with Leah are left in the back, and the two exchange basic holds to minor applause. Except for a wince when Leah cranks an arm-wringer a little too much, you can't even tell that Allie's arm is bothering her.

The match goes on until Allie winds up back in the corner- and the two of them repeat the spot you just did. Allie pleads for no chops, Leah makes like she's going to accept it, but then blocks Allie's chop and counters with a few of her own to a big pop. Sensing a good spot, you hop into the ring and charge, backing Leah up into the ropes before she pulls the top rope down, sending you head over heels to the outside.

You wind up in the birthday boy's lap, laying on top of him, his parents, and a couple other kids. "Hey," you say to the kid in the hat. "What kind of cake do you have?"

"Um…" he replies nervously. "Vanilla, Mr. Card."

You snort. "Vanilla is boring!" A roll takes you back to the floor and you pop to your feet, rushing back to your corner. Behind you, you can hear the mom trying to start a "Vanilla rocks!" chant. You don't think it's going to catch on, but the crowd seems to be booing you more, so you consider it a success.

You're back on the ring apron just in time for Allie to tag you back in. Caleb comes in like a house of fire, aiming to chop you right in the chest, but you roll out of the way and sweep his leg out. The two of you play a spirited game of keep away before you tag back out.

Leah goes after Allie, victory writ large on her face. Time to cut them off for the heat. From the apron, you point over Leah's shoulder and shout "Look! Discount Picnic Baskets!" She had thought that line was stupid backstage, but you weren't changing it. To her credit she spins instantly.

"Where?!"

Allie chop blocks her leg, and the heat is on.

You watch the match with interest. Maybe you were wrong to think they were leaving all of their emotions in the locker tent. Allie's definitely showing a vicious side she's lacked in her last few matches. But still, she's pulling her stomps and the only thing you can say is that her holds are a little tight. You're not going to complain though. The sight of Allie working over a girl even smaller than she is is finally getting her some boos.

At least it is until she goes up top. "You're done!" She shrieks, and launches off the top rope in the highest moonsault you've ever seen. Allie crashes down to earth on her front, meeting the too-hard ring with her chest and face as Leah rolls out of the way and desperately makes a tag.

You're a second late into the ring, still watching Allie as you are, but you still meet Caleb in the center of the rig. The two of you trade blow after blow, neither of you getting the better of each other. You back up to get a head of steam only to miss as he dodges out of the way.

He meets you with a big kick when you hit the ropes. You slump against them, stunned, and he takes advantage. With a few quick motions he has you tied up in the ropes. The crowd starts to buzz, knowing what's coming next. Sure enough, Caleb raises his hand and delivers a hard, stinging chop right to your chest.

You thrash in pain, and it's only the tiniest bit feigned. Chops really hurt! Over and over again he chops you, the crowd cheering more and more with every one.

He stands back and Leah takes his place. The crowd noise ramps up as she starts delivering some stinging chops of her own. You manage to glance at Mrs. Greenwood; you're pretty sure this will pass muster, it's woman-on-man violence not man-on-woman after all, but you might still be getting yelled at later. But she's just clapping and cheering along and-

"Motherfucker!" you very carefully do not scream at the top of your lungs when Leah chops you right in the nipple. You do, however, bite your tongue so hard you think you draw blood. Leah flinches and backs away. Yeah, probably best you move on to the next spot.

The parade of finishers starts up shortly after that, with Allie sweeping out Leah's legs and going for her gigantic moonsault again, hitting it this time to raucous applause. She dodges out of the ring to avoid Caleb, which gives you enough time to ascend to the top rope yourself and fly at him with the Missile Drillkick.

You manage two full rotations this time. Not bad at all! Plus, you land on your back in a flat back bump, by far the safest way to land. Caleb stumbles back and you jump up, pumping your fists-

The next minute goes quickly. Leah distracts Allie with some kind of intricate dance before smashing her on the head with the picnic basket while the ref is distracted, and Caleb goes for a top rope leg drop. You take it and stagger to your feet just in time for Caleb to launch into his finish.

Yep. The double axe handles really suck. But you think you manage to save it with your sell.

"One… two… three!"

The kids cheer as Caleb and Leah begin their celebration. You roll out of the ring, throw your arm over Allie's shoulder, and stagger to the back. Seeing the birthday kid still glaring daggers at you, you direct your friend to walk over his way. When you get there, you stick out your hand. "Hey, kid. Sorry about that. He," you say, jerking your head towards the celebrating woodsman, "hit me so hard I didn't know what I was saying. Vanilla's great."

The birthday boy tentatively takes your hand. "Thanks Mr. Card!"

Feathers smoothed, you complete your stagger of shame back to the tent. Jack and Frank greet you, the later with a professional congratulations and the former with a hearty slap on the back. "Not bad!" Jack says. "Who's idea was the chop thing? It was great!"

Your nipple sure disagrees with that. Shit. Ow. Cocksucker.

A few minutes later, Fractured Fairy Tale is all done celebrating and makes their way back to the locker tent. You're toweling off and rubbing some neosporin on your protesting chest. It might not do anything, but it makes you feel better to be doing something. Leah spots you and makes her way over immediately.

To her credit, she doesn't pussyfoot around. "Hey, Tommy. My hand slipped and I went a little far to the right. But that's no excuse. I'm sorry about that."

You grin and offer a fist bump, which she takes. "No worries." you say. "Accidents happen. At least it wasn't anything permanent." You think. You hope you'll still have full sensation there later.

Jack's finishing his prep and the ring announcer girl is starting to call out someone called "The Chiropractor". You move over to the curtain to watch the match, only to be stopped by Leah's hand on your wrist. You look at her questioningly. "Hey," she says. "After the show and the party, me and Cal found a bar in the city. You guys want to come hang? Talk shop?"

A heavy arm over your shoulder announces Caleb's arrival. "Yeah, bro! It'll be great! It'll be like a sleepover! Only no sleeping, and no over. We'll drink and talk about stuff and shit!"

Behind them, you see Allie determinedly undoing her wrist tape. You catch her eyes and shoot her a questioning look. She just shrugs. So she's good either way.

Do you want to hang out with Leah and Caleb after the show?
[] Yes. Why not. You don't have a huge social circle, and it'd be nice to see some of your old classmates outside of the ring.
[] No. You'll pass for right now. You want to get an early night's rest. Besides, you need to ice your nipple and you want to spend as little time with these two as possible. Something about them just doesn't sit right.
------
Mechanic Changes
Skill Changes
Heel: Disappointing 55/100 -> Mediocre 103/250
Comedy: Mediocre 118/250 -> Mediocre 160/250
Basics: Mediocre 205/250 -> Mediocre 229/250
Selling: Average 286/500 -> Average 329/500
Aerial: Impressive 594/1500 -> Impressive 603/1500

Move Changes
Missile Drillkick (1/3 -> 2/3): This variation of a top-rope diving dropkick was created when Tommy was trying to think of something new and different to do. When performing the Missile Drillkick, Tommy leaps from the top-rope like normal, but points his feet more than usual and rotates in the air. Though it's barely more then two rotations now, as Tommy raises his Aerial and Athleticism, it will become much more impressive. It must be used once more in a match before it's established as a signature move.
-----
A/N: Keep your promotion suggestions coming! I'm going to read them all and make rulings on them tomorrow evening!

 

[Vesvius]

After a second's consideration, you shake your head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'm just gonna crash after the show's done. Can't stay out too late; work, you know?"

Leah nods agreeably. "Of course. Let us know if you change your mind."

Meanwhile Caleb's swung over to Allie. "Howabouts you, bro? You down for a night out?"

"Nah," Allie replies, not looking up from her struggle to get her boots off. "I'm good."

Caleb shrugs. "Your loss. You're missing out though! Last time, we got drunk for free when I won the beer bucket challenge!"

You're almost scared to ask. Before you have to though, Leah draws your attention again, rubbing her forehead like a doting mother who's just seen her child do something adorable yet annoying. "They're not all like that." she says confidentially. "But yeah. Hit us up when you get some free time. We'll be happy to see you."

With that, the pair walk to the other side of the tent and start getting their gear off, leaving you with a pair of new numbers programmed in your phone. You take a second to towel the worst of the sweat off of you and make your way to the front flap, drawing it aside to let you watch the match going on in the ring.

Jack and Frank are just getting the preliminaries out of the way. They're trading arm drags in a quick sequence, only to stop and stare at each other dramatically to the applause of the crowd. Not bad, but very basic. Jack's wanted to work on his 'Symptom of Decay' gimmick for the longest time, and you're interested in how it's going to pan out.

Your friend is just spreading his arms wide, soaking in the boos of the crowd, when there's a rusting to your left and Allie creeps up to join you. The two of you watch for a moment in silence as Jack suckers in Frank- the Chiropractor if you remember correctly- and kicks his knee out from under him, smashing his face against the turnbuckle. You let out a low whistle of appreciation.

"Not bad." Allie says. You just nod. You get the sense that she doesn't really want to talk about the in-ring action right now. Sure enough, her next words have absolutely nothing to do with what's in front of you.

"He is going to destroy her." she murmurs softly, so quietly you don't think you'd have been able to hear it if you weren't expecting it. "And she's going to let him do it with a smile."

What can you really say to that? You reach over and clap your friend on the shoulder. She doesn't say another word, and the two of you turn your full attention on watching your friend bring a plague cultist to life in the squared circle.
***
"Do you think I should have stalled a little more before I hit the Plunge?" Jack asks you the next day. "I think I could've held him up for at least another couple seconds."

"No, Jack." You say yet again. "I think you held it for just as long as you needed to." You've started varying up your answers whenever he circles around again and asks the same question again. The last time he asked about his timing, you'd given him a yes. The time before that, a no. And so on. It's all that's keeping you entertained right now.

You never mind talking wrestling, and you hope to god you never start. And you've got no problems helping Jack go over his match line-by-line, helping him improve. But for hours now, ever since you woke up, you've been having the same conversation dozens of times. It started with you trying to dissect Jack's match with him, but he had taken over the conversation and been driving in circles ever since.

Still. It's kind of hilarious watching him waver back and forth on different spots in his match. And you can't say you blame him. You hadn't really thought about it before, but besides his match with Daybreak, yesterday was his very first singles match. He's over the moon about it. Frank was a complete professional and the two had a completely decent match. And after Frank had won, he'd sat back down with Jack and he'd given him some pointers. Frank might be nothing more than a Journeyman, but he's still better then you are, so every scrap of knowledge helps.

You hadn't gotten to listen in; you'd been too busy fulfilling the rest of your booking. While Jack had been learning more about his craft, you, Allie, Leah, and Caleb had gone back out there to make nice with the kids. You had had to apologize for your vanilla crack again, but in exchange you got a nice, large slice of the delicacy, along with a fresh hot dog.

So worth it.

You had spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with the kids, telling them about how great it was to be a wrestler, and how yes, you'll be better than everyone someday. That had led to a spirited seven-year-old naming wrestlers and asking if you thought you could beat them. Of course, you could beat all of them.

It's almost like Jack feels bad for you. You were so busy making nice with your adoring public that you couldn't talk wrestling. He wants to make up for lost time. You can't get mad at him for that.

You can try and change the subject though.

The two of you are on the bus and on the way to Jack's gym, and on Jack's seventh variation of a question about his finish, when you break his stride. "So, what'd you think of our match?"

Jack pauses and considers the question carefully. "It was good," he says haltingly. "Allie really doesn't get the whole heel thing, but she found her stride mid match. The chop idea was nice but it really wasn't executed all that well."

You nod in agreement. You'd kind of rushed through it after all. "Maybe tease it a little more before I start swinging next time?"

"Yeah. And you guys didn't really do any double-teams. It's the best part of a tag match, I think, and you left it out entirely."

"That one was out of our control," you reply. "We were told no man-on-woman, so we weren't risking it in there."

Jack snorts. "Why? What did you have to lose? Your twenty bucks? The hot dog?"

You jab a finger at him. "Hey. The hot dog was great. It was the first thing not instant noodles, asparagus, or chicken I've had in weeks. No dissing the hot dog."

The two of you go back and forth on food for the rest of the bus ride, stopping only when you walk into the gym. Jack gets you in with his plus one; good thing Allie had to work today, otherwise you'd have had to figure something out something else for your post-match workout- and you don't have the money for the yoga yet.

You change in an actual locker room- which is starting to feel like a luxury at this point- into your workout gear. You've thrown on one of your half-dozen 'Property of Horizon Academy' shirts. Jack, however' has chosen to go back to his own collection of wrestling tee's and has pulled on an older shirt for 'Shooter' Steven DuPont. You approve- DuPont might not be the biggest name, but you can still appreciate the man's technical skill.

Actually, that jogs your memory. As you and Jack hop onto the treadmills to warm up, you think back. Jack wears a lot of wrestling T-Shirts. They're pretty much his entire wardrobe and the suitcase he's been living out of is bursting at the seams with them. And now that you think about, each and every one of them is for some great mat technician. 'Memphis Stretch' Drake Croft. 'Canyon' Evans. Even a vintage genuine Donny Brooke shirt that has to have cost him a mint, considering Brooke retired a good two decades before you were born.

"So," you ask as you find your stride. "Technical guys, huh?"

Jack shrugs as he starts his own course. "Yeah. Always loved to watch a great technical match. One of them was the first match that really hooked me, you know?"

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Jack's hitting his pace now, but he's not looking at his treadmill. He's staring off into the distance, either fascinated by what one guy is benching or stuck in a memory. "It was on the old UWC Saturday Morning show. I remember it came on right after an old Scooby-Doo I was hooked on. The whole show was full of squash matches, so it bored the shit out of me. Dad had the remote though, so we kept it on."

You nod in agreement. That had been one of the big complaints for UWC Showdown on Saturday; it was full of nothing but one-sided beatdowns of a star destroying some small local talent. Squash matches were and still are an important part of wrestling- you can't really get a guy over as a dominate force with him just going back and forth with everyone under the sun- but when an entire show is nothing but squashes it's going to get old.

Jack goes on. "They kept talking about how they were going to show clips from their last Charlotte show, from the semi-main, because of course no one was going to see the Main Event without paying. I'm so glad they did. Drake Croft versus the Master of Pain. We only got to see about ten minutes of it, but by the end I was hooked."

Your friend shakes his head as he glances down to check his heart rate. He ups his speed as he says, "I've never been able to find that match again. No one's posted a copy up, and it's not in Daybreak's records. I've seen the same clips over and over again, but no one's ever been able to find the full thing. A shame. From the reviews I read later, the whole thing blew the clips out of the water."

You can sympathize with that. Your equivalent to that match was Cal Pennant versus 'Cali Dragon' Niko Miles accompanied by Arya London. You've seen better matches than that since, matches that blew that twelve minute spotfest out of the water, but it's true: you never forget your first.

You finish up your run, but Jack's still going strong. You jerk your head over at the free weights. "I'm gonna go do some curls." He nods once as he ups his speed again. You make your way over to the dumbbells and start sizing them up.

Five pounds is too light for your right now, but twenty-five is too much for your light workout. You move to grab a pair of fifteens-

And freeze. Dumbbells forgotten, you stop and stare at the guy working with the medicine ball.

You have never met this man, but you know him.

He's a little taller than you are, with curly black hair and a moustache so thick that things might get stuck in there. He's wearing a shirt much like Jacks, only this one is advertising Tim 'Tack' Sharp in all his bloody glory. Sweat is pouring down his face from his workout but you can still make out the little nicks in his skin right as his hairline, the sign of bladeing to bleed.

Holy fuck. That's Xerxes Attar. How is everyone not staring at him?!

Wait. Everyone else isn't a drooling wrestling fanboy with an encyclopedic memory towards pro grappling. That's probably why.

But still. The 'Persian Punisher' Xerxes Attar is not exactly an unknown name. He had a run in the of WPW for a good couple years before jumping to UWC for a few more. Xerxes never really got above the midcard, but he was still on TV each and every week for at least half a decade. You remember his feud with 'Stargazer' Lenny Church over the UWC Television Title like it was yesterday. Xerxes lost, but he put on a good showing. From what you remember, it looked like he almost literally ripped Church's arm off in one of those matches.

You've got no idea why he never rose any higher. He wasn't great on the mic, but he was alright. And he had a unique, submission-based style that really made him stand out.

Xerxes twists slightly, and you snap out of your daze. You're a wrestler now. You shouldn't be starstruck by other wrestlers! You should march right up to him, introduce yourself, and ask for tips! Maybe challenge him to something!

...if it's not going to bother him too much of course. And maybe he could sign something of yours. Just a card to prove that you met him. And-

No! Snap out of it Tommy!

How are you going to introduce yourself to 'The Persian Punisher' Xerxes Attar?
[] You're just going to walk up to him, introduce yourself, and say you're a big fan. Then you'll leave him to his workout. You want to meet him, but you don't really want to get in his way.
[] You'll do some exercise where he can see you, meet his eyes, and nod once. You're both wrestlers, both working out before or after a show. It's no big deal.
[] You're going to go up to him, introduce yourself, and talk shop. Here's a wrestler who's travelled at least the country. You would pick his brain dry if you could.
[] You'll make like you want the medicine ball and then pretend to recognize him. Strike up a conversation. Maybe work in that you're a wrestler too. Ask him a few things.
[] You know what? You don't need to meet him. He's hard at work. You don't want to be a bother.
[] Write-In

 

[Vesvius]

You stand there staring for a good moment despite your hasty resolution to not do just that. As you watch, Xerxes drops the medicine ball and starts scanning the room for another piece of equipment. His eyes lock on the kettlebells and he makes a move towards it. It's that motion that shocks you out of your stupor. If this is an opportunity, it might just slip away from you while you stand and do nothing.

So after wiping your palm on your gym shorts, you make your way over to him. He's still scanning the kettlebells, trying to settle on which weight to go for, when you get to him. Xerxes looks up at your approach and moves over to make way for you to get to the bench.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise when instead of grabbing a weight, you stop and extend a hand to him. "Um, excuse me, sir?" you say, fighting with all of your willpower not to stammer like a fucking schoolgirl. "My name's Tommy. I'm sorry to bother you, but I just wanted to say that I'm a huge fan."

The surprise is wiped from the Persian Punisher's face as he takes your hand, expression relaxing into warmth. "Nice to meet you, man. Good to see a fan out there."

You manage to not hold onto his hand too long like an idiot only by the skin of your teeth. "Yeah." you agree before shaking your head. That was a stupid thing to say. "Your series with Church was one of my favorites; it made me lock people in armbars for weeks before the teachers suspended me."

His smile becomes something a bit more honest and he laughs, lines around the corners of his eyes deepening. "Hah! That's a new one. But Lenny was great to work with. A real class act." Xerxes looks like he could say more, but he cuts himself off. "Anyway, nice to meet you Tommy. If you don't mind though, I gotta finish my core and-"

You wave hastily. "Yeah, yeah, of course! Don't let me stop you. But before you get back to it, I just wanted to ask. I'm actually a wrestler myself. Just starting out; finished training last month and had my fifth match yesterday. I was wondering if you had any advice you could give out a rookie like me- after you're done your sets of course."

As you talk, his face slowly changes from polite impatience to genuine interest. He looks you up and down a few times, eyes lingering on your shirt. "That where you trained?" he asks.

You nod. "Yeah, over at Horizon with Daybreak. She-"

Xerxes snorts loudly, drawing some attention. Heedless of the eyes on him now, he lets out a peal of laughter. "That ol' bitch is training people?" he asks, delight clear in his voice. "Well fuck. Should've known she wouldn't just be able to leave it behind."

You're not sure how you feel about anyone- even the Persian Punisher- calling your trainer a bitch. That's something only people who've suffered under her should be able to do! But he says it with such obvious fondness that you let it go. It sounds more like when you call Jack a bastard than anything borne out of any real malice.

"This I've got to hear." he goes on. "I've got about an hour left. You gonna be here after that?" You nod quickly, and he smirks. "Sweet. How about we meet up after that? You tell me what it's like to train under ol' Luce and I'll see if I can drop some knowledge on you."

And that's how, an hour later, you find yourself buying overpriced coffee for yourself and Omid 'Xerxes Attar' Muhsin. It's just the two of you unfortunately; Jack had nearly cried when you told him who you were meeting, but he had to get into work. But frankly, you can't bring yourself to care all that much. More talking time for you.

"So," you ask as you slide some kind of mocha-frapa-latte-riffic in front of him. "You know Daybreak?"

"Know her?" he chuckles. "She fucking hated me! Well, at first."

You lean forward, interested beyond all description. Omid chuckles at your eagerness and goes on. "Yeah, I got brought in to WPW because I was with Candy at the time- you'd know her as Candace Striper." You nod once and make a small sound of recognition. Candy Striper- subtle name- had worked a seductive nurse gimmick for a few years to some middling success. "Anyway, Lucy hated the fuck out of Candy and hated me too. Guilty by association and all that."

"Eventually me and Candy split and she got canned real quick after that. Turns out it doesn't matter how well you can pole dance if you're trashing hotel rooms. Lucy still hated me for a while, but it was kind of a form thing. She always hated me, so she'd continue to hate me."

"How'd you guys get friendly then?" you ask. There's no doubt in your mind they did; the way Omid is talking isn't the way you talk about an old enemy.

"I like to think that I won her over with my boyish charm," He answers, "But she probably just got sick of spending the energy on it. She just decided one day that I was alright and stopped putting shit in my bags. We rode together for a few loops and she helped me out of a bind once or twice. We kinda fell out of touch when I took the deal with UWC though."

"Anyway, what's she up to these days? Last I heard she was about to pop out a kid. What's it like training under her?"

Omid sits in rapt attention as you talk about your own experiences with the bosslady. He laughs at some of her lessons, tells you a few things about where she got a few of her speeches, and even tells you where she picked up one of 'Daybreak's Commandments'- the one about putting a thumb over your beer. Apparently Omid wasn't as careful as he could've been one night and, well, he doesn't go into any more specifics.

"Anyway," he says, still grinning from your description of Daybreak's gauntlet. "You didn't come here to tell me stories. You came to hear some."

You nod eagerly, and he sticks out his hand. "Let's see em."

What? You open your mouth to ask what he's talking about, and he raises an eyebrow in answer. "Come on. Let's not bullshit me here. It's the twenty-first century. You've got at least one of your matches on your phone there."

This time it's your turn to chuckle. "Do I really strike you as the kind of guy who'd carry around his own shit at all times to stare at?"

"Yes. Now fork em over." Defeated, you pull out your phone and pull up your videos. There's a perfectly good reason for you to have your matches here! It really helps you study to watch your own tape and figure out what you could've done differently! It's not that you stop and watch yourself do cool stuff every once in awhile as a pickmeup. Definitely not that!

Omid plucks the phone out of your hand and picks one of your clips at random. The sounds that blast out immediately let you know which one he's gone for; the match against the Birds of a Feather and Kenny Corruption. You hold back a wince. Definitely not your best showing.

He watches it all with a thoughtful look on his face, one hand on his chin, hiding his mouth. You've got nothing to do while he looks it over so you sit in silence, studying your coffee. The sounds die down and he glances up at you again. Before you can say anything he hits another one; the music from THUNDERPUNCH starts to blare. You hold in a groan; if that one was bad, the Tech Support match was a disaster. And your coffee's empty too!

By the time you're back from getting a refill, he's done watching. Omid hands the phone back to you and you glance at it out of habit. One new text. Hm. Apparently Jack lost his goatee in an accident involving mice, bleach, and a ceiling fan. You click it closed and turn your attention back to Omid.

He stares at you closely. "You said you just had your fifth match, right? What number were those two?"

"Three and then four." You answer.

Omid nods slowly. "You're not awful for being green as gooseshit." He says bluntly. "But there're definitely some things you need work on. First, your finish. It was the spear, right?"

You nod and he shakes his head. "Needs work. A finish has got to be a move that everyone else on the card isn't going to be using. Vary it up a little. Figure out a different way to hit it; maybe whip the guy into the ropes first and do it confusion style or maybe, I don't know, cross your arms or something. Whatever it is, it's got to stand out. If you can't think of something then just pick a different finish."

Hm. Confusion style. Whipping a guy into the ropes and then following them, bouncing off the same rope a second after they do to throw them off. Most people do it for lariats, but you can see doing it for a spear.

"And your basics are, well, basic. I saw at least six tackle-dropdowns in those two matches. It's a fundamental for sure but you don't need to break it out three times a match. Maybe you should try this…"

For the next several minutes, Omid goes into some detail about some things he saw in your tapes that he thinks you need to work on. You soak up the criticism like a sponge. Eventually the conversation turns into his rookie days and he starts telling stories of his own. You laugh so much that soon, you forget to be nervous and are ribbing him like you do everyone else.

It's only a couple hours later, when he pulls out his phone to show you a video of one of his early matches, that he stops and stares at the time. "Shit," he breathes out. "I was supposed to be on the road thirty minutes ago."

"Fuck. Sorry." You say. He waves off your meaningless apology and stands up, throwing on his coat. "What're you in town for anyway?"

"I live down in Annapolis." he relies. "Starting a quick loop through the Mid Atlantic and Northeast. I've got a show in Wilmington in three hours!"

Omid pauses before he rushes out the door. "By the way, Tommy, in a couple weeks I'm running a workshop. Nothing too advanced, but if you want to come, I'd waive the fee. Be good to see how you are first hand."

You pause for a second and hold in your gobsmacked expression. "Ye- I mean, sure dude. If I can wrangle it. Can I bring my friends? My partners in those matches." You explain at his questioning look.

"Don't see why not." he shrugs. "Just don't tell the others I'm letting you in for free or my ass is getting fucking lynched."

You mime zipping your mouth shut, and he smirks. The two of you slap hands. "Sweet. I'll text you the address after my show tonight. Hope you don't mind I stole your number when you were getting coffee."

Fuck no you don't mind.

Omid hops in his car and drives off, one had raised in a salute out the window. It's only after he's out of sight that you pump your arms in victory. That went better than expected.

But you can't rest on your laurels now. You've got shit to do.

You have 1 expense remaining (0+1(Work)). Rent is 2 expenses, due in one week.
Upcoming Bookings/Opportunities: SWF Hardline (Booking) on Week Six. Seminar with Xerxes Attar (Training) on Week Five.
Pick Seven (7) Three (3) actions that Tommy will perform this week. After all actions are completed, Tommy will return to Maine for a few days.
GM's Note: You can make a plan if you so choose, but please make sure each line is X'd off. Tally will be done by item.

Personal Actions
[] Explore the city- You haven't seen much of Baltimore before, but you're told it's a great place. Or at least, certain parts are. You want to look around and see what you can find. You never know when you'll find a good chinese place or something that really inspires you. (DC50 check. If passed, Tommy finds something cool. If failed, Baltimore remains as boring as a major metropolitan city can be.)

[] Look for a Car- You need wheels. With public transit, you can get to very local shows without much trouble, but you'll struggle to get to anything outside of Baltimore itself. With a cheap used car, you get mobility. (Cost: Varies. DC 50 check. On success, a car that suits Tommy's price point and needs is found, and Tommy can haggle with the guy on a price. If negotiations fail, Tommy at least knows the car exists. On failure, Tommy doesn't find anything that suits him. Action wasted.)

[] Look for Furniture- This shithole you live in can do with some decoration. You'll hit some thrift stores and see what's available to put in your room and the apartment as a whole. (Cost: Varies. DC20 check. On success, some decent, bug free, furniture is found and you can decide whether or not to buy it. Possible Encounters. On failure, Tommy can't find anything that's not infested with some new roommates. Action Wasted.)

[] Maintain Your Online Presence- At the end of the day, you run a small business that has exactly one employee. What do all small businesses need? Accessibility and advertising, and there's nothing better for that then the internet. You've got your twitter @HoleCard, a facebook, and a blog you've been making little entries in. Keep it up! (Cost: None. DC 80 check. On success, enough people notice Tommy's online presence that he gains a bit of notoriety. On failure, nothing happens, but Tommy maintains his footprint.)

[] The Wrestling Times- The Wrestling Times is the premier source of wrestling news and gossip in the world. Coming out bimonthly, it's really the best way to keep up to date on the whole wide world of wrestling. It's not cheap, but it's worth it. (Cost: 1 Expense, monthly. Cannot be failed. Does not count against your action limit for this week.)

[] Veg and Relax- The outside world is overrated. Every now and then you need to relax and putter around your apartment while doing absolutely nothing. You'll do a bit of cleaning, try and scrub that color off the toilet, and just take some time to yourself. (+1d20 Resilience as Tommy recovers. Apartment becomes more livable.)

Social Actions
[] Hang out with Allie- Your punk friend is right at home here, which is just great; you could use the help. You'll set aside some time and go do some shit together. New experiences are always better when shared. (DC40 check. If passed, Tommy and Allie go out and do something cool, with possible encounters. If failed, both Allie and Tommy are too busy to hang. Action wasted.)

[] Hang out with Jack- Jack's been working himself to the bone at his new cleaning job and could no doubt use a night out to relax. You'll go out for some beers and shoot some pool; it'll always be a good time as long as you laugh at that pale spot on his face where his goatee used to be. (DC40 check. If passed, Tommy and Jack go out and do something cool, with possible encounters and a possible relationship increase. If failed, both Jack and Tommy are too busy to hang. Action wasted)

[] Hang out with Leah and Caleb- You've gotten the phone numbers for two more of your former classmates at Horizon, the overly-friendly Caleb and the young, but businesslike, Leah. They've put out a standing offer to hang whenever you'd like and you might as well take them up on it. If nothing else, maybe they've found another place to work. (DC40 check. If passed, Tommy heads over to Caleb and Leah's place and they do something together. If failed, both of them have plans for the week. Action wasted.)

Training Actions
[] Figure out a gimmick (Team)- You're with Jack and Allie for a reason. Not only are they your friend and cost-reducers, they're your team. You've already got one gimmick, but the best thing a wrestler can have is versatility. (Cost: 1 Expense+ (can grow with more complex gimmicks) for proper tights and boots. A design-a-gimmick choice will come in a later update if this is chosen)

[] Figure out a gimmick (Solo)- Anyone can wrestle in plain white boots and plain black tights, but you want to be a goddamn pro. You've already got one gimmick, but the best thing a wrestler can have is versatility. (Cost: 1 Expense+ (can grow with more complex gimmicks) for proper tights and boots. A design-a-gimmick choice will come in a later update if this is chosen)

[] Get back to Horizon Academy- You've graduated from wrestling school. But who says you can't go back? Daybreak. Daybreak is who says you can't go back. But you're sure you can weasel her into letting you at least use the basement and the tapes. (DC20 Check. If passed, +1d20 in two In-Ring, Performance, or Physical skills of your choice (select when voting), interaction with Daybreak and Delilah. If failed, Daybreak wants you the heck out of her house for now. Action wasted.)

[] Hit the Gym- You're a professional athlete now, and you're going to need to maintain yourself and improve your body. There's nothing better for that then heading to the gym. A membership'll cost you a little a month, but it's well worth it. (Cost: 1 Expense per month. Results: +1d20 for power and cardio. Possible encounters.)

[] Talk to the Man in the Mirror- The actual act of wrestling only makes up a portion of what professional wrestling is. The rest of it is all words and charisma, and luckily your apartment has just acquired a shiny, full-length mirror. You'll spend some time in front of it and practice your promos. (+1d20 Microphone, +1d20 Charisma)

[] Tweak a Gimmick- You've got a gimmick for now, but nothing is perfect. You're going to brainstorm some new things and some new changes to you in-ring persona that will hopefully make everything pop just a little. (Cost: 0+ expenses (Depends on changes made). Tommy will tweak his gimmick in a later vote.)

[] Watch Some Tape- After some pleading and more than a few threats, you've finally managed to get a half-decent internet connection. You've got some of your own matches to study now up online, and the wide world of YouTube open as well. Time to watch some matches. (DC40 Check. If passed, +1d20 to two Out-Of-Ring or Gimmick skills of your choice (select when voting). If failed, Tommy was unable to find anything worth studying online.)

[] Yoga for Beginners- You've recently discovered Selina's Natural Breathing, a yoga studio for beginners. It's a lot more fun then you had originally thought; you get to take in some incredible views and work on your flexibility training at the same time! (Cost: 1 Expense per month. Results: +1d50 Athleticism. Possible encounters. Interaction with Selina.)

Work Actions
[] Design a T-Shirt- Selling merchandise is a great way to get your name out there, and to actually get some money in your pocket. The only problem: right now you don't have any. So you'll whip up a design and place an order for a small batch. (Cost: 1 Expense. DC20 Check. For every 10 the check succeeds by, the design is of better quality. Enables Tommy to work the merch tables at shows.)

[] Go to Work- You're now gainfully employed as a… whatever-the-hell-you-do at UR Shipping. Archie, your boss, seems nice, and your only coworker seems like… she exists. Get over there! It's time to make that money. (No check. +1 expense. Possible gains with Archie and Charley. If not taken, DC80 check must be passed to avoid being fired.)

[] Look for Work (Normal)- You've got to face it; you're almost flat broke. If you want to be able to keep supporting the rich lifestyle which you're surely about to become accustomed too, you need a regular job to pay the bills. (DC40 Check. If passed, you find and interview for a job. The higher the roll, the better your job. If failed, employment has nothing for you.)

[] Look for Work (Wrestling)- You're calling yourself a professional wrestler. In order to keep doing that, you need to, you know, wrestle. Professionally. (DC60 check. If passed, Tommy gets some leads and might be able to talk his way onto a show. If failed, nothing Tommy does pans out, at least for now.)

 

[Vesvius]

The doors squeak open and you manage to hop down from the bus steps only seconds before you're crushed by the tide of incoming humanity. People stop and stare at you as you stand motionless in the middle of the people streaming on and off the Greyhound, but honestly you couldn't care less right now. All of your focus is on your aching back. You arch it painfully, and you swear you hear some cracks as everything pops back into place.

Next time, you're going to take your parents up on the plane ticket.

You hadn't wanted to infringe on their generosity though. It would be a waste to spend all that money for such a short flight. Especially since bus tickets from Baltimore to Portland were less than a hundred bucks. So when they had offered, you'd shot them down and told them that you'd rather not take a flight.

All would've been well normally. You've ridden the bus most of your life with no problems. Especially now that you're living in Baltimore; public transit is really the only way to go there. But this time you had been stuck next to a woman who you're pretty sure is half the size of Jupiter. And she hadn't had the decency to buy two seats, so you'd been stuck squashed next to the window for twelve hours.

And she'd had the nerve to ask you to move over more so she'd have more room. She hadn't taken you telling her that she'd have to be satisfied with the half of your seat she had already taken. The next eleven hours and forty five minutes had been full of icy silence, which had suited you just fine. You had more than enough to occupy your time. Well, once you could get to your bag.

You hadn't brought much on your trip home; only enough to fill a gym bag. A few changes of clothes, the small gifts you had picked up for your parents, your phone charger- oh, your gear of course. You don't think you'll ever leave that behind. It didn't take up too much space once you'd rolled up your trunks and shoved them in one of your boots.

The rest of your bag was full of gifts. Stuff your friends and co-workers had given you before you set out that you'd brought along to occupy your time. Charley had gotten you a gift card which you'd spent on books immediately; Jack had edited together a compilation of various flippy wrestlers for you to watch; Delilah had made a copy of your class picture and made it 'pretty' with glitter and markers. Even Daybreak had gotten you something- a new set of pads with her logo on them, half a sun rising over the horizon.

That last one had held your attention the longest; you'd put on the elbow pads in the bathroom on the bus to protect you from the sentient ooze. They were comfortable, warm, and of far better make than the ones you already had. Daybreak had kinda shrugged when she pegged them at your head after your last training session. "Wear em or don't." she'd said. "But never say I didn't give you nothing."

Her caring just warms your heart.

The only gifts that hadn't made their way into your travel bag were Allie's and Archies. Allie got you a bottle of Jaeger the size of your head and a book of tattoo ideas. You're not entirely sure why she got you that last one, but between that and the liquor you're pretty confident she's going to try and talk you into joining the ink club down the line. And as for Archie's, you're not carrying it. You're wearing it.

You don't know what kind of reaction Archie expected when he handed you a T-Shirt with a picture of himself wearing a fuzzy hat and riding a bear on it, but you don't think it was for you to throw it on immediately. Not sure why- the thing's great. A real conversation starter.

A shoulder bump from behind jerks your mind away from your luggage and back to the present. People are still flowing around you like salmon around a rock in the middle of the stream. You shoulder your bag and start pushing through the crowds. After a few moments of violence just as intense as any of your matches, you make your way to the doors of the terminal and out into the chill air.

Now that you're not restrained by anything you take a long second to fully stretch out. As you stretch, you take in the scenery around you. You didn't grow up in this part of Portland, but it's familiar. You swear you've seen it before. Why does it ring so many-

Oh, right! There's the alley you got in a fight with Derek Rogers in during that school trip to see the city government. The fuck had said that you were stupid for watching wrestling. He hadn't seemed to like it too much when you said his shitty reality shows where twelve times faker. You'd gotten into so much trouble for that…

What's Derek up to anyway these days? You don't remember seeing him all that much after you broke his nose.

As horrifying as the incident was back when it happened, you can only chuckle when you think of it now. Plus, if it hadn't happened, you wouldn't know how to get back home from here. You take off at a light jog.

Your parents had offered to pick you up, but again you'd turned them down. Honestly you've gotten so used to running places that it'd be a shame to ride in a car. The run home gives you a great opportunity to stretch your legs out after the bus ride. As you jog, you keep your eyes peeled and soon your surroundings grow familiar once again.

There's the park you liked to spend time in. Over there is the bookstore you think you wasted half your life in. There's where the water ice place used to be, long replaced by some dog-groomer. The sights of home rush through your eyes and you drink them in greedily.

It feels strange though. Everything is so familiar yet so different. It all looks exactly the same as it used to before you left. But it seems so much smaller, so much less important than it did before you left. Is this what people who go away for college feel like when they come back? Does everything just feel so alien to them too?

As you jog up to the top of a hill, you finally lay eyes on one place that doesn't seem alien at all: Shifty's. Your dad's bar, and your parent's place over it. Shifty's was your dad's great answer to the question 'what're you going to do with no college education?'. To absolutely no one's surprise, your dad managed to turn his smiling face and ability to mix drinks into a bar that, while no one would describe it as booming, never lacked customers. It was enough to raise a family, let your parents live in comfort, and even put you through those two years of community college.

You jog down the hill and stop in front of the cheerful sign. Exhaling deeply, you push open the handsome wooden door and step into the warm air scented lightly with apples and whiskey. Heads at the bar look up at the bell ringing. Some of them just look back down, not seeing whoever they were waiting for. Others greet you with a raised glass and a cheer; they've been regulars since before you were born and saw you grow up.

Old Mr. Henrickson looks just thrilled to see you. Good ol' Mr. Henrickson; you'd written a paper on his life when you needed something to pass tenth grade history. His fascinating life story managed to get you a solid B.

But your attention isn't on Mr. Henrickson for long. Behind the bar is empty; no doubt Dad's in the back restocking something. But in a booth off to the side is a tall, lanky blonde woman, heavyset in her older years, and staring angrily at a piece of paper as she gnaws on the end of a pen. Your face splits into a smile as you go over to greet your mother.

Dad started the bar, sure, but it definitely wouldn't have succeeded without your Mom. Dad's got no real head for math, inventory, or really anything about running the bar besides smiling, listening, and pouring. That's where Mom came in. Under her shrewd control and iron grip on the finances, she managed to keep Shifty's in the black- even after the unfortunate 'ale incident' back in the early 2000's.

Mom spots you as you walk over and rises from her seat, engulfing you in an enormous hug. "Tom!" she cheers, clutching you tightly. "It's so good you've made it!"

You hold in a sigh; Mom never quite understood your desire to stick with Tommy. She's been calling you Tom since you were twelve. But your smile is genuine and you answer her questions about your health with patience you wouldn't have for anything else.

You see some customers looking back and forth between you and Mom. Not regulars, some new guys. No surprise really- if you passed the two of you on the street, you wouldn't suspect that you were Mother and Son. You always took more after Dad in the looks department. Hell, you managed to convince a few drunken regulars you were Dad once when he dared you to try. Good times.

Mom pats you on the shoulder. "How have you been, dear? You've been taking care of yourself? Keeping warm? Well fed?" Her face screws up in concentration and she asks, "Have you had any good matches yet?" You chuckle, and Mom frowns at you, the expression too exaggerated to be genuine. "Come on, I can recognize a good match when I see it!"

You love your Mom dearly, but she wouldn't know a good match from a housefly. She always tries to share your interests though, and you can't count the number of times you've had to explain what the difference between a hammerlock and an armbar are to her. It's how you spent most of you high school summer vacation after all.

The two of you talk for a few moments, trading pleasantries and each making sure the other is doing alright. You're finally interrupted by a voice from the back calling "Do I hear Tommy?" Mom yells back a positive, and a bear like noise of delight sounds out from the storeroom.

Mom smiles at you. "We'll catch up later." she says. "You'd better go see him- he's been bouncing off the walls waiting for you to get here."

Obediently you get up from the booth and run around the bar. You jump over the cat, duck through the dishroom, and make it to the storeroom. In the storeroom stands your dad. He's bent over a case of bottled cider, and from the crinkled note paper in front of him you can guess he's taking inventory.

He looks up at your arrival and grins broadly. Once again, you're struck by just how much you look like your father…

What ethnicity is your father?
NOTE: This will have no in-game effect at this moment in time. Right now, it is simply a cosmetic choice.
[] American (White)
[] American (Black)
[] Arab
[] Brazilian
[] Canadian
[] English
[] German
[] Hispanic
[] Irish
[] Israeli
[] Japanese
[] Russian
[] Spanish
[] Write-In (Other)
--------
Mechanic Changes

Skill Changes
From Man in the Mirror
Microphone: Mediocre 113/250 -> Mediocre 123/250
Charisma: Average 317/500 -> Average 336/500
From Horizon
Basics: Mediocre 229/250 -> Average 257/500

 

[Vesvius]

Yeah, you definitely got your looks from your father. From the black hair, to the tanned skin, down to the perpetual stubble on his face. Your faces are similar, your builds are near-identical- though you're slightly more muscular right now, which fills you with pride. The only real difference is that you took your mom's bright blue eyes, not his dark brown ones.

Well, that and you didn't inherit his fashion sense. You may wear nothing but wrestling t-shirts, but at least you don't own seven different Tom Brady jerseys, one for each day of the week. Sure enough, he's got the Thursday one on now- you can tell by the faint coffee stain over the lower part of the two.

You don't get much more of a chance to study your father before he embraces you tightly. You retaliate in kind, and the next few moments are full of much manly backslapping. He pushes you away finally, holding you at arm's length as he looks you up and down. "There you are!" he says, low baritone still carrying a light accent even after all these years. "Glad you made it!"

"I wouldn't miss it." You respond with a smile, and you find yourself slightly surprised that you're telling the truth. You'd have thought that after over two decades of living with your parents that you'd be eager to get out of the house again; but now that you're back here, you can't think of a place more comfortable for you.

A slight mewing from behind you grabs your attention, and you bend down to scoop up Gronk before he can start clawing at your pants. The Maine Coon rubs against you eagerly, making up for all this time that you weren't marked with his scent. Dad laughs and grabs the cat. Gronk isn't nearly so eager to nuzzle him, and signals his displeasure with a few strong swats.

You watch the byplay, chuckling. "Oh, what's that I remember?" you ask mockingly. "Was it some guy in this place saying that he'd never like this mangy animal? Was it you? Or was it someone else?"

"Must've been someone else." Dad jibes back. "Because I'd never dream of saying something like that." He holds the cat up and meets his eyes. "Seriously, I never did. Letting you stay was my idea."

Gronk gives him another swat and takes off. Dad watches him go with a fear that's only half-feigned. "My side of the bed is so crapped on." he mutters. "Thanks for that."

"Anytime."

"But that's a problem for later! Look at you!" he says again, staring at you like he hasn't seen you in years. "How goes the wrestling? How many matches have you had? You world champion yet? And are those muscles?"

You stand in shocked silence as you try and digest all of his questions. He waits, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, inventory completely forgotten. You've got no options besides just answering him. You raise a finger and start checking off his questions. "In order: it goes good. Nothing huge yet, but it's just… just great. Five so far, mostly losing, but that's about what I expected. And no. Anything else?"

"So many things!" he replies. "How about that teacher of yours? How'd she-"

"Tony!" Mom calls from the bar. "While you're back there gushing, we've got people out here who need a drink!" Her words are met by a rousing chorus of applause.

Dad shakes his head. "She's right. Not the time, not the time. Take a seat, grab the furred menace, make yourself comfortable. We'll continue this later!"

But despite Dad's words, you follow him out to the bar almost on a reflex. You've helped out here so often after school and before work that working Shifty's is like a second nature to you. You don't realize what you've done until you're pouring one of the newbies a Guinness and Mom starts glaring at you. "We didn't ask you visit to work!" she hisses, sounding completely appalled.

She doesn't however, tell you to stop. A key distinction. If Mom really wanted you not to do something, she'd tell you not to do it, and that would be that. So you shrug at her guiltily and get back to mixing drinks. Dad needs the help right now; there must be some party letting out nearby. The entire night is a marathon of new faces asking for new drinks.

Hours later, the last drink's been poured, the tabs have been settled up, all the glasses are running through the dishwasher, and you finally feel comfortable getting off your feet. You plop yourself down in your favorite booth across from Mom. Dad joins you a few moments later once he's shut down the register, and Gronk hops up into your lap for another nuzzling session. The gang's all here.

You trade idle chatter for a few minutes, talking about ordinary things- how Mom's new cookies killed at the last church bake sale, and how Dad nearly got the cops called on him again for screaming at some soccer fans. He still has a frown on his face when he talks about it. "Real football my left buttcheek." he says, wincing as Mom slaps his arm. "Everyone knows real football is played by men! Men who don't fall over if a fly lands on them! Imagine Welker flopping like that! You can't!"

With the ease of long practice you manage to tune Dad out; you've heard enough of the 'soccer is not football' rant to last you a lifetime. Next he'll get into the 'why does everyone like I like that thing?!' part, and then there'll be no stopping him. "Hey!" you interrupt before he can really get rolling. "I brought you guys some stuff!"

Dad cuts himself off as Mom leans forward. "Aw, honey!" she sighs. "You know you didn't have to! You need every cent you can muster right now!"

You shake your head. "If I can't afford to get you guys something, then you'll know I'm in trouble. Please, just take it." You reach into your bag and scoop out their presents; a small plant for Mom, and a Pat's picture for Dad. Both of them take their gifts the appreciative noises.

"Well," Mom hedges. "Since you already went to all the trouble, it'd be a waste not to accept it."

"It wasn't any trouble!" you protest. "And you-"

"Then that makes this easy!" she chirps, prior hesitation forgotten. "Here you go!"

The next thing you know there's a small bundle in your hand wrapped in red and green paper. You hesitantly rip it open to reveal a new wallet, still with that new leather smell. That was nice of them. And after all the protesting you just did, it'd be hypocritical not to-

Wait. A wallet. Did they…?

You peek inside the billfold. Sure enough, Benjamin Franklin's crisp green face looks up at you, right next to a few of his identical clones.

"Guys!" you sigh. "I don't need your-"

"It wasn't any trouble!" Your mom parrots. "Imagine what would happen if you tried to give it back to us though. We'd have to deposit it right away, and then the books would be off, and we'd have to hunt for the discrepancy for hours, and-"

Point taken. Accept, or they'll make your life miserable.

You thank them for their gift, and more hugs are exchanged. The three of you stay up talking for a while, stopping only to fill a few glasses with cider and move up to the actual house part of the bar. You tell some stories of your own, talking about your training and your matches, even pulling out your collection of your work when pressed. Mom, of course, thinks it's just wonderful. Dad's more concerned with your partners.

Or rather, one of them. "Who's that?" he asks, staring at Allie. "That a friend of yours? She's nice. You should-"

Mom elbows him so hard you hear a thump. "-you should enjoy your relationship, without any pressure from anyone else, no matter what kind of relationship it might be." she finishes, glaring daggers through Dad. You nod in thanks; you never were quite the same after Dad decided to get involved in your hunt for a junior prom date.

Soon after that, Dad lets out his first yawn of the night, and you take that as your cue to head back to your old room. It's just as you left it, posters everywhere and a thick green blanket left rumpled on the mattress. You'll have to ask about taking that back to Baltimore; even in your sleeping bag, things get a bit chilly in the apartment.

That's a thought for tomorrow though. As for right now, you throw yourself onto your bed- and actual bed!- and tuck yourself in.

It's good to be home.

Tommy has two days in Portland before he takes the bus back to Baltimore; New Years Eve, and New Year's Day. Most of that time will be spent with his parents, catching up and spending time. But some of it will be his own. After looking around, he's found a few things he could do with that time. What does he do with it?
[] New England Wrestling is having their big New Year's Eve show coming up. It's one of the biggest events on the local indy's calendar, and promises to be a solid card. It's probably too late to try and get on the show, but you can at least go and take it in. You never know what you might learn by watching!
[] Shifty's promises to be just as busy over the next couple days as it was today, and your parents have no intention of closing until they've wrung every cent they can from the people. You might as well help out some more. Mom might protest, but you can convince her; plus, you'll earn some good tip money!
[] An event reminder just dinged you on Facebook for a party one of your old High School buddies is throwing. It's been forever since you've seen any of the gang, and it might be good to go reconnect. Maybe something will finally top that scene that Cindy Sanders put on a few years back; you missed it, but from the pictures you saw it was wild.
-------------------
Mechanics Changes

Financial Changes
+1 Expense: It was take the money or start a fight. You took the money.

 

[Vesvius]

You wake the next morning in a haze. Blearily, you glance around and look at your bedside clock. The green numbers show that it's almost ten o'clock. You blink once, twice, to clear your eyes. Why did you sleep in so late? Why didn't Mom wake you? If you miss class you know you'll wind up paying for it. What day is it anyway? What books do you need? Wait, was there homework-

Reality catches up to you and slaps you in the face like a wet wave. Right. You're out of school. You're just visiting home. You've got no bookings, no work, nothing planned. There's no reason to freak out about sleeping in late. You're a grown man on vacation after all.

Hmmm… that gives you an idea. Since you've got no plans, why not make some?

Twenty minutes later you stagger out of your room, down the hall, and down the stairs into Shifty's proper. Mom and Dad are already hard at work. The bar doesn't open until around four, but there's always something to do. Mom is totaling up the take from the day before, while Dad's rinsing extra soap from the last of the dishes.

With a word of greeting you head over to the tables, grab a wet cloth, and start wiping everything down. The three of you work in comfortable silence for a while. Once you're satisfied that everything is in decent shape, you put the cloth down and look over at your family. "Are you going anywhere later?" you ask.

Mom shakes her head. "Just a quick run to the grocery and to the distributor. Why?"

"Do you mind if I borrow the car after that then?" You've driven Mom's lime green Camry before, during the few times you couldn't take the bus to get somewhere, and are more than comfortable behind the wheel. "There's show a couple hours away I'd like to go to."

Mom nods amicably. "No problem. Just fill it up before you come home and we'll call it even."

"And," Dad pipes up from where he's tightening a connection, "Remember to have a good time there! And don't do anything stupid!"
***
You know, you could probably jump over the top railing here and not die.

Not that you have any urge to, honestly. But you could if you wanted to. There's a ring on the floor right below you; if you took a flat-back bump straight down and didn't over rotate, you probably wouldn't even break anything. If you had a catcher or two… yeah, you could do something fun here.

But you won't. Because right now, you're not a wrestler. You're just a fan. Sure, you might have your gear, but that's not important. The only thing you really expect to grab out of there is the program you scooped up when you came in.

The drive to the arena had been quick and painless, with only a brief intermission for you to scream at a jackass who cut you off when you were going eighty miles an hour down the highway. The hardest part of the whole trip is finding the place. You've been to holes in the wall before, but the Corner Store takes it to another level- you're pretty sure that at one point, it was a literal hole in the wall.

Between then and now though, some seriously talented people came through. The club lies behind an unassuming wooden door, but once it comes open it lets you into a two-story bar slash club with some architecture that would confuse the fuck out of some of your old classmates. The DJ is pumping out some horrible EDM, laser lights are flickering back and forth, and crowds of people are milling around, drinking or dancing where they stand.

And in the middle of the place is a wrestling ring. Surprisingly, it looks right at home here.

You bought a ticket outside and had found out it was standing room only, with no chairs in the entire place. So you'd found a good vantage point on the upper floor and decided to wait. You still have a good twenty minutes before bell time so you've got time to kill.

Hence the contemplation about dives from the second story. You really could hit one if you wanted to, you know it. You don't want to though. But there's a little corner of your mind that hungers for nothing more than to jump, just to see what would happen. It's a sort of sick fascination that creeps up from the base of your skull and pokes around in your brain, just saying that it couldn't wind up that badly.

"Bro? Yo, Bro!"

You're snapped from your thoughts by a guy taking a spot next to you. He nods down at the ring. "You here for the show?"

"Yeah." you confirm. The guy doesn't seem to want to say anything further, but he doesn't move away. To make conversation you look around at the rest of club. It's pretty full. "Good crowd tonight." you say.

"It's gonna be great." the guy answers. "Most of em are here for New Year's, but some regulars made it out too." He raises his hand and waves at a guy on the first floor who's wearing at least six light-up bracelets. The glowing fan waves back. "I don't think I've seen you here before."

You pause, trying to figure out how to answer that. You know that a lot of the indies have really tight-knit fan communities that are really hard to get into, especially those that've been around as long as N.E.W. ARC Fight down in Oklahoma is rumored to have some elaborate hazing rituals, and you know that SKYLINE downright shuns anyone who acts out of character. You haven't heard of anything like that with N.E.W, but no sense not being careful.

"I'm just in the area for the holiday," you say, picking your words carefully. "Just heard there was a show tonight and I thought I'd give it a shot."

The guy nods amicably and spends a few minutes talking about his favorites on the card, which you nod along with. Eventually he sees another one of his regular buddies and moves on; good thing too. Otherwise he might ask why you've never been to a N.E.W show before, despite at least visiting the area frequently to see relatives.

The answer to that? N.E.W is weird. Not deathmatch weird, not strange comic-book shenanigans weird, not even weird as in they use a strangely shaped ring. No, N.E.W is weird because they take 'role reversal' to a whole new level.

Women's Only promotions are not a new development. They've been around for decades, and they range from the over-the-top antics of K.A.P.O.W to the grim and gritty Dynasty Wrestling to the relatively normal All-Star Women of Wrestling (ASWOW). But all of those are exclusively women's promotions; no men are booked on the card at all.

N.E.W is different. Men are booked alright, but they're booked in the spots that women are usually booked in on a WPW show. The men get the bathroom break spots, they get the occasional quick match that only really exists to get the female fans some eye candy, and on big shows like tonight they usually all get thrown in one big multi-man match to get them all on the card. Tonight, it's some kind gauntlet match. Every once in awhile they'll get a story line, but it's fairly rare.

You love women's wrestling. Some of the best matches you've ever seen have been women's matches. You can understand women's only promotions; there're so few place that ladies get a fair shake that it's no wonder they've formed their own. But to do what N.E.W does just strikes you as weird, and not particularly business-smart. So you avoided them until tonight.

But they've got a full house here, and they've managed to stay around with the same business model for five years now. So what do you know? You might as well see what all the fuss is about.

And you're glad you did. N.E.W's strange views on men notwithstanding, the card tonight looks completely loaded. You pull your program out of your pocket and take a glance at it.

N.E.W Year's Eve
The Sunshine Sisters vs. Dressed to Kill
Men's Gauntlet for the Gold: Winner gets a Men's Championship shot later in the evening!
'Mean Dream' Tina Tonate vs. La Hija del Chupacabra
Queen of New England Title Match: 'Whiplash' Jones vs. Kennedy Cole vs. Nightshade!
Endtime Implodes! Erika Annihilation vs. the Nihilist!
Chosen Showdown! Winner's Patron picks the stips for the Main Event: Copperhead vs. ???
Special Grudge Match: Symphony Cedars vs. Kylie!
N.E.W Men's Championship: Mikey Roadrage vs. The Winner of the Men's Gauntlet!
N.E.W Championship: Tracy Sensation vs. Venom!

You don't know half of these people, but the half you know are very, very impressive. Tracy Sensation's been making waves on the indy scene for years; she's likely to be signed by one of the big fishes within the next few months if she hasn't been already. Kennedy Cole's another name that's been buzzing around recently, and you've heard of La Hija del Chupacabra from her early run in Mexico; third-generation mask, if you remember right.

And, you notice scanning the program, you know a team on the card. The Sunshine Sisters. You don't think you've ever actually been introduced to them, but they worked for SWF on the one show you did.

You look around the room, eyes lingering on the tables set up near the ring. Various workers are behind them, shilling merchandise and talking with the regulars. Sure enough, behind one of those tables are the two bleach blondes you remember from the Eagle Point High Gymnasium. They're posing for a picture with a blushing fan, both of them bending down to kiss him on the cheek at the same time as the camera flashes.

Another look around shows that people are mostly just milling around right now; no one's eyeballing your spot. No harm in going to say high then; worst that happens is you don't get such a good vantage point. You pick up your gym bag and begin to elbow and siddle your way through the crowds back down to the first floor.

The lines are thinning out by the time you get there. You make your way towards the Sunshine Sisters. They greet you with professional smiles and a wave hello. "Hey!" One of them greets you. "We don't think-"

"-we've seen you here before!" The other one pipes in. "Always good-"

"-to see a new face! Thanks-"

"-for coming out!"

Eugh. You barely manage to suppress a shudder. The twinspeak gimmick. Twins always finishing each other's sentences has always creeped you out. You're pretty sure you can throw the blame at Dad's feet; the man enjoys way too many horror movies and you know there have to have been a couple about evil twins.

You try not to let any of that show on your face though. "Hi." you greet them, shaking both of their extended hands at once. "You probably don't remember me, but we've met, briefly." Sure enough, both of their faces blank as they try and place you. You wave your hands back and forth. "Nah, I'd be really surprised if you remembered me. You worked my debut show a month or two back."

One of the sisters snaps her fingers in realization. "Right! For Mary-Mark down in Baltimore! You were one of Daybreak's kids."

The other's rubbing her forehead. "Um… yeah. Who did you work with then? Were you the guy who got stuck with Ivan?"

You blanch. No. God now. You're pretty sure Nick's still trying to scrub hair out of his mouth to this day. "No, no. I was with my friends in the six-man. We worked with Lenny, Kevin, and Carly." At the still-blank look, you try and remember their gimmick names. "Um… Screwdriver, Bloodsong, and the Ring Announcer?"

The second sister's face clears and she snaps her own fingers in an eerily-similar gesture. "Oh, yeah! You're Allie's friend! The one she trusted to throw her at people!"

Awww. That's nice. You'll have to thank Allie for the vote of confidence later. But that's not important now. You nod at the crowd starting to form around the ring and around the railing. "Good house tonight."

"Yeah!" One of this sisters says. You really need to ask them which one's which; if they're not actually twins, they're damn good at pretending. "It's not a record, but it's close."

The three of you talk for a little while about the night. Apparently they're the opener, and they've only just started here a few months back, but they're super-psyched for the show tonight. And not just for their own match. "I hear," Sandy- you finally figured out which one's which by their shirts- says in a low voice. "That Hector's got a special surprise at the end. Something he's keeping a secret from everyone that's not in the main event."

"Rumor is that it's some new part-timer. Smart money's on Venom retaining, of course, so he wants to get a new hot babyface ready to go." Sheila goes on.

Hector must be the booker. Strange. Whenever you heard about N.E.W, you always kind of figured that it'd be a female booker who just didn't like men. That'll teach you to judge books by their covers. Speaking of…

"Hey, could you introduce me?" you ask. "To Hector?"

"Actually… yeah." Sheila says after glancing at her sister. "Come to think of it, he'd love to meet you."
***
As it turns out, Hector is…

Hector is a fanboy. And not just any kind of fanboy.

The kind of fanboy who has a tattoo of a snarling face on his bicep, half black and half yellow with spiky hair. The kind who dresses entirely in blacks and red and you know has a pair of milky-white contacts in their pocket. The kind who cuts promos on a whim that all contain a frankly absurd amount of profanity. And after talking with Hector for twenty second, the reasoning behind his unique booking becomes completely clear.

After all, Hector is a Daybreak fanboy. And Daybreak would find what he's doing utterly hilarious.

"You actually trained with her?! That's fucking unreal!" Hector says, practically drooling. He hasn't stopped shaking your hand from when the Sunshines introduced you. "It's insane! Did she tell you a lot of stories? What'd she say about her debut?! Was it really in front of ten fans? And what about-"

"Hey, Hector." A new voice says. You glance up at the huge, muscular black woman who's come up to the booker. She's glaring at him and doesn't look like she's going to stop any time soon. "We need to go over this finish. I am not-"

"Finish stands, Nidi." he says without ever looking away from your or stopping shaking your hands. "You take the fall clean. Kennedy over in sixteen. You got a problem, I'll cut it to a singles match, you dig?"

The titan snarls and her fingers twitch as if she wants to do nothing more than to wring Hector's neck. But she stalks away without another word. "Glad you see it my way!" he calls after her.

Your arm is starting to get tired, and you let go of the handshake as discreetly as you can. Hector immediately goes back to rambling about Daybreak, talking about her great matches that he's seen live, how she once locked him in a headlock in Philadelphia, how he set up a huge fan group all about bashing SisTaur after her botch permanently damaged his idol's leg.

You answer his questions as best you can as you look around the Locker Room. After a few shows in tents, the Locker Room is almost like a luxury, even if all the lockers are just small cubbies the type you'd rent out at the mall. Workers are milling around, discussing their matches, shooting the shit, or in a few cases, gossiping about the surprises Hector has in store.

"So," you say, hoping you're coming off as nonchalant. "You've got a big show tonight."

"Hell yeah I do!" he says, shit-eating grin in full effect. "Best crowd of the year already! And if we get any more walk-up business, it might break the record! And-"

Hector breaks off, squinting at you. "And you're about to ask if I've got a spot on the card."

You shrug, a wide smile on your face. "Never hurts to check."

Hector guffaws loudly and slaps you on the shoulder so hard it hurts. Surprising; you think you've got a good hundred pounds on the guy. "I think I can find a spot for you." he says. "No one knows how many people are going to be in the gauntlet after all; I can work you in no problem."

Hmm. The Gauntlet Match. That's… well, it's better than you expected.

From what Hector says, this is going to be an actual gauntlet match, nothing like Daybreak's strange gauntlet training. In a gauntlet match, it starts off with two people in the ring. When one gets pinned, he's eliminated, and another man comes out to take his place. This goes on until only one person's left.

If Hector can work you into the Gauntlet, then you suppose you might get a good five minutes out there at best. Maybe one elimination if that.

Maybe you can barter him up to something higher?
[] No, you'll take the opportunity in the Gauntlet and you'll be happy for it. Anything to get a few minutes of ring time.
[] It looks like there's a mystery man in the later man's match- some kind of thing to determine the stipulations of the main event. Hector's no doubt got something planned, but maybe you can talk your way into it? (DC80 Charisma Check)
[] You'll do the gauntlet- and you want to go over. That'll get you another match later on with the men's champion. There's no way you're going to win that; you're not from around here after all. But you'll step on as many toes as you have to to get more in-ring experience. (DC100 Charisma Check)
[] Write-In

 

[Vesvius]

For a second, you think about asking for more. It's true that there's no number of people in the gauntlet match listed. But it's also true that there's no opponent listed for Copperhead in the stipulation match- maybe you could talk Hector into letting you have that spot instead. It's way more of a showcase than being one of a dozen men in a gauntlet match.

Then again, there wouldn't be a mystery opponent here if Hector didn't have a plan. There's no way he'd throw aside his booking because he happens to be a fan of your trainer. So that's out. The gauntlet it is. That could still work out though. Again, no one knows who the planned winner is. You could win and challenge for the men's title! That'd give you two matches on one card; it'd suck for your body, but it'd be great experience.

But no. Again, you're only getting on the card due to a fluke, due to who you know and what stories you can tell. If it was you booking the show, there's no way in hell you'd drop everything for some greenhorn who thought he deserved better. You might even take back your offer; if he's not grateful for your generosity, there's no sense in giving it to him.

So you nod at Hector and shake his hand again despite your protesting arm. "Thank you so much for the opportunity." You say. "I won't disappoint!"

Hector slaps you on the arm. "Go get changed! I can't wait to see what you're going to break out out there!"

You scan the men's section of the locker room and find an empty cubby far in the back. But as you start to walk over to it, Hector whistles for your attention. You look back over your shoulder. He jerks his head at the corner, where a table with some food's been set up. "Help yourself," he says, "And after you're done, go see Jackie. She's got a huge cowboy hat. Can't miss her. She's handling the gauntlet." With his marching orders given, Hector turns and walks out of the locker room, to the hallway that leads to the club proper.

Without any further distractions you make your way to your chosen locker. You strip down and throw your clothes into the metal box quickly, eager to get this started. You're halfway through changing, tugging up your knee pads when a thought hits you.

You never actually asked if you were getting paid for this.

...fuck.

That thought distracts you for a few seconds. Shit. That's the fucking first one of Daybreak's commandments! And you forgot it! She's going to kill you next time you see her, and you can't blame her! It's-

A whistle snaps you out of your stupor. You glance over your shoulder to see a redhead looking at your back with frank appreciation. "Hey!" She catcalls. "New meat! Hey, Lyd, check out the-"

Your face flushing dark, you straighten up from your bent over position and start tugging on your elbow pads. The woman groans in mock disappointment. You try to hide your reaction to no avail. She snorts out a laugh and moves on.

It doesn't take long to finish getting dressed after that; you think you left friction burns on your body from how fast you finished pulling your clothes on. Fully dressed and with your jacket over your shoulders, you head over to the bigger side of the locker room.

Looks like everyone's already finished changing, so you've got no opportunity to return the favor to the redhead, even if you could find her; she seems to have gone out for a bit. Everyone's sitting around and chatting, or playing cards, or doing whatever they can to pass the time before their match starts. You don't waste any time and start going around the room, shaking hands. You've already ignored one of Daybreak's commandments; you're not ignoring two.

The reception you get is a bit… chilly. The women don't seem to care all that much. They shake your hand and move on. Some talk with you for a few seconds, some sense your nerves and try to calm you, some more sense your nerves and start needling you a bit. Basic stuff. But the men are all reserved, almost hostile. The only ones that don't seem to be giving you the cold shoulder are Mike, the Men's Champion, and Dennis Dynamite, a veteran who's here as the mystery opponent for Copperhead. They're fairly friendly, but the rest are definitely standoffish.

With your round completed you look for Jackie. Hector was right; it's impossible to miss her. She's half the size of anyone else in the room, and her head seems to almost be getting swallowed by a cowboy hat at least four times too big for her. But the calluses on her hand and the scars on her face tell you that this woman has worked before. You'll have to try and find some of her stuff later.

You introduce yourself and she shakes your hand like a boss meeting a new hire for the first time; which you guess isn't entirely inaccurate. After exchanging a few pleasantries, Jackie stands on top of a bench and lets out a bellow at the top of her surprisingly loud lungs. "Gauntlet! Over here!"

Most of the men stand and head over to her at her call. You look them over as best you can without being obvious about it. They're a mixed bunch as best you can tell. Some of them are dressed in what are clearly stripper's outfits with a bit more cloth sewn onto them. A few more are wearing more traditional gear, and one taller man's dressed in a full suit and tie that he has to have gotten at a local thrift shop. Either that or he just hasn't worn it in ten years; thing doesn't fit at all.

Once you're all assembled Jackie starts laying out the match. The orders are pretty simple. They all boil down to "You guys get in the ring and do some stuff. You get pinned, and a new guy comes in." You're not mentioned- or rather gestured at- until about halfway through the match. There are ten of you, and you'll be going in sixth.

"You," Jackie says, pointing at you. "Are going in next with Rubix. Boss wants you to get some shine, so you'll have five minutes to do your shit and get the pin. After that, Lecter's in."

The suit-clad beanpole nods. "He gets the pin in one move. You ever taken a chokebreaker before?" You shake your head no, and Jackie's sighs. "You'll figure it out. Then Lecter, you're winning. Fred gets squashed in three, and then something longer with the Mauler. We cool?"

Without waiting for an answer, she hops down off the bench. You stand up and start limbering up. The opening music is playing, and that means the first match is about to start. Sure enough, you see the Sunshine Sisters heading out in the hall to wait. Sheila catches your eye and shoots you a friendly wink, and then they're gone.

You're halfway through your stretches when Jackie comes up to you again. She reaches up and pats you on the shoulder. "You're… Martin, right?" At your nod, she goes on. "Look, Martin, Hector told me you're green as fuck. But don't worry about it. Just… just stay calm out there and do your stuff. Pick whatever you think is the most impressive shit you can do and do it. You'll be fine." Jackie's clearly unused to soothing anyone. With one more awkward pat, she moves on.

She's right. This might be the biggest crowd you've been in front of in your short, short career, but there's no time to be nervous here. You take the butterflies in your stomach that were just beginning to stir and crush them mercilessly.

At least, you try. They still stir faintly when you walk over to Rubix, an older worker in a checkered, multi colored mask. "Hey," you say, trying to keep it out of your voice. "MInd if we go over my stuff real quick."

The vet nods shortly. He's still not happy, but he's a professional. The two of you talk for a few moments about your short match, and what he's comfortable taking. As it turns out he's good with pretty much everything. After the third time you try and outline your idea for a moonsault knee drop, he just sighs.

"Kid, look. Do whatever you want out there. No piledrivers, but anything else. Just… just do it. I'll make it look good."

Nothing more you can really say after that. You nod, shake his hand again despite his reluctance, and get back to stretching.

You hear the crowd counting along, the bell ring, and the ring announcer speak up. The first match must be over. You, along with everyone else in the gauntlet, file out of the room at Jackie's direction. The first man in the match, El Bandito, starts a line in front of the curtain. You take your place between Rubix and 'Boston Strangler' Howard Lecter.

The bell rings again, drawing the crowd's attention. The dull murmur of people chattering fades away as they return their attention to the ring. From where you stand, you can hear the ring announcer clearly. "The following is a gauntlet match, with the winner getting a shot at Mikey Roadrage later on tonight! Introducing first!"

And you're off.

The line moves quickly. El Bandito starts off with a galoshes-wearing fisherman named 'The Cod God' of all things. While it's not the most ridiculous thing you've ever shared a card with- you think- it's damn close. From your vantage point behind the curtain you catch most of their part of the match. It's really nothing special- almost all of Cod God's moves are designed to show off his legs or his muscles to the appreciative calls of the women in the crowd. After four minutes of 'wrestling', he puts Bandito in a surfboard hold of all things for the win.

El Bandito is replaced by the Neo Cubist, a man with basic trunks on who is covered in random lines of body paint. He goes back and forth with Cod God for a bit before pinning him with a handful of tights. The fisherman rolls out, and his place is taken by Nightman, a guy in a full-spandex superhero outfit. You don't get to see much of Nightman's schtick- Neo Cubist pins him with a facebuster almost immediately.

The crowd watches all of this with mild disinterest. They seem to be paying their food more attention than anything in the ring. That changes when Rubix comes out. It doesn't take long for you to cotton on to the fact that they've got one of N.E.W's rare men's storylines going on, a simple, basic one about two tag-team partners not getting along. They lay into each other with actual holds and punches to something resembling a cheer. After six minutes of back-and-forth, Rubix gets the win.

You're up.

You sprint through the curtains to complete indifference; you can almost hear the crowd deflate when they see you. It doesn't stop you though. If anything, it crushes the last butterflies in your stomach. These people don't expect jack shit from you. You've just got to show them wrong.

You slide into the ring and pop to your feet. The two of you start trading strikes immediately, punches and palm thrusts at kicks. Rubix warned you in the back that he'd be laying it in and you don't see any reason not to return the favor. His only partially pulled punches sink deep into your stomach, and you answer with a stiff forearm to the face.

More punches are exchanged until Rubix hisses a spot. Instantly, you start slowing down your rapid-fire strikes. Rubix does likewise, until the two of you are barely throwing one punch every few seconds between the two of you. You back up and clutch your shoulder. "Owwww!" you groan out loudly, making sure everyone hears.

There're a few chuckles, and you drink them in like a parched man licking the inside of an empty water bottle. Once you're finished selling, you point dramatically at Rubix. "Hey, cube man!" you yell. "Anyone can hit really, really hard! But do you have the balls to fight me like a real man! Will you accept my challenge to find out who can hit the softest?"

The crowd is dead silent, but it's a good silence. As if they're waiting for whatever's coming next. Rubix looks around at them, asking for their opinion. A few fans in the front rows start yelling, telling him he should take the challenge. Emboldened, he steps up and barely taps you on the arm.

He spins and raises his arms, cheering and spinning- only to go down when you level him with a straight right hand. The crowd laughs, and there's a light round of applause. Nothing special, but fuck, you got them!

At least, you do for a minute.

Rubix falls to the ground, stunned by your punch. You grab him and haul him to his feet. You hook his arms and stand there, letting the crowd reaction build. Time for the double-underhook backbreaker, the Setting Sun. If there's any move that'll draw a huge reaction, a huge pop, from this crowd, it'll be this one.

You hiss the spot to Rubix and pull-

And fail.

Either he jumps too late, or maybe you pull before he's ready. Whatever the cause, the timing is all over the place. The move is completely botched. What's supposed to be a double-underhook backbreaker turns into more of a double-underhook the-fuck-was-that. You both fall to the ground in a heap, and you can't help but snarl curses so loudly that the front rows starts to chuckle.

They're the only ones reacting. Whatever goodwill your whole comedy routine created has been scattered like dust in the wind. Small pockets of boos begin to pop up throughout the Corner Store. The butterflies come back at full strength and wail away against your stomach like a boxer working a heavy bag.

Thankfully Rubix keeps his head about him better than you do. He slithers around on the mat until he's got a firm grip on your leg and lets out a victorious screech. Rubix ties your leg into an awkward-looking but painless hold. He wrenches away at it like a man possessed.

The masked man works you over for a few precious seconds while you pull yourself together. He works hold after hold on your clumsy limbs, drawing more and more boos away from you and onto himself. Finally, in a show of sheer mat dominance, he lays on top of you, belly to back, and starts to spin, yelling taunts.

"You good?" he hisses. You nod once, and he barks "Combo!"

You've got marching orders again and you know what to do. You hop to your knees and then your feet, throwing the showboating Rubix off of your back. The crowd lapses back into silence as you square off with the man. He staggers back to his own feet and lets out a thin wail of challenge before charging you, hands over his head-

Leaving his midsection wide open. You lunge forward with a straight to the gut. He doubles over, coughing and hacking. But you don't let up. You drop to one knee and deliver a palm strike, straight up, tapping his chin. Rubix stands straight up as if you've hit him so strong that his spine just can't keep it's old shape.

That wasn't planned, but it's perfect. You straighten up and in one fluid motion clinch the back of his head, pulling it straight down into a rising knee. Just like you wanted, you barely feel his nose graze your knee pad. Also just like you wanted, he goes down like he's been shot. Fucking perfect. Even better, the crowd reacts like they're watching an actual wrestling match. The sound of them all inhaling at once is music to your ears.

The butterflies are gone as you run to the corner and climb to the top turnbuckle. The crowd begins to murmur again, wondering what you have planned. They don't have to wait long. You stand, crouched in wait, for only a moment before Rubix staggers back to his feet, swinging wildly as if drunk. He turns, and you soar off the top, extending your feet and spinning into the Missile Drillkick.

Rubix goes down and the crowd roars its approval. You spring to your feet and pump your arms, letting out a cheer. But no matter how much you want to, you can't stay here and feed off the crowd's energy for long. It has to have been at least four minutes since you came out here. Got to wrap this up.

Your opponent is still down. You turn away from him, point at the crowd, and jump into a backflip as you focus. You've only practiced this once or twice; it has to be perfect. You turn in midair and tuck your knees at just the right time, landing shins-and-knees first on Rubix's gut.

The crowd pops as you make the cover.

"One… two… three!"

You leap back up and raise your arms, screaming along with the crowd. They're applauding and cheering, better than anything you ever expected. The ring announcer stands and lifts her microphone. "Rubix has been eliminated!"

You can't stop smiling. Fuck, it feels good to get a win!

The crowd noise dies as the curtain parts again, revealing the next opponent. 'Boston Strangler' Howard Lecter lumbers down to the ring. His sheer presence cuts off all the energy you've been building. But that wouldn't stop the Wildcard. You stand in the center of the ring, waiting for him. You crouch low, beckoning for him to come closer and-

He rushes at you before you're ready, grasping you by the throat. You feel his arm try to go up instantly. With no time to brace yourself, you just try to hurl yourself up, going with it. But as tall as he is, Lecter is no muscleman. You get maybe two feet off the ground before he pushes you back to the earth over his knee.

"One… two… three!"

"Tommy Martin has been eliminated."

Fuck. You botched that finish. So did he, but you're the rookie here. You'll get the blame for that to be sure. At least it wasn't as fucked as your attempt at a Setting Sun was. That thought consoles you as you roll out of the ring and stagger to the back, holding the small of your back all the while.

You get back behind the curtain and walk passed the line still waiting to be fed to Lecter. Kringus the Mauler claps you on the shoulder in congratulations, but besides him everyone remains icy. Defeated, and dejected, you walk back to the locker room.

The wrestlers are watching Lecter demolish Freddy Steel on a monitor when you make it back to the locker room. Here at least, among the women, you get a decent reception. One of the Sunshine Sisters, you can't tell which one without their name tagged T-Shirts, calls out a congratulation, and a bodybuilder covering himself in copper paint stops long enough to nod once in approval at you.

You acknowledge them both, but you don't go up to either of them. Instead, you head over to Rubix. He's pulling the mask off of his face, revealing long features under matted brown hair. He looks up at you in surprise as you offer him your hand. "Thanks for everything out there." you say. "And fuck, sorry I fucked the backbreaker. You really saved my ass out there."

His eyes widen as if he's surprised, but that doesn't stop him for long. He takes the offered handshake. "Yeah, no worries." he replies, some of the frost flaking off of his voice. "Just doing my job out there. And you did good. Fuck, that combo came together nice."

"Yeah!" You enthuse, finally letting out the smile that's been hiding since you nailed that knee. "You straightening out was golden there and fuck, I've got to use that more often!"

The two of you talk for another few moments before the Neo Cubist comes out of the shower. Without his paint on he looks to be about half his prior size. He snorts when he sees you talking to his partner. "You know you fucked that finish." he says without preamble.

You nod, and explain that you'll apologize to Lecter when he gets back here. But even after saying that, you can sense that you're not welcome right now. Might as well get showered and changed. You nod at Rubix and head over to your locker. You could swear you stowed a towel in there earlier-

Sure enough, when you pull open your gym bag, you see a towel. Right there next to all of your regular clothes, your phone, and a book you'd been working on on the bus ride to Portland. One problem though.

It's buried under what has to be half a bag of kitty litter.

Muffled snorts spring up around the locker room as you stare at the stuff covering your clothes. That's going to take forever to get out. And you still have to get clean and… fuck. Annoyance begins to build in your gut.

How are you going to react to this?
[] A bit of hazing? Meh. You won't sell this at all. You'll just clean up the litter as best you can, get changed, and move on.
[] You just got done wrestling, and now you have to deal with all this?! These fuckers have been treating you like shit since you got back here. You're going to find who did this and you're going to make an example out of them.
[] Someone seems to have misplaced kitty litter in your bag! They must have thought it was theirs. You've got to return it to them. But since you don't know who's it was, you'll go put some in everyone's bag!
[] Laugh, and ask if anyone's got a spare towel. They got you. You can be a good sport about this.
[] Write-In
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Mechanic Changes
Skill Changes
Brawling: Average 269/500 -> Average 299/500
Aerial: Impressive 603/1500 -> Impressive 661/1500
Mat Wrestling: Disappointing 56/100 -> Disappointing 63/100
Comedy: Mediocre 160/250 -> Mediocre 170/250
Selling: Average 329/500 -> Average 343/500
Basics: Average 257/500 -> Average 272/500
Athleticism: Medicore 127/250 -> Mediocre 138/250

Move Changes
Missile Drillkick (2/3 -> 3/3): This variation of a top-rope diving dropkick was created when Tommy was trying to think of something new and different to do. When performing the Missile Drillkick, Tommy leaps from the top-rope like normal, but points his feet more than usual and rotates in the air. Though it's barely more then two rotations now, as Tommy raises his Aerial and Athleticism, it will become much more impressive. It is now fully established as a signature move.

Strike Combo (N/A -> 3/3): A punch to the gut, followed by a palm strike to the chin and then a leaping knee from the clinch. It went over so well in it's debut appearance that it's already been fully established.
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A/N: Congrats. You rolled a nat 100 on the Strike Combo. A vote to name it will come soon, as well as a vote to name the Missile Drillkick if you so choose.

 

[Vesvius]

You look down into your bag of litter-covered belongings. You kind of want to yell, but you've heard enough stories to know that that's how you get labeled the baby who can't take a joke. And you sort of want to just no-sell it, act like it didn't happen. But…

Honestly, you just want to take your shower.

You look back over your shoulder and let out a laugh. "Alright, you got me." You say loudly and clearly, cutting through the muted chuckles. "Good one. Anyone got a spare towel? Cleaning this up's going to be a bitch and I don't want to stink while I'm doing it."

You wait for a response. What you get doesn't surprise you: complete and utter silence. Undeterred, you shrug. It was worth a shot. You turn back to your bag and start cleaning out the litter. The stuff got everywhere. It'll be easy enough to get out of your book, but your normal shoes? Your shirt? It's going to be there for weeks.

Why was there even kitty litter in the locker room anyway?! And so much of it? Who lugs around a bag of cat-toilet?! Do they do it just for the jokes, the ribs, the pranks? Or maybe there's some other reason. Is it supposed to snow later? That might-

Something thumps into your back and flutters on the floor. You glance over your shoulder to see a small hand towel resting by your boots. It's bright pink and frilly- what's even the point of frills on a towel? You glance over at the rest of the locker room and spot the redhead from before looking at you over her thick nerd glasses. She catches your eye and winks, and you can't stop the flush from shooting up your face.

The woman chuckles and gestures at the towel. "Best I've got. Sorry." She looks like she wants to say more, but one of her friends grabs her attention and starts talking about something animatedly; likely their upcoming match. You shrug and look back down at the towel. She's right- it's better than nothing.

By the time you're done in the shower, hiding your shame with the near washcloth all the while, and cleaning up your spare pants enough to wear them, the gauntlet is long over. The next match too, if you're counting the number of tired wrestlers right. You clean up your stuff as best you can and go looking for the redhead. You've got to give her back her towel after all.

She's not there. That can only mean… yep. You glance at the monitor and see her in the ring with the enormous black amazon from earlier and her friend, who's doing flying headscissors while keeping a wide-brimmed fedora perched perfectly on her head. If you remember right, the big woman is Nightshade. And you're not all that up-to-date on your movies, but even you recognize the other woman's gear as being a pure knock-off of Indiana Jones. You'd guess that's 'Whiplash'.

Which makes the leering redhead Kennedy Cole. Interesting. You've heard a bit about her work but you've never actually seen her before. You remember reading a magazine last year while you were waiting for a prescription at a drugstore, one of those old ones that pretended wrestling was real and featured 'experts' analyzing everything they could think of. A review of one of her matches was in it; the guy at the keyboard said she was one of the slickest in-ring technicians he'd ever seen.

Watching her work, you can't say you disagree. Kennedy runs the ropes, bypassing Nightshade, and flips up and over, landing on the apron. As Nightshade charges, Kennedy ducks low and slingshots over the bottom rope, taking out the bigger woman at the knees. Quicker then you can really register, she's got Nightshade's legs locked up in grapevine and is laying in the elbows.

You let out a low whistle. Impressive. The crowd clearly agrees; they're going nuts in a way they definitely didn't during your match, even at your best. The announcers are losing their minds just as much as the paying fans. "This could do it!" Hector's voice screams. "She could have her right here! All she needs is- yes! She's hooking the arms! The L3! The L3! She's-"

Nightshade lifts her hand as best she can, seemingly ready to submit. Only the quick action of 'Whiplash' Jones breaks up the hold and saves the match.

You'll need to catch the rest of this later. For now, you go find Kennedy's locker and lay her towel on the bench near it. You'd put it on her stuff, but somehow you doubt that'd be appreciated. That taken care of, you glance around the locker room, searching for the winner of your match.

You find Lecter jogging in place; he's got another match later, so you'd guess he's staying warm. He starts slightly when he notices you coming up behind him. But his reaction when you stick your hand out and apologize for fucking the finish makes up for any startelement. It's a lot like Rubix's actually; he seems shocked that you'd admit to any wrongdoing whatsoever.

He's mute long enough that you start getting worried and begin to go through your apology again. "Seriously, that one was one me. I jumped too late. I've never taken a choke-anything before; that's no excuse, but just wanted to let you know, it won't happen again. And-"

Lecter cuts you off with a shake of the head and a slap on the shoulder so hard it stings. "Nah," he says, his voice far more high-pitched then you expected. "It was as much on me as it was on you. I didn't let you brace. We were just going long and I thought that it'd be better to wrap it up as quick as we could and shit man, it was my bad too. You're alright though?"

He seems agitated at the thought that he might have hurt you. You calm him down with the truth; you feel fine. A little sore, but that's probably from your landing after the Drillkick. The two of you talk for a few minutes more before you retreat back to your bag and get on with getting the litter out of your stuff. Your sneakers are going to take a while; you'll just wear your boots home.


As you pick out the stuff grain by grain, the match in the ring ends with Kennedy throwing Jones out of the ring and grabbing Nightshade with an awesome looking sit-out fisherman's buster. She grabs a silver belt and holds it high; looks like she just won the promotion's secondary title. Her celebration goes on for a long, long time, followed closely by intermission.

No one really spares you any attention for a while after that. The three in the match come back in and are treated to a round of applause from their friends. You join in a little, but don't bother approaching anyone as you get to work on your jeans. The applause dies down quickly as people head out to the merch tables to start shilling their stuff.

You're done your jeans and working on your socks by the time someone next comes up to you. A shadow falls over you and you glance up see Hector looking down at you. He holds out his hand for you to shake. "Nice job out there, man!" He says, voice a little scratchy. "Way to go! I knew anyone trained by Daybreak couldn't be bad! Though your Setting Sun needs work."

You laugh. "Yeah, I'll get on that. But anyway. I forgot to ask. Um, am I getting paid for this?" You flinch internally at just how stupid that sounded, so much like a kid begging his parents for an allowance.

Hector looks around sheepishly and rubs the back of his head with the hand that's not extended to shake yours. "Well, times are tight dude, and I already told people that I only let you on the card to get some experience. I figured they'd give you less of a hard time if that got around. Worked too!" He nods at pile of litter that's growing on the floor. "Last guy Cod did that too, it wasn't clean."

It takes a minute for you to process that. But in the end, you sigh. It's your own damn fault for not checking in the first place. You reach out and shake Hector's hand. "Well, yeah, I-"

Something crinkles in your palm. Hector shoots you a wink. "Yeah, anyway. I'll send you a copy of the final show, cool?" You nod dumbly, and he grins. "Sweet. Text me your email, and I'll get that out to you."

He changes subjects without pause, but he does let go of your hand, letting you see a couple of crisp hundreds in your palm. Hurriedly, you stick them in your pants pocket. "So, you said you're not staying in the area?" he asks. At your head shake, he frowns. "Damn. I'd use you more if you were around. You could probably do something big after you get some more matches under your belt." Hector pauses, thinking deeply about something.

"Anyway. I'll try and work something out. Watch your email, Wildboy!"

He turns without another word and heads back out to the locker room. You watch him go, shaking your head. You guess it's true; this whole thing isn't just about what you can do in the ring, it's about who you know. You know that Hector wouldn't have been half as nice to you there if it wasn't for who trained you.

Anyway. No one else comes up to you, even after the show starts back up and people come back into the locker room, not even the people that were nicer to you like Rubix, Kennedy, or Lecter. Doesn't look like you're going to be getting any opportunity to add to who you know today.

You sit and watch the rest of the show in silence. The men's matches are short and nothing to write home about, but the main event is gorgeous. Venom pins Tracy Sensation in the middle after interference from the rest of her Cobra's Den after a hard-fought twenty five minutes, pretty much confirming the rumors that Sensation's on her way out. No way she'd have lost here otherwise. With the main event done, the wrestlers file out into the club to enjoy fans buying them drinks.

As for you, you just head home. You're driving, so no point in drinks, and you've had enough of a cold shoulder for one night.
***
The rest of your vacation to Maine is calm after that. You hang around Shifty's with your parents, helping out the occasional customer and ringing in the new year. They're so happy that you wrestled, but seem upset that they missed it. You shrug and tell them you only had like five minutes of ring time. There wasn't anything to miss, really. That doesn't seem to settle them down though.

You're back on the Greyhound the day after, heading south back to Baltimore. The thirteen-hour bus ride is just as excruciating as it was last time, made better only because you have the row to yourself; also made worse because you've finished your book. You spend the rest of your time playing around with games on your phone and watching your matches. You can guess that you're getting better because some of the stuff you're seeing is making you wince even just six weeks later.

You get off the bus in the middle of the night, as Saturday turns into Sunday, jog through freshly fallen snow to reach the apartment. It's surprisingly warm when you open it up; someone's sprung for space heaters. Thank god.

The door swings open faster than you expected and bangs into the wall. The sudden sound makes Jack jump from where's he's sitting over a sketch pad with a pile of pencils. "Fuck!" he bits off. "Now I've got to start all over!" You shut the door and risk a glance, but you can't make out what he's working on.

Jack's annoyance fades quickly when he realizes you're back. "Hey!" he greets you. "How was 'nengland?" At your look, he shrugs. "What? New Orleans is 'Nawlins. Shouldn't New England be 'Nengland?"

"You are such a dork." Allie sighs as she comes out of her room. Jack holds his hands to chest, mock offense writ large across his face.

"I resemble that remark!"

Allie groans and ignores him. "Good to see you're not dead!" She greets you, holding out her fist. You manage to fumble your way through some kind of elaborate handshake and she huffs. "Though you forgot how to to do the secret sign."

"You never taught me how to do the secret sign!"

She shakes her head as if baffled by your ignorance. You sidle past her and drop your bag in your room. "So," Jack calls, "How was the family?"

"Good, good." You say as you look around the room. After your stay at home, it looks a lot more barren than you remember it. At least you managed to take the thick blanket from your old room. "Saw the parents, helped the bar, worked a match, got ribbed, got paid, came back."

You turn to see the two of them staring at you. "You… you got paid?" Allie gasps.

"For wrestling?! I was starting to think it was just a myth!" Jack follows up. You open your mouth to tell them the story, but he stops you with an upraised hand. "No." he says, gesturing at the floor in front of him. "Sit. Speak. Teach us your ways of getting paid."

You chuckle as you grab your sleeping bag and drop it down to use as a cushion. It was nice to see you old home again, and great to see your parents. But for now, no matter how cold it is, it's good to be home.

Rent has been paid! -2 expenses.
You have 2 expenses remaining (1+1(Work)+1(Parent's Gift)+1(N.E.W)-2(Rent)). Rent is 2 expenses, due in four weeks.
Upcoming Bookings/Opportunities: SWF Hardline (Booking) on Week Six. Seminar with Xerxes Attar (Training) this week.
Pick Seven (7) actions that Tommy will perform this week.
GM's Note: You can make a plan if you so choose, but please make sure each line is X'd off. Tally will be done by item.

Personal Actions
[] Explore the city- You haven't seen much of Baltimore before, but you're told it's a great place. Or at least, certain parts are. You want to look around and see what you can find. You never know when you'll find a good chinese place or something that really inspires you. (DC50 check. If passed, Tommy finds something cool. If failed, Baltimore remains as boring as a major metropolitan city can be.)

[] Look for a Car- You need wheels. With public transit, you can get to very local shows without much trouble, but you'll struggle to get to anything outside of Baltimore itself. With a cheap used car, you get mobility. (Cost: Varies. DC 50 check. On success, a car that suits Tommy's price point and needs is found, and Tommy can haggle with the guy on a price. If negotiations fail, Tommy at least knows the car exists. On failure, Tommy doesn't find anything that suits him. Action wasted.)

[] Look for Furniture- This shithole you live in can do with some decoration. You'll hit some thrift stores and see what's available to put in your room and the apartment as a whole. (Cost: Varies. DC20 check. On success, some decent, bug free, furniture is found and you can decide whether or not to buy it. Possible Encounters. On failure, Tommy can't find anything that's not infested with some new roommates. Action Wasted.)

[] Maintain Your Online Presence- At the end of the day, you run a small business that has exactly one employee. What do all small businesses need? Accessibility and advertising, and there's nothing better for that then the internet. You've got your twitter @HoleCard, a facebook, and a blog you've been making little entries in. Keep it up! (Cost: None. DC 80 check. On success, enough people notice Tommy's online presence that he gains a bit of notoriety. On failure, nothing happens, but Tommy maintains his footprint.)

[] The Wrestling Times- The Wrestling Times is the premier source of wrestling news and gossip in the world. Coming out bimonthly, it's really the best way to keep up to date on the whole wide world of wrestling. It's not cheap, but it's worth it. (Cost: 1 Expense, monthly. Cannot be failed. Does not count against your action limit for this week.)

[] Veg and Relax- The outside world is overrated. Every now and then you need to relax and putter around your apartment while doing absolutely nothing. You'll do a bit of cleaning, try and scrub that color off the toilet, and just take some time to yourself. (+1d20 Resilience as Tommy recovers. Apartment becomes more livable.)

Social Actions
[] Hang out with Allie- Your punk friend is right at home here, which is just great; you could use the help. You'll set aside some time and go do some shit together. New experiences are always better when shared. (DC40 check. If passed, Tommy and Allie go out and do something cool, with possible encounters. If failed, both Allie and Tommy are too busy to hang. Action wasted.)

[] Hang out with Jack- Jack's been working himself to the bone at his new cleaning job and could no doubt use a night out to relax. You'll go out for some beers and shoot some pool; it'll always be a good time as long as you laugh at that pale spot on his face where his goatee used to be. (DC40 check. If passed, Tommy and Jack go out and do something cool, with possible encounters and a possible relationship increase. If failed, both Jack and Tommy are too busy to hang. Action wasted)

[] Hang out with Leah and Caleb- You've gotten the phone numbers for two more of your former classmates at Horizon, the overly-friendly Caleb and the young, but businesslike, Leah. They've put out a standing offer to hang whenever you'd like and you might as well take them up on it. If nothing else, maybe they've found another place to work. (DC40 check. If passed, Tommy heads over to Caleb and Leah's place and they do something together. If failed, both of them have plans for the week. Action wasted.)

Training Actions
[] Figure out a gimmick (Team)- You're with Jack and Allie for a reason. Not only are they your friend and cost-reducers, they're your team. You've already got one gimmick, but the best thing a wrestler can have is versatility. (Cost: 1 Expense+ (can grow with more complex gimmicks) for proper tights and boots. A design-a-gimmick choice will come in a later update if this is chosen)

[] Figure out a gimmick (Solo)- Anyone can wrestle in plain white boots and plain black tights, but you want to be a goddamn pro. You've already got one gimmick, but the best thing a wrestler can have is versatility. (Cost: 1 Expense+ (can grow with more complex gimmicks) for proper tights and boots. A design-a-gimmick choice will come in a later update if this is chosen)

[] Get back to Horizon Academy- You've graduated from wrestling school. But who says you can't go back? Daybreak. Daybreak is who says you can't go back. It's going to be pretty hard to convince her to let you in right now, with her new session starting and everything, but you can probably convince her. (DC50 Check. If passed, +1d20 in two In-Ring, Performance, or Physical skills of your choice (select when voting), interaction with Daybreak and Delilah. If failed, Daybreak wants you the heck out of her house for now. Action wasted.)

[] Hit the Gym- You're a professional athlete now, and you're going to need to maintain yourself and improve your body. There's nothing better for that then heading to the gym. A membership'll cost you a little a month, but it's well worth it. (Cost: 1 Expense per month. Results: +1d20 for power and cardio. Possible encounters.)

[] Interview with the Punisher- You've been officially invited to a seminar by the Persian Punisher, Xerxes Attar. He even enjoyed your conversation so much that he's waving the fee. Granted, you can't tell anyone that he's waving the fee, but that's no big deal. (Results: Training session with Omid 'Xerxes Attar' Muhsin. Possible social opportunities.)

[] Talk to the Man in the Mirror- The actual act of wrestling only makes up a portion of what professional wrestling is. The rest of it is all words and charisma, and luckily your apartment has just acquired a shiny, full-length mirror. You'll spend some time in front of it and practice your promos. (+1d20 Microphone, +1d20 Charisma)

[] Tweak a Gimmick- You've got a gimmick for now, but nothing is perfect. You're going to brainstorm some new things and some new changes to you in-ring persona that will hopefully make everything pop just a little. (Cost: 0+ expenses (Depends on changes made). Tommy will tweak his gimmick in a later vote.)

[] Watch Some Tape- After some pleading and more than a few threats, you've finally managed to get a half-decent internet connection. You've got some of your own matches to study now up online, and the wide world of YouTube open as well. Time to watch some matches. (DC40 Check. If passed, +1d20 to two Out-Of-Ring or Gimmick skills of your choice (select when voting). If failed, Tommy was unable to find anything worth studying online.)

[] Yoga for Beginners- You've recently discovered Selina's Natural Breathing, a yoga studio for beginners. It's a lot more fun then you had originally thought; you get to take in some incredible views and work on your flexibility training at the same time! (Cost: 1 Expense per month. Results: +1d50 Athleticism. Possible encounters. Interaction with Selina.)

Work Actions
[] Design a T-Shirt- Selling merchandise is a great way to get your name out there, and to actually get some money in your pocket. The only problem: right now you don't have any. So you'll whip up a design and place an order for a small batch. (Cost: 1 Expense. DC20 Check. For every 10 the check succeeds by, the design is of better quality. Enables Tommy to work the merch tables at shows.)

[] Go to Work- You're now gainfully employed as a… whatever-the-hell-you-do at UR Shipping. Archie, your boss, seems nice, and your only coworker seems like… she exists. Get over there! It's time to make that money. (No check. +1 expense. Possible gains with Archie and Charley. If not taken, DC80 check must be passed to avoid being fired.)

[] Look for Work (Normal)- You've got to face it; you're almost flat broke. If you want to be able to keep supporting the rich lifestyle which you're surely about to become accustomed too, you need a regular job to pay the bills. (DC40 Check. If passed, you find and interview for a job. The higher the roll, the better your job. If failed, employment has nothing for you.)

[] Look for Work (Wrestling)- You're calling yourself a professional wrestler. In order to keep doing that, you need to, you know, wrestle. Professionally. (DC60 check. If passed, Tommy gets some leads and might be able to talk his way onto a show. If failed, nothing Tommy does pans out, at least for now.)[/u][/b][/u][/b][/u][/b][/u][/b]