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Stealing Mike's Thunder; Showdown 3, Rp 1
Topic Started: Oct 19 2007, 10:20 PM (159 Views)
Jack
sVo Champion
[ *  *  *  * ]
Two dice roll onto the tron, coming to a stop on what should be snake-eyes. Instead the jack of spades and the jack of hearts grin maniacally at each other from the faces of the dice. The image holds just long enough to register on the fans awareness before the dice explode in a shower of colorful confetti.

A second explosion erupts from the top of the ramp as concealed cannons fill the air with real confetti. With a flash and a third concussive blast Spring-Heeled Jack appears at the head of the ramp, his flaming baton twirling merrily. Where the fire touches the falling confetti, little flares erupt for a split sescond then disappear. His silver bells jangleing, sVo's Dark Jester prances down to the ring.

True to his name he springs up on the apron before vaulting into the ring. Candi, the sVo's primary interviewer stood near the center of the canvass. She seemed cross over having to deal with Jack a second time. With an over the top bow that nearly planted the Jester on his face, Jack swapped his baton for a microphone from a
stagehand. Recovering his balance, Jack turned and grinned at Candi.

"Wow," The Jester began before Candi could formally open the interview; "That suit looks awful warm for fall in Nevada. Is it cotton, Candi?"

Candi it seemed, was content to forgo the formalities of the interveiw if it meant they could be done more quickly. Rather than bow to the pun, she returned with a question: "So, Jack. Fresh from a defeat at the hands of the cannibal, Burraca, you find yourself in the ring against none other than the fan favorite for the sVo Championship: Mike Polowy. What are your thoughts right now?"

"Scattered and mildly pornographic." Jack answers matter-of-factly, "Owed largely to how low cut that blouse is, I think."

An angry flush creeps up Candi's cheeks. She squirms in place, pulling her suit coat a little tighter around her generous figure. "More appropriately, how are you feeling about your standing in this federation?" She continued with as much professionalism as she could muster.

The B-rank superstar shrugged. "I must admit, the loss to Ryu rankels a bit. And I've always found Polowy to be a bit showy."

"That's... poetic."

"So is his fortune in the ring, if you like the Oddesy." Jack replied, "There doesn't seem to be a monster or siren that can keep him from climbing to new heights."

Candi looked hard at the man standing across from her. It was as if, for an instant, the mask of idiocy had slipped to reveal something deeper. "Would you care to expand on that?"

"I dunno, Homer's not that sexy. Besides, would the FCC allow it?" Just like that the idiot was back. Disgusting as ever.

"You were comparing," Candi prodded through gritted teeth, "Mike Polowy to Odysseus."

"You mean Polowy slept with his mom?"

"No, that was Odepius."

"Right, man that guy was a wreck." Jack grinned. Candi stared back at him blankly. "Pushed it a little with that one, huh?"

"Yes." Candi answered, "Do you have any final thoughts on the match before we close this interview?"

Something sinister showed itself behind Jack's sapphire eyes. A hint of what prompted the self styled darkness. "Only this: When you never fail, you can't learn. If you can't learn, you never grow. Mike is going to grow a lot in this federation. I will help him learn."

"Ok," Candi said hesitantly, "Well, that sums things up here then. Reporting from Goodfellas Casino, I'm Candi Cross."

***

Candi and her camera crew packed up in a hurry and moved on to other things. Jack was left to his own whims. These whims took him to meandering through the laberynth of corridors that made up the sVo backstage area. Even after only two fully aired shows, the space was accumulating a mass of clutter. It was a strange contrast to the ring area that the fans would see, or even the opulent locker areas that Moretti lavshed upon his big earners. A very exclusive club Jack hoped to soon join. Win or lose, this match against a legend (as much in the industry as in his own mind) was a big step in Jack's career. A win would be optimal of course, but shit happened.

Jack's aimless path brought him near a large metal door much the same as any of the other portals lining the hall. This door however, reverberated with the shouts of an angry one sided conversation from behind it. For no good reason, Jack stopped to listen.

"Oh, I'll fight Spring Heeled Jackoff this week, alright. I'll break his goddamned arms, rip his shoulders out of their goddamned sockets, and then I'll march into the main event and show Joey Peyton why nobody takes my spot. I earned it, and I'll be damned if Jimmy Moretti, Joey Peyton, or anyone else is going to take it away from me. Yes, on Sunday Night, I'm making an impact." Came the voice of Mike Polowy, somewhat muffeled by the door.

A scuffeled footstep from down the hall had Jack diving for cover behind a stack of pallets. It wouldn't do to be caught eavesdropping on his opponent's doorstep. Peering through the clutter, Jack saw a well built man of seemingly advanced middle age with a strong if grizzeled face. The newcomer knocked once on the Mike Effect's door and waited a moment. The sound of a bolt being drawn back came almost instantaneously.

"Michael Fazoli, welcome to the Sanctioned Violence Organization." Polowy's voice came much more clearly as the door was drawn open. The older man said nothing, but stepped into the room with Jack's opponent.

Jack waited as the locks slid back into place. Then he crept back to his spot in front of the door. He could no longer hear the voices inside. Polowy was much, much calmer around this newcomer. It made Jack uncomfortable when the other guy had an ace up his sleeve. Espcially in Vegas.

Quietly Jack searched this little stretch of hall. Eventually he found, among the other things that had been stored there, a stack of set paints. Gagging a little at the fumes he popped open a can and moved back to Polowy's door.

The door was hinged on the inside to prevent people gaining access. Security had tightened in professional wrestleing in the past year. What this meant to Jack was that when Polowy opened his door, the first thing he'd see was Jack's work.

With as much care as his hurry could afford him, The dark jester drummed up a ghost from Mike Polowy's past. By the time Jack left, a massive lynched stick figure was drying in red paint on the other super-star's door.
The Dark Jester...
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