Post by jamesradford on Jan 15, 2020 10:55:18 GMT -5
12/29/2019
THE SCOPE ARENA
201 E BRAMBELTON AVENUE, NORFOLK, VIRGINIA
James stared into the bathroom mirror and didn't recognize the man staring back at him. It was an hour after Guerrilla Warfare had ended, and after about thirty minutes with the medical team, all he wanted to do was crawl into the shower. The water that had run over him was like a baptism, washing away the sins that he had committed in the match, and washing away the sins committed against him. He had stood under the hot water for a long time and it wasn't until it turned cold that he realized it was time to get out. Now he was standing at the sink, a towel wrapped around his lower half, and for some reason, he couldn't get his hands to stop shaking.
He had never been apart of anything like that before in his life. James was a more traditional style wrestler. He body slammed people, dropped an elbow. Maybe a suplex or two. He didn't know anything about stapling a man's fucking ear to his head with a staple gun, or clubbing them in the back of the head with a baseball bat.
That is, until tonight. Tonight had been an indoctrination into another side of wrestling. An education that not everyone did this because they loved the art form that was professional wrestling, but because they loved violence. They liked to push the boundaries, hurt themselves and others. They enjoyed inflicting pain and the feel of blood running down their fists. They reveled in the sick pop that such actions would elicit from the crowd, addicted to it really. And just like any other addiction, would always be chasing that first high. Always trying to top whatever sick and twisted stunt they had done the previous night. A romance with barbarism.
That was who won Guerrilla Warfare. That was who was crowned the Union Battleground Champion.
James broke his gaze with his own reflection and hung his head. The adrenaline of performing in such a high profile match in front of a capacity crowd was starting to dissipate. With that, he found that his entire body ached. He had a splitting headache thanks to the knot on the back of his head provided by Bryan Williams, but the pain that stood out the most was his ear. His hand reached up absentmindedly to gently touch the wound with his fingertips which elicited a wince due to the mangled flesh. He sighed, closing his eyes to try and steady himself and reflect on the match.
Tonight had been a trial by fire, and despite the fact that he hadn't won the whole pony, he had gone pretty far. Not as great as Indi Rhyder, but still good for an unknown. He would be a liar if he didn't admit, at least to himself, that the fact that he didn't win stung. There were a couple of points in that match that he felt like he could actually grasp it. But in the end it had been taken away from him by a bat wielding guy who wore a rooster mask to the ring. Regardless of how he felt right now, a smile still managed to creep onto his lips, mainly because of how ridiculous that thought was.
With a resigned shake of the head James looked up from the sink back to the mirror and for the first time realized that Bobby Benson was standing behind him in the doorway with a look of concern on his face. James ran his fingers through his hair before turning around to lean against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest.
The hostile body language didn't go unnoticed by Benson, who tried his best to keep his facade intact. "Can I get you anything?"
"Not really." James replied, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally.
"Well," Bobby began, looking away from Radford's intense gaze. "You did good, James. Really good."
"I might have done better if you had told me what I was getting into..."
Bobby looked back to James, a little edge creeping into his voice. "If I had told you, you wouldn't have agreed."
"I guess that's all that matters, right? Only that Bobby Benson gets his pay day...I mean, this isn't even wrestling. It's death match garbage!"
"It's your payday too! Christ, James...you haven't been seen on national television in three years! You threw away a potential career when AWE folded because you didn't want to change. You just keep doing the same old shtick, regardless of how far it drags you down." Bobby was animated now, jazz hands running independently. "So yeah, James, this is it. This is what you get, your only opportunity. A bunch of folks who take their wrestling to the extreme rather than having any real talent. And now, after your performance in Guerrilla Warfare, you fit right in!"
James opened his mouth to bark an emotional response but found that there wasn't anything he could say. Bobby was right. In many ways he allowed his disenfranchised relationship with his manager back in AWE to dictate his response after it closed. He could have lightened up a little, changed some things up, but he stuck to his guns on what could have been a potentially lucrative career, and now he was asshole deep in debt with little opportunities to keep the lights on. He allowed the man into his house a few weeks ago because the prospect of a job was too big to pass up, and now he was here. Back on TV. Back in the mix.
He had just hoped that it would be a little more his style.
A slight smile creases his lips when he looked back to Bobby. "Well, I did make it pretty far..."
A glimmer came into Benson's eyes as he excitedly nodded his response. "Damn right, baby, and that's exactly why I'm late!"
James looked confused. "What?"
"At Lights Out #36 it's going to be you, Indi Rhyder, and Bryan Williams in the Main Event!"
It was Radford's turn to move excitedly forward, gripping Bobby by the shoulders. "WHAT?!?"
Benson grinned a scheming grin. "And it's to determine the number one contender for the Union Battleground championship!"
James was nearly bowled over by the news, eyes wide and mouth agape. Bobby took this as a good sign as he settled back on his heels in satisfaction. Silence hung between the two for a moment as Radford went through a gambit of emotions, finally settling back against the sink and staring off into space.
"This could be it, Bobby. I could do this."
Bobby stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on James's shoulder. "Nah, Kid, WE are going to DO this. Now get your shit, we gotta get you rested up so you can hit the gym tomorrow."
James nodded, still a little stunned. This was his big chance, and after so many missed opportunities, he wasn't going to waste it. All the pain he had felt from the previous match had suddenly been forgotten as he walked into the next room and began stuffing gear into his bag. Hope was now on the horizon.
The scene opens to a shot of James Radford hoisting a heavy bail of hay up onto the back of his beat up Chevy pick up truck. He grunts as he shoves the bail to the backside along with four others, turning to use his bailing spikes to stab into another. A cow off in the distance lets out a hungry bay, and he turns in that direction as if noticing the camera for the first time. He abandons the hay for a moment to run his flannel covered forearm across his sweaty forehead before grabbing his classic Stetson hat and allows it to settle onto this head. He gives his trademark southern charm grin towards the camera while leaning against the tailgate and crossing his arms over his chest.
"It's been awhile, folks, and I'm awfully happy to see you. I have to admit, after Guerrilla Warfare, I wasn't sure there was going to be much left of me to be had, but here I am..."
James pauses, eyebrow cocking.
"That was a mouthful..." He mutters under his breath, shaking his head before continuing. "I'm sorry if it seems like I'm a little nervous, but I am. I mean, that match was an eyeopener for me. I had no idea that when coming into a wrestling promotion that everyone would just throw rules and standard competition out the window in favor of death match gimmicks and malicious intent. I got my freakin' ear stapled to the side of my head, and let me tell you boys and girls, that fucking hurts!"
James winces at the thought of it.
"But now that I've been introduced to what UB has determined is 'Professional Wrestling' I figure I can make an honest go of it. Besides that, this upcoming main event on Lights Out #36 has me poised across the ring from two people who embody the word professional. Bryan Williams is a bonafied star no matter where he hangs his hat, and apparently hitting someone in the back of the skull with a baseball bat is just one more style he's adopted."
James shrugs, moving right along.
"Then there's Indi Rhyder, the last Valor Pro Wrestling UnYielding Champ. She's taken the wrestling world by storm and in a short time established that she's a force to be reckoned with. Actually, Indi and I have a lot in common..."
James allows a slight smile to form at the corners of his lips, and casts a sidelong glance at the camera.
"I know, I know, it would seem like we're polar opposites. She's a self proclaimed Galactic Princess. A star child. A free loving hippie, if you will. And me...well, I'm a conservative farm hand. A hillbilly. An old beer swilling redneck. We have different styles of wrestling, with me being more of a powerhouse brawler, and her being a high flying phenomenon. It's also a safe bet that we probably don't interact with the same social circles, go to the same clubs, even eat the same foods. Heck, we might as well be miles apart on the spectrum, but there is one simple thing that ties us together..."
James gives the camera a more genuine expression.
"We both love this business, and no amount of money or promise of fame is going to tarnish how we go about conquering it. Indi is a good person, and for all intents and purposes, I try to be. We both have our fans, people who believe in us, but I'd dare to say that way more people gravitate to her than they do to me. That's cause she's got a great personality. Inviting. You can't go wrong by pinning your fandom to her star."
James eyes suddenly go cold.
"And that's why its going to be really difficult when we finally get in the ring together in this match, cause I don't want to have to hurt someone like Indi Rhyder, but I will. Not because of malice. Not cause I want to see her destroyed, but because that is the name of the game. Only one of us three can go on to become the #1 Contender, and I expect both of my opponents are going to go the distance to ensure it's one of them. You can't expect any less of me just cause she's a nice girl. Indi, if it comes down to me or you, I'll have no problem dropping you on your skull to secure my opportunity."
James winks while shoving off of the tailgate and making his way towards the house. The camera follows beside him, fixed on his profile as he walks and talks.
"Bryan Williams. The Mad Cap! When you talk about opportunity, you can't discount this guy. He's been the villain, he's been the hero, and now....he's a chicken head. Literally..."
James raises an eyebrow at the thought.
"I guess Rooster is more accurate, and hey, I might be dumb, but I get the reference. I mean, he's been the cock of the walk for years in multiple top shelf promotions, so it's no surprise that he's in this match. Matter of fact, he's probably the only name in this main event that actually makes sense. Sure, Indi's been building to it, but hasn't ever actually been put in the top spot before, and me...well I'm a nobody who came out of Guerrilla Warfare a somebody."
James moseys on over to the chicken coop where several Blue Cochin Bantam's and Standard's cluck around the yard. He pauses to lean against one of the posts next to the coop and looks back to the camera seemingly deep in thought.
"But...it was Bryan who took me out of the match. Matter of fact, he took out a few key players by the time his number was called."
James shrugs.
"You could say that he's the odds on favorite to win this whole thing, and honestly, that'd be a pretty safe bet considering the current landscape of Union Battleground. Only......"
James suddenly springs into motion, and as quick as a cat scoops up one of the passing roosters and tucks it under his arm. Casually he turns back to the camera, chicken clucking loudly in alarm which causes him to raise his voice.
"I've been dealing with these types of animals all my life. They strut around here like they own the place, chests puffed out, spurs digging in the dirt. They start their day off by crowing loud as shit just to let everyone know that they're here, making the rounds. Natures little Billy bad ass."
James smirks, stroking the rooster in his arms.
"But the only reason he gets to do that is because I protect him. I put up chicken wire to keep out the varmints that prey on him. I toss the feed so that he has something to eat. You understand, Bryan? They can't survive all on their own no matter how big they puff out their chest. Just like you can't survive without people like me and Indi. And just like this rooster, Bryan, even though you did your job...even though you're the big bad of the yard..."
James's eyes go dark as he reaches up and grips the chicken by the neck, hand covering its head so that it can't peck at him.
"Eventually someone like me comes along and takes you by the throat, and no matter how much you struggle against it, how much you crow about it...
James gives a violent twist and the chicken's struggles go limp in his hands.
"You become dinner on my plate. Ye Hear?"
James continues to stare coldly into the camera just before the scene fades to black.
He had never been apart of anything like that before in his life. James was a more traditional style wrestler. He body slammed people, dropped an elbow. Maybe a suplex or two. He didn't know anything about stapling a man's fucking ear to his head with a staple gun, or clubbing them in the back of the head with a baseball bat.
That is, until tonight. Tonight had been an indoctrination into another side of wrestling. An education that not everyone did this because they loved the art form that was professional wrestling, but because they loved violence. They liked to push the boundaries, hurt themselves and others. They enjoyed inflicting pain and the feel of blood running down their fists. They reveled in the sick pop that such actions would elicit from the crowd, addicted to it really. And just like any other addiction, would always be chasing that first high. Always trying to top whatever sick and twisted stunt they had done the previous night. A romance with barbarism.
That was who won Guerrilla Warfare. That was who was crowned the Union Battleground Champion.
James broke his gaze with his own reflection and hung his head. The adrenaline of performing in such a high profile match in front of a capacity crowd was starting to dissipate. With that, he found that his entire body ached. He had a splitting headache thanks to the knot on the back of his head provided by Bryan Williams, but the pain that stood out the most was his ear. His hand reached up absentmindedly to gently touch the wound with his fingertips which elicited a wince due to the mangled flesh. He sighed, closing his eyes to try and steady himself and reflect on the match.
Tonight had been a trial by fire, and despite the fact that he hadn't won the whole pony, he had gone pretty far. Not as great as Indi Rhyder, but still good for an unknown. He would be a liar if he didn't admit, at least to himself, that the fact that he didn't win stung. There were a couple of points in that match that he felt like he could actually grasp it. But in the end it had been taken away from him by a bat wielding guy who wore a rooster mask to the ring. Regardless of how he felt right now, a smile still managed to creep onto his lips, mainly because of how ridiculous that thought was.
With a resigned shake of the head James looked up from the sink back to the mirror and for the first time realized that Bobby Benson was standing behind him in the doorway with a look of concern on his face. James ran his fingers through his hair before turning around to lean against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest.
The hostile body language didn't go unnoticed by Benson, who tried his best to keep his facade intact. "Can I get you anything?"
"Not really." James replied, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally.
"Well," Bobby began, looking away from Radford's intense gaze. "You did good, James. Really good."
"I might have done better if you had told me what I was getting into..."
Bobby looked back to James, a little edge creeping into his voice. "If I had told you, you wouldn't have agreed."
"I guess that's all that matters, right? Only that Bobby Benson gets his pay day...I mean, this isn't even wrestling. It's death match garbage!"
"It's your payday too! Christ, James...you haven't been seen on national television in three years! You threw away a potential career when AWE folded because you didn't want to change. You just keep doing the same old shtick, regardless of how far it drags you down." Bobby was animated now, jazz hands running independently. "So yeah, James, this is it. This is what you get, your only opportunity. A bunch of folks who take their wrestling to the extreme rather than having any real talent. And now, after your performance in Guerrilla Warfare, you fit right in!"
James opened his mouth to bark an emotional response but found that there wasn't anything he could say. Bobby was right. In many ways he allowed his disenfranchised relationship with his manager back in AWE to dictate his response after it closed. He could have lightened up a little, changed some things up, but he stuck to his guns on what could have been a potentially lucrative career, and now he was asshole deep in debt with little opportunities to keep the lights on. He allowed the man into his house a few weeks ago because the prospect of a job was too big to pass up, and now he was here. Back on TV. Back in the mix.
He had just hoped that it would be a little more his style.
A slight smile creases his lips when he looked back to Bobby. "Well, I did make it pretty far..."
A glimmer came into Benson's eyes as he excitedly nodded his response. "Damn right, baby, and that's exactly why I'm late!"
James looked confused. "What?"
"At Lights Out #36 it's going to be you, Indi Rhyder, and Bryan Williams in the Main Event!"
It was Radford's turn to move excitedly forward, gripping Bobby by the shoulders. "WHAT?!?"
Benson grinned a scheming grin. "And it's to determine the number one contender for the Union Battleground championship!"
James was nearly bowled over by the news, eyes wide and mouth agape. Bobby took this as a good sign as he settled back on his heels in satisfaction. Silence hung between the two for a moment as Radford went through a gambit of emotions, finally settling back against the sink and staring off into space.
"This could be it, Bobby. I could do this."
Bobby stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on James's shoulder. "Nah, Kid, WE are going to DO this. Now get your shit, we gotta get you rested up so you can hit the gym tomorrow."
James nodded, still a little stunned. This was his big chance, and after so many missed opportunities, he wasn't going to waste it. All the pain he had felt from the previous match had suddenly been forgotten as he walked into the next room and began stuffing gear into his bag. Hope was now on the horizon.
1/14/2020
THE RADFORD FARM
JACKSON, MISSISSIPPI
The scene opens to a shot of James Radford hoisting a heavy bail of hay up onto the back of his beat up Chevy pick up truck. He grunts as he shoves the bail to the backside along with four others, turning to use his bailing spikes to stab into another. A cow off in the distance lets out a hungry bay, and he turns in that direction as if noticing the camera for the first time. He abandons the hay for a moment to run his flannel covered forearm across his sweaty forehead before grabbing his classic Stetson hat and allows it to settle onto this head. He gives his trademark southern charm grin towards the camera while leaning against the tailgate and crossing his arms over his chest.
"It's been awhile, folks, and I'm awfully happy to see you. I have to admit, after Guerrilla Warfare, I wasn't sure there was going to be much left of me to be had, but here I am..."
James pauses, eyebrow cocking.
"That was a mouthful..." He mutters under his breath, shaking his head before continuing. "I'm sorry if it seems like I'm a little nervous, but I am. I mean, that match was an eyeopener for me. I had no idea that when coming into a wrestling promotion that everyone would just throw rules and standard competition out the window in favor of death match gimmicks and malicious intent. I got my freakin' ear stapled to the side of my head, and let me tell you boys and girls, that fucking hurts!"
James winces at the thought of it.
"But now that I've been introduced to what UB has determined is 'Professional Wrestling' I figure I can make an honest go of it. Besides that, this upcoming main event on Lights Out #36 has me poised across the ring from two people who embody the word professional. Bryan Williams is a bonafied star no matter where he hangs his hat, and apparently hitting someone in the back of the skull with a baseball bat is just one more style he's adopted."
James shrugs, moving right along.
"Then there's Indi Rhyder, the last Valor Pro Wrestling UnYielding Champ. She's taken the wrestling world by storm and in a short time established that she's a force to be reckoned with. Actually, Indi and I have a lot in common..."
James allows a slight smile to form at the corners of his lips, and casts a sidelong glance at the camera.
"I know, I know, it would seem like we're polar opposites. She's a self proclaimed Galactic Princess. A star child. A free loving hippie, if you will. And me...well, I'm a conservative farm hand. A hillbilly. An old beer swilling redneck. We have different styles of wrestling, with me being more of a powerhouse brawler, and her being a high flying phenomenon. It's also a safe bet that we probably don't interact with the same social circles, go to the same clubs, even eat the same foods. Heck, we might as well be miles apart on the spectrum, but there is one simple thing that ties us together..."
James gives the camera a more genuine expression.
"We both love this business, and no amount of money or promise of fame is going to tarnish how we go about conquering it. Indi is a good person, and for all intents and purposes, I try to be. We both have our fans, people who believe in us, but I'd dare to say that way more people gravitate to her than they do to me. That's cause she's got a great personality. Inviting. You can't go wrong by pinning your fandom to her star."
James eyes suddenly go cold.
"And that's why its going to be really difficult when we finally get in the ring together in this match, cause I don't want to have to hurt someone like Indi Rhyder, but I will. Not because of malice. Not cause I want to see her destroyed, but because that is the name of the game. Only one of us three can go on to become the #1 Contender, and I expect both of my opponents are going to go the distance to ensure it's one of them. You can't expect any less of me just cause she's a nice girl. Indi, if it comes down to me or you, I'll have no problem dropping you on your skull to secure my opportunity."
James winks while shoving off of the tailgate and making his way towards the house. The camera follows beside him, fixed on his profile as he walks and talks.
"Bryan Williams. The Mad Cap! When you talk about opportunity, you can't discount this guy. He's been the villain, he's been the hero, and now....he's a chicken head. Literally..."
James raises an eyebrow at the thought.
"I guess Rooster is more accurate, and hey, I might be dumb, but I get the reference. I mean, he's been the cock of the walk for years in multiple top shelf promotions, so it's no surprise that he's in this match. Matter of fact, he's probably the only name in this main event that actually makes sense. Sure, Indi's been building to it, but hasn't ever actually been put in the top spot before, and me...well I'm a nobody who came out of Guerrilla Warfare a somebody."
James moseys on over to the chicken coop where several Blue Cochin Bantam's and Standard's cluck around the yard. He pauses to lean against one of the posts next to the coop and looks back to the camera seemingly deep in thought.
"But...it was Bryan who took me out of the match. Matter of fact, he took out a few key players by the time his number was called."
James shrugs.
"You could say that he's the odds on favorite to win this whole thing, and honestly, that'd be a pretty safe bet considering the current landscape of Union Battleground. Only......"
James suddenly springs into motion, and as quick as a cat scoops up one of the passing roosters and tucks it under his arm. Casually he turns back to the camera, chicken clucking loudly in alarm which causes him to raise his voice.
"I've been dealing with these types of animals all my life. They strut around here like they own the place, chests puffed out, spurs digging in the dirt. They start their day off by crowing loud as shit just to let everyone know that they're here, making the rounds. Natures little Billy bad ass."
James smirks, stroking the rooster in his arms.
"But the only reason he gets to do that is because I protect him. I put up chicken wire to keep out the varmints that prey on him. I toss the feed so that he has something to eat. You understand, Bryan? They can't survive all on their own no matter how big they puff out their chest. Just like you can't survive without people like me and Indi. And just like this rooster, Bryan, even though you did your job...even though you're the big bad of the yard..."
James's eyes go dark as he reaches up and grips the chicken by the neck, hand covering its head so that it can't peck at him.
"Eventually someone like me comes along and takes you by the throat, and no matter how much you struggle against it, how much you crow about it...
James gives a violent twist and the chicken's struggles go limp in his hands.
"You become dinner on my plate. Ye Hear?"
James continues to stare coldly into the camera just before the scene fades to black.
TO BE CONTINUED AT LIGHTS OUT #36