The Difference Between Want & Need (Roulette 2/3)

[King]

March 18th, 2022
Friday, 11:16 p.m. CDT
Fort Worth, Texas

Sacrifice has drawn to a close when the camera begins to roll in the lockerroom of Stephen Terrella. Standing in the corner of the small room, Terrella remains in the clothes he appeared in, having not broken a sweat in his light bit of action for the night. Just in front of him stands Portia.

"Angel Blake," Portia says, raising the first finger on her right hand.

"Andrew Jacobsen," a name accompanied by the lifting of another finger.

"Ethan King," she says, lifting yet a third finger.

"Spike Kane," she concludes, her pinky shooting up. She wiggles her fingers, allowing the names to linger a moment without explanation.

"Each one of those four men has won the Roulette and went on to become a World Champion. When you look back at the long history of this company, the many names that have come and gone, it shows you exactly how exclusive that club is. Everyone dreams big walking into a match like this, but only a select few ever actually realize those dreams. The match has seen more winners go on to come up short under the spotlight than actually succeed, but that's a dirty little secret no one ever wants to talk about this time of year."

Portia holds a lone finger to her lips, hushing non-existent voices.

"Do you want to know another dirty little secret that gets overlooked? My man has beaten all three of the names on that list who's hearts still beat. How many men in this match can say that? Rob Diamond, perhaps? Dean, Warren... maybe James Gilmore? Since we're spilling secrets, we didn't do the research. We didn't need to, or care to. We looked at a small group of possible names in building that list, and of those names we thought, maybe- but none of them looked like my man does physically." Portia motions toward Stephen, standing at her side.

"There isn't one of them as strong as my man is. When it comes time to climb on the scale, there isn't one of them that weighs over three hundred pounds. Talented as they may be, physically they're just not the force that my man is. Any other type of match, we have come to see that doesn't always matter. In this match, though, that's significant."

"What is your strategy?"

"If you're going out there to put your body on the line and impress the sheep in the crowd, desperately hoping they'll push you forward to victory, you're risking your own elimination. If you're going plan is to keep it on the mat, play it safe, wear guys down, you're wearing yourself down in the process. You want to lock on a submission, you see where that gets you. If you want to stand and fight the way a man should, then you have to go through my man to win. And let's just be honest, most of you don't have the capability to measure up in that department."

"Stephen's stiffest challenge that night won't be male, it won't even be human." Wagging her finger, Portia adds, "And no, I'm not implying we have inside information that Spike Kane's ghost is coming to the Roulette. He's just fertilizer now." No sooner than the words leave her lips, a smile crosses her face.

"The challenge I'm talking about will be beating the odds."

"Thanks to our brilliant gamble in the ladder match, sitting out to take whatever ball was left, we know Stephen is entering fifteenth, but also unscathed. Could that ball have contained the slip with the first entry, sure, twenty percent chance. There was a hundred percent chance of a match like that taking a toll on Stephen's body, though. We weighed the odds, and we beat them once."

"In the Roulette, the men who enter after Stephen will be significantly fresher, and their odds will be significantly better because of this. Those men themselves, however, aren't better than my man is. None of them are smarter than the two of us," Portia says, motioning back and forth between Terrella and herself, "are, and we've proven this. So we're really only up against the odds, isn't that right, baby?"

Terrella nods.

Holding her hands waist-high, Portia folds them into a temple. "Naturally, there will be names Stephen is looking for in this match, hoping to be the spoiler to their ambitions. Take little Jonathan Cade Keeton, for instance."

"We have a long history, don't we, Johnny? Twice you've won, that's true. That Johnny that wrapped his barbed wire arm around my man's throat was a killer, willing to do almost anything to get what he wanted, I could see it in your eyes. . I have to wonder, does fatherhood change a man, though? We haven't seen much of you here since Roberto plunged a knife into your back, and isn't it fair to ask where you're head is at?"

Cracking the knuckles on his hands, Terrella comments: "Ain't no mystery 'bout my head, it's winning. But if I get the fucking chance to toss you out, maybe dump you in a way you take a career ending spill... you can bet your ass I'll do it. Fuck you, your dreams and your little family, too. Every time life gets tough for JC Keeton, you take your little fucking ball and run off to another field to play! I've been here, busting my ass to get to this spot! Where the fuck you been!? Verona hurt your feelings, so you what, go home and play fucking daddy? Now you get the chance to worm back into something, here the fuck you are! Ain't that some shit. Get the fuck outta here. Go home, change diapers, heat bottles... but you get in my way here and now, I'll see to it you're drinking your meals outta a sippy cup."

{To be continued...}