Post by King on May 27, 2023 4:15:38 GMT
The Black Sands Club -the club that Stephen Terrella and his fianceè, Portia, own- closed about an hour ago. It was a moderately successful first night of business. Walking through the now mostly empty club -sans a handful of employees working to put the place back in order- Stephen looked around, trying to soak in what he and Portia had accomplished together. Being forced to defend his Invictus championship in less than two full days stuck in his craw in the worst ways imaginable, though. He had beaten Elijah Lassiter to retain his belt recently, and the plan wasn't to defend the championship again against a new challenger so soon; let alone two, if Matthew Knox were to be cleared to wrestle.
"Why?! Who the fuck is Knox to get a damn thing off my table?" he thought to himself, reaching a door marked with the word 'Office' on it. "Fucking bullshit" he mutters as he places his hand on the door knob to give it a twist.
Entering the office, he sees Portia laying across a black leather sofa, scrolling through her phone. He shuts the door behind himself and locks it. Portia lifts her eyes from her screen. "Not bad for a first night, baby", she says to Stephen.
"Damn good, yeah," he says to Portia, but the tone of his voice doesn't contain the enthusiasm that one would normally expect to accompany such a statement. He crosses the room to get to the couch. Portia brings her legs into her body, making room for Stephen on the sofa. He plops down, and she stretches her legs back out over his lap.
She looks at Stephen, easily able to read his face. "You've seemed distracted all night. Is Sunday bothering you that much?"
"The shit just pisses me off," he vents to her. "Ain't no number one contender, so why the fuck am I defending my belt?"
"I don't know. But baby, Knox isn't going to show up. You crushed his skull. They'd never clear him if he was stupid enough to try." Portia continues, "So it's just going to be you and Knight, and you're going to beat him."
Stephen rubs at his face briefly out of frustration. "Yeah. I just got this feeling shit ain't going to be that damn easy. Knox will drag his ass down that aisle just to piss me the fuck off if they let him."
"Hey," Portia says, pushing on Terrella's knee with her foot. "Forget about Knox. Listen to a few of these reviews the club got tonight. It might take your mind off things for a few minutes."
She starts scrolling through her phone, not even giving him the chance to object.
"Fun place with strong drinks," she reads aloud.
She moves onto another review, reading it for Stephen: "It has a great ambiance and amazing drinks."
"What the?!…" The expression on Portia's face suddenly darkens as her eyes scan the words on the next review. She sits quietly for a second, stewing.
Reading her face now, Terrella asks: "What is it?"
"Knox," she says, the name rolling off her tongue with venom.
"What the hell do you mean?" Terrella looks at her.
"Listen to this review," Portia says to Stephen. She then begins to read aloud again: "Friendly staff, although the customer base can be as fake as the body on the blonde reading this. Chairs are a little flimsy and leave a lot to be desired." She looks up, unamused to say the least. "FoxyKnoxy81 wrote that."
"That's fucking Knox! I know it! He's making fun of me on Yelp, Stephen! Now people are going to think these are fake!" Portia touches her hand to her chest. "They're not fake!! They're real, damnit!!"
So overcome by rage, Terrella can't even find the words at the moment. He clenches his jaw, and aggressively rubs at his chin. The person that wrote the comment- the man they presume to be Matthew Knox- had struck a nerve.
"That motherfucking…" Terrella finally grumbles, shaking his head in anger. "I'm going to put his ass in the fuckin' ground this time."
Much later that night, hours before dawn.
Stephen Terrella has a steel folding chair in hand. He opens the chair up and sets it down with a hard thud on the floor of his club, positioned backwards. He unbuckles the Invictus Championship from around his waist, holding it in one hand as he takes a seat without saying a word. Leaning forward, his massive frame practically engulfs the back of the chair as he folds his arms overtop, allowing the title to dangle off the right side, in his left hand.
Portia falls in behind him, placing her hands on his broad shoulders. "I want to make this very clear to everyone: what is about to happen, you did it to yourselves."
Her eyes narrow scornfully. "The broken bones, the blood… the careers that will be cut short by Stephen's hands… Those are going to be things that Nick Knight, Matthew Knox and the IWF management are going to have to live with because they've all played a part in forcing my man to defend his championship in this three way Sin City Lockup match."
"Tell'em, baby," Portia says to Stephen.
Terrella slowly tilts his head from side-to-side, audibly cracking his neck. "Knight, me and you got a long fucking history in that ring… For most of last year we fought, we bled… we punished each other across this whole fuckin' country. You're a tough motherfucker, too. I ain't going to sit here and try to say that you ain't. But as hard as you fought, Knight, your Revolution almost always ended the same damn way: with you standing on the side laying on the fucking canvas, and me standing on the side with my hand raised. "
"And after Mayhem In Manhattan, I was done with you. I went on to win this." Stephen holds the Invictus Championship up for the camera. "I made myself a champion! I cemented myself as the fuckin' man on Odyssey! People may hate me, but when they watch that show every other Friday night, they watch that show hoping someone can knock my ass off and take this belt from me! Six months in, ain't a motherfucker been able to do that shit yet! While you were busy chasing after Angel Blake and another championship you couldn't win, I have been retaining this title against a murderer's row of names!"
Returning the belt to it's previous position, Stephen barks, "I do what you fucking can't!"
"I get the job done, Knight!"
Portia leans forward, pressing her body against Stephen's back. "Ooohh, but Nicky, I saw your little video you posted online after Odyssey, too, talking about how you're sooo mad at us, and how my plan went to shit. And yeah, it may have to an extent. Like, what was your plan though, Nicky? Hide in the back and hope that twenty guys that you found who-knows-where would take out Matthew for you? That way you didn't have to try -and fail- at something else in your miserable, pathetic life? I made a plan because all you do is fail, Nicky. It was going to take a real man to take Knox out."
Terrella reaches up to rub his chin. "That's why I had to get on a fuckin' plane and show up in Dallas, Knight. You had your shot at Knox for weeks, and I knew you all you were going to do is fucking dick around again and screw it up. So I came to show you how to get a job done. You want to bitch and moan, be pissed off about it, go ahead. Show up in Vegas this time, Knight, I'll show you exactly how a fucking job gets done one more time when I slaughter the Hollywood Butcher in front of the whole fuckin' world!"
Terrella holds the belt up by his head this time, adding, "because this isn't a meaningless hunk of fucking tin to me, Knight! I made this! I am this! And I'll do whatever I have to do to you to keep it! And you, more than almost anyone else, should know exactly how far I'll fucking go inside that ring!"
"But we haven't forgotten about you, Matthew." Portia chimes in as she runs on Stephen's shoulders. "Oh no- far, far from it. You see, we could've just broken one of your arms or legs, and it would've gotten the job done. Those heal, though. We wanted to hurt you in a way you'd carry with you. So crushing your face and skull, that was by design. It was meant to be a very clear and direct message to you: this is personal."
"And Believe me, Matthew, this is personal. "
"That's why when you wake up tomorrow, wherever that may be, you're going to look in a mirror and see your Frankenstein face staring back at you. It will be a reminder of your own arrogance. It will be a reminder that in an arena full of people, you were almost entirely alone. Call me a liar if you want, but history doesn't lie- only two people came to save you."
"I want to know how that felt for you, Matthew? When you watch the tape back, wow, how that must eat at you?"
"And sure, a lot of people may have acted outraged over it after. Somehow I can't help but wonder, though… are they mad at us for what we did, or…" she flashes a bit of a malicious smile, adding, "are they jealous of us because we did what they've long wanted to do?"
"You see, if you want some very real truth, Matthew; for all your talk of raze, and ruin… the only life you've truly ruined is your own. And the one thing you have -the last thing you have, your legacy- is going to be forever tarnished the more you continue to push that broken down shell of a body of your's forward in a desperate attempt to stay relevant."
"So do yourself, the world… and the people you love a favor; get yourself a couple of cheap bottles of whiskey and drown yourself in them until the liquor takes you. It'd be the merciful thing to do." Portia steps back, allowing Stephen to get up.
Terrella hands Portia the Invictus Championship before grabbing the folding chair he had been sitting on, aggressively closing it shut. He snarls,
"Or just do what I know that tiny, post-concussed fucking brain you got is telling you to do, Knox! Show up, Sunday! SHOW UP with that quick wit and razor sharp tongue you're so fucking proud of! Walk your ass to the ring, and I'll do the merciful thing for you in the most unmerciful way possible when I take this chair," he holds the chair up, "and splatter your brains all over that canvas!"
Pointing at his eyes, which are burning with intensity, Terrella continues: "And I want you to look me straight in my eyes when I tell you this, because after, there ain't gonna be any questions of will you, or won't you show again. It's just going to be fuckin' over, Knox."
"I'll still be Invictus Champion."
"Only I'll also be the guy that ended the Raven."
"And you can quote that shit on Twitter if you want, bitch."
<Fade to black>
"Why?! Who the fuck is Knox to get a damn thing off my table?" he thought to himself, reaching a door marked with the word 'Office' on it. "Fucking bullshit" he mutters as he places his hand on the door knob to give it a twist.
Entering the office, he sees Portia laying across a black leather sofa, scrolling through her phone. He shuts the door behind himself and locks it. Portia lifts her eyes from her screen. "Not bad for a first night, baby", she says to Stephen.
"Damn good, yeah," he says to Portia, but the tone of his voice doesn't contain the enthusiasm that one would normally expect to accompany such a statement. He crosses the room to get to the couch. Portia brings her legs into her body, making room for Stephen on the sofa. He plops down, and she stretches her legs back out over his lap.
She looks at Stephen, easily able to read his face. "You've seemed distracted all night. Is Sunday bothering you that much?"
"The shit just pisses me off," he vents to her. "Ain't no number one contender, so why the fuck am I defending my belt?"
"I don't know. But baby, Knox isn't going to show up. You crushed his skull. They'd never clear him if he was stupid enough to try." Portia continues, "So it's just going to be you and Knight, and you're going to beat him."
Stephen rubs at his face briefly out of frustration. "Yeah. I just got this feeling shit ain't going to be that damn easy. Knox will drag his ass down that aisle just to piss me the fuck off if they let him."
"Hey," Portia says, pushing on Terrella's knee with her foot. "Forget about Knox. Listen to a few of these reviews the club got tonight. It might take your mind off things for a few minutes."
She starts scrolling through her phone, not even giving him the chance to object.
"Fun place with strong drinks," she reads aloud.
She moves onto another review, reading it for Stephen: "It has a great ambiance and amazing drinks."
"What the?!…" The expression on Portia's face suddenly darkens as her eyes scan the words on the next review. She sits quietly for a second, stewing.
Reading her face now, Terrella asks: "What is it?"
"Knox," she says, the name rolling off her tongue with venom.
"What the hell do you mean?" Terrella looks at her.
"Listen to this review," Portia says to Stephen. She then begins to read aloud again: "Friendly staff, although the customer base can be as fake as the body on the blonde reading this. Chairs are a little flimsy and leave a lot to be desired." She looks up, unamused to say the least. "FoxyKnoxy81 wrote that."
"That's fucking Knox! I know it! He's making fun of me on Yelp, Stephen! Now people are going to think these are fake!" Portia touches her hand to her chest. "They're not fake!! They're real, damnit!!"
So overcome by rage, Terrella can't even find the words at the moment. He clenches his jaw, and aggressively rubs at his chin. The person that wrote the comment- the man they presume to be Matthew Knox- had struck a nerve.
"That motherfucking…" Terrella finally grumbles, shaking his head in anger. "I'm going to put his ass in the fuckin' ground this time."
—------------------
Much later that night, hours before dawn.
Stephen Terrella has a steel folding chair in hand. He opens the chair up and sets it down with a hard thud on the floor of his club, positioned backwards. He unbuckles the Invictus Championship from around his waist, holding it in one hand as he takes a seat without saying a word. Leaning forward, his massive frame practically engulfs the back of the chair as he folds his arms overtop, allowing the title to dangle off the right side, in his left hand.
Portia falls in behind him, placing her hands on his broad shoulders. "I want to make this very clear to everyone: what is about to happen, you did it to yourselves."
Her eyes narrow scornfully. "The broken bones, the blood… the careers that will be cut short by Stephen's hands… Those are going to be things that Nick Knight, Matthew Knox and the IWF management are going to have to live with because they've all played a part in forcing my man to defend his championship in this three way Sin City Lockup match."
"Tell'em, baby," Portia says to Stephen.
Terrella slowly tilts his head from side-to-side, audibly cracking his neck. "Knight, me and you got a long fucking history in that ring… For most of last year we fought, we bled… we punished each other across this whole fuckin' country. You're a tough motherfucker, too. I ain't going to sit here and try to say that you ain't. But as hard as you fought, Knight, your Revolution almost always ended the same damn way: with you standing on the side laying on the fucking canvas, and me standing on the side with my hand raised. "
"And after Mayhem In Manhattan, I was done with you. I went on to win this." Stephen holds the Invictus Championship up for the camera. "I made myself a champion! I cemented myself as the fuckin' man on Odyssey! People may hate me, but when they watch that show every other Friday night, they watch that show hoping someone can knock my ass off and take this belt from me! Six months in, ain't a motherfucker been able to do that shit yet! While you were busy chasing after Angel Blake and another championship you couldn't win, I have been retaining this title against a murderer's row of names!"
Returning the belt to it's previous position, Stephen barks, "I do what you fucking can't!"
"I get the job done, Knight!"
Portia leans forward, pressing her body against Stephen's back. "Ooohh, but Nicky, I saw your little video you posted online after Odyssey, too, talking about how you're sooo mad at us, and how my plan went to shit. And yeah, it may have to an extent. Like, what was your plan though, Nicky? Hide in the back and hope that twenty guys that you found who-knows-where would take out Matthew for you? That way you didn't have to try -and fail- at something else in your miserable, pathetic life? I made a plan because all you do is fail, Nicky. It was going to take a real man to take Knox out."
Terrella reaches up to rub his chin. "That's why I had to get on a fuckin' plane and show up in Dallas, Knight. You had your shot at Knox for weeks, and I knew you all you were going to do is fucking dick around again and screw it up. So I came to show you how to get a job done. You want to bitch and moan, be pissed off about it, go ahead. Show up in Vegas this time, Knight, I'll show you exactly how a fucking job gets done one more time when I slaughter the Hollywood Butcher in front of the whole fuckin' world!"
Terrella holds the belt up by his head this time, adding, "because this isn't a meaningless hunk of fucking tin to me, Knight! I made this! I am this! And I'll do whatever I have to do to you to keep it! And you, more than almost anyone else, should know exactly how far I'll fucking go inside that ring!"
"But we haven't forgotten about you, Matthew." Portia chimes in as she runs on Stephen's shoulders. "Oh no- far, far from it. You see, we could've just broken one of your arms or legs, and it would've gotten the job done. Those heal, though. We wanted to hurt you in a way you'd carry with you. So crushing your face and skull, that was by design. It was meant to be a very clear and direct message to you: this is personal."
"And Believe me, Matthew, this is personal. "
"That's why when you wake up tomorrow, wherever that may be, you're going to look in a mirror and see your Frankenstein face staring back at you. It will be a reminder of your own arrogance. It will be a reminder that in an arena full of people, you were almost entirely alone. Call me a liar if you want, but history doesn't lie- only two people came to save you."
"I want to know how that felt for you, Matthew? When you watch the tape back, wow, how that must eat at you?"
"And sure, a lot of people may have acted outraged over it after. Somehow I can't help but wonder, though… are they mad at us for what we did, or…" she flashes a bit of a malicious smile, adding, "are they jealous of us because we did what they've long wanted to do?"
"You see, if you want some very real truth, Matthew; for all your talk of raze, and ruin… the only life you've truly ruined is your own. And the one thing you have -the last thing you have, your legacy- is going to be forever tarnished the more you continue to push that broken down shell of a body of your's forward in a desperate attempt to stay relevant."
"So do yourself, the world… and the people you love a favor; get yourself a couple of cheap bottles of whiskey and drown yourself in them until the liquor takes you. It'd be the merciful thing to do." Portia steps back, allowing Stephen to get up.
Terrella hands Portia the Invictus Championship before grabbing the folding chair he had been sitting on, aggressively closing it shut. He snarls,
"Or just do what I know that tiny, post-concussed fucking brain you got is telling you to do, Knox! Show up, Sunday! SHOW UP with that quick wit and razor sharp tongue you're so fucking proud of! Walk your ass to the ring, and I'll do the merciful thing for you in the most unmerciful way possible when I take this chair," he holds the chair up, "and splatter your brains all over that canvas!"
Pointing at his eyes, which are burning with intensity, Terrella continues: "And I want you to look me straight in my eyes when I tell you this, because after, there ain't gonna be any questions of will you, or won't you show again. It's just going to be fuckin' over, Knox."
"I'll still be Invictus Champion."
"Only I'll also be the guy that ended the Raven."
"And you can quote that shit on Twitter if you want, bitch."
<Fade to black>