CONGO vs. BLAZE

[coreycz]

Semi Finals Singles Match Number 1
King Congo
vs
Raiden Blaze

[pete]

Edwin Solomon: What the fuck, Slick?!

Edwin Solomon bangs his sizeable fist on the table, causing his considerably smaller manager to startle and recoil with an anxious giggle:

Slick Harrison: Why, my dear boy, I...

Edwin[/b] cuts across, leaning over the table so that his face and Slick's are but mere centimetres apart:

Solomon: I told ya ta quit it with that 'boy' shit! I ain't Chicken George over here! And i ain't your dope, neither! You told me i'd be joinin' the big time. Well, this don't look like the big time to me, Slick. It looks like some no-'count company, same as any other one I've been in!

Slick[/b] once again tries to soothe his protege's fiery temper with a glib turn of phrase:

Slick: But, my dear boy, this company has potential! And besides, everyone here loves you! They're ec-STA-tic to have one of the most promising names in in-TAH-na-CHA-nul wrasslin'! They're goin' out of their way to make you feel like part of the family!

This much is true. Company officials have been nothing but courteous and accommodating to Edwin[/b] since his arrival, and seem genuinely glad to have him. This doesn't, however, make up for the fact that the hotel Slick has set him up in is a dive, and that HEW[/b] as a whole is still miles from the spotlight, and no bigger than the company he just left to take this "op-PAH-TOO-nah-tee"[/b]. He makes sure to relay this to Slick[/b] in no uncertain fashion:

Solomon: Yeah, but potential don't pay the bills. I had a perfectly good thing goin' back in South Carolina, an' it didn't involve movin' halfway across the country an' havin' to find a place to live. How am I s'posed to afford ta fight for custody of my son if I'm countin' nickels, Slick? Would you mind tellin' me that?

To Edwin[/b]'s surprise, his manager replies with a condescending chuckle:

Slick: Oh, my dear boy...the sponsors will pay for that, of course!

This genuinely catches Edwin[/b] off-guard. Sponsors? Slick[/b] is talking to sponsors?! Well holy crap. Maybe his manager isn't as incompetent as all that. His astonishment must be reflected on his face, because Harrison[/b] guffaws once more:

Slick: That's right, my dear boy! I've been in negotiations, and there's already quite a few people ready to get on board with the in-TEE-MAH-datin' King Congo!

Edwin[/b] leans forward, clearly interested now:

Solomon: OK, let's have 'em.

Harrison[/b] leans back on his chair, a look of pleasure on his features as he intones:

Harrison: Mario's Kitty Cats.

Solomon[/b] frowns:

Solomon: Never heard of 'em...

Slick: Well, they're a very classy gentlemen's club and...

Edwin[/b] cuts him off:

Solomon: A STRIP CLUB?! My sponsor is a STRIP CLUB?!

Slick[/b] once again tries to calm his client down:

Slick: They're a highly reputable es-TAB-lishment, and they'd love to have you in their TV ad.

Maybe it's not so bad, Edwin[/b] reasons. He'll get to be around gorgeous women and make some money off of it. And if everything fails, maybe he can become a bouncer there or something. He turns to Slick once again:

Solomon: OK. Where is it located?

His manager does not miss a beat, or lose his grin:

Slick: South Central.

Solomon: SOUTH CENTRAL?!

Slick, again without missing a beat: Well, I thought it would be good for the, um, 'ethnic' factor...

Solomon, dripping sarcasm: Yeah, I bet my gimmick's gonna go over great there! They won't find it offensive at all!

"There go my chances of being a bouncer for them"[/b], he thinks to himself. No way a racist gimmick like his is going to fly in South Central. He'll be lucky not to get shot. Still, he doesn't have much of a choice. His funds are running low and, by the time his hotel bills are paid, he won't have much left to try and find an apartment anywhere but in the ghetto. He laughs to himself. "Go to the ghetto to avoid the ghetto. Sounds about right."[/b] Then, he turns to his still grinning manager:

Solomon: Alright. Ya got yerself a deal. But you gotta get me outta that dive and in a proper apartment before the next show, or the whole thing's off! Are we clear?

Slick[/b], satisfied he got what he was after, grins once more, as slimily as ever:

Slick: Don't worry, my dear boy. It's already being dealt with.

[pete]

Edwin[/b] doesn't even see the blonde girl come in; he is absorbed in a discussion with Slick and Mario[/b] over the script for the advert he was starring in, and all of his attention is focused on the loose sheets of A4 paper in his manager's hands. He never even notices her until he hears the scream.

His head shoots up from the pages of the endlessly revised script to see a stunning blonde woman in her early 20s cowering in the far corner and pointing at him. She is clearly distraught, red in the face and blubbering incoherently through semi-parted lips. It takes her a moment to string together a cohesive sentence:

Girl #1: W-what *is* that thing?

Slick[/b], ever the spin doctor, seizes bis chance:

Slick Harrison: Stand *back*, my dear girl! He's a man-eatin' savage!

Before he can utter another word, however, Edwin[/b] is on him, telling him in no uncertain fashion to "shut up"[/b] as he pushes him aside and strides up to the girl. His brusque manner causes her to shrink to the floor, feebly protecting her face with her hands; when he speaks, however, his voice is surprisingly gentle:

Edwin Solomon: Hey...hey...it's all right...see? I ain't no savage. This is just a character I play. Don't be scared, sugar...

The big man holds out a large, callused palm, but the girl seems reluctant to take it, preferring to stay in her corner. Showing endless patience, Edwin[/b] crouches by her, still using the same soothing tone:

Solomon: I'm Ed. Ed Solomon. What's your name?

Before the girl can reply, however, Edwin[/b] is called back 'on set', and moves away to rejoin Slick[/b] and Mario[/b]. As they once again go through some last-minute alterations, the HEW[/b] wrestler spies two other girls, brunettes this time around, walk in the door and stand by their still shaken blonde friend. A great deal of whispering between the three ensues, as the two newcomers are apparently made up-to-date on who this painted freak is. At length, one of the brunettes stalks up, standing face to face with Edwin[/b] and doing her best to look him in the eye. This is no easy task, since, even in her spike-heel boots, she stands a good few feet shorter than the hulking black wrestler. Her tone, however, shows no hint of fear as she teases:

Girl #2: So I hear you're some kind'a savage, huh?

She looks the big man up and down, appraisingly, before concluding:

Girl #2: Well honey, you can throw me in the fire anytime!

She winks at her co-star before striding up to where his manager and her boss stand and announcing matter-of-factly:

Girl #2: I get to stand next to him. Comprende, Mario?

Mario[/b], a Latino whose appearance rivals Slick[/b]'s in sliminess, nods:

Mario: Is fine, is fine. Candi too scared to do it anyway.

The brunette allows herself a smile before turning to her companion:

Girl #2: Hey Bambi, wanna join the fun?

The second brunette promptly steps forward, purring:

Bambi: Sure, hon.

Once they are positioned one on either side of Solomon[/b], the first girl turns to the two 'directors' to ask:

Girl #2: So, you guys want us to kiss?

As he sees both men eagerly nod in agreement, Edwin[/b] himself cannot help but break his scowling, menacing facade and allow a little smile to broach his lips. This gig might turn out to not be so bad after all.

[Heisenberg]

Jesus. My phone's ringing. Who could that be?

Raiden: Yes?

Bruce: Yo, Rai, wuddup man. It's Bruce, the HEW booker.

Raiden: Oh, hey Bruce, how's life bro?

Bruce: Pretty fine, man. Anyways, listen up, I've gotta tell you something.

Raiden: Go for it.

Bruce: So, apparently, as you know, you advanced in that little tournament of ours and you're one step closer to become the very first World Heavyweight Champ!

Raiden: Yup. I know. And?

Bruce: So is this King Congo dude.

Raiden: And?

Bruce: Aren't you.. you know.. scared, or something? Because I'd be shitting my pants right now if I were you.

Raiden: Bruce, please. Dude, wrestling is my everything. It's my job. I get paid to wrestle, I get paid to do all of this, yet I still do it for fun, I'd do it even for free. I love this business. Some huge gorilla dude won't scare me and most importantly, won't stop me. And besides, I've promised my dad I'll be a champ and even though it was only a child's wish, I'm gonna do it.

Bruce: You know what, Rai? Listening to you is kinda relaxing, man.

Raiden: Nah, man. It's just that I'm a chill dude to talk to, and no matter who you are, I'm here to talk to you if you wish so. I'm a pretty talkative person! Sooo.. that should be it I guess? Was that all you wanted to tell me?

Bruce: Well, yes.. and no at the same time. It's just that.. I wish you luck man. Hope you win it. Fingers crossed, now it's up to you.

Raiden: Haha, well, thanks! It pleases me that you wish me luck! And therefore I thank you. Anyways man, I've gotta solve some boring stuff, soo.. I guess we'll see each other next week?

Bruce: Yeah. Bye man.

Raiden: Bye!

And so I hung up. And there was I. Sitting in my comfy chair, playing with the phone in my hand, looking at the ceiling, wondering where might I end up after all. Will I win? I don't know. Will I lose? I don't know that either. But what I do know is that I can't make the same mistake I made in ACW. I can't screw myself. That's a given. I just.. can't. I need to be on the top of the food chain. And I mean it.