Drop Dead, Gorgeous

Thursday: 3:04 AM

The motel door creaks open with a push, exposing its age and thus the establishment’s lack of refurbishment. Out from within emerges Steve Storme, raising an eyebrow at the chipped white paintwork on the door-frame; Jimmy DeMarco really is a cheap bastard he thinks to himself as he passes through the doorway. His eyes are more sunken than usual, bleary in fact as he strolls aimlessly out into the warm air. He’s here for a CGS house show the following day, in the lead-up to ‘Declaration of War’ this Sunday in Montreal.

He wonders out into the parking lot, looking up and down at the various cars, checking his own white BMW M3 for reassurance. After having numerous cars broken into in the past while on the road, Steve was cautious where he parked these days. He lets out a small sigh of relief and looks up into the night sky, scanning the twinkling stars with a vacant expression on his face. Yet another sleepless night for the CGS Ultraviolent and Tag Team Champion, this was going to catch up with him eventually and affect his in-ring performance.

Dressed in nondescript baggy grey pants and a tight fitting white sleeveless top to show off his muscled arms, Steve begins to cool down internally, even with the fairly warm climate. The stuffiness of his room was far worse. He turns slightly, noticing a man leant up against the brickwork, one hand in his pocket. He squints a little in the darkness but doesn't recognize the facial features. Steve spots the cigarette and instantly begins walking towards the stranger, thinking he could do with some tobacco right now, emotionally wounded from his break-up with Kaya.

Steve Storme: “Hey, you got a smoke?”

With such a long list of accolades and accomplishments to his name, Steve's confidence was rather great. He was quite content to ask for a cigarette from a stranger at 3:04 AM in an otherwise unpopulated parking lot. While he wouldn't be as naive and arrogant to consider himself the best, he was pleased with what he'd done in the business since debuting around two years ago by smashing a steel pipe into half brother and World Heavyweight Champion Dash Blade’s head. The stranger nods a few times, reaches into his pants pocket and takes out a packet, lighter inside with the remaining few cigarettes, and passes it to Steve.

???: “Sorry if you’ve got a favourite brand or anything...”

Steve Storme: “Nah, I’m not fussy.”

Steve replies as he takes the pack from the stranger. He pulls a cigarette out, along with the lighter. Steve holds the rest of the pack out and the man takes it back, shoving it into his pockets again. Steve puts the ciggie between his teeth, cups round the lighter and then ignites. He takes a quick puff, the smoke billowing into the air. He passes the lighter back too. The two men stand in silence for twenty seconds or so before the awkwardness leads Steve to make conversation, asking quite a specific question considering they had only just met, but again, his confidence overruled this etiquette.

Steve Storme: “So what are you doing up at this time?”

The stranger’s face remains blank, pressing the cigarette to his thin lips and looking directly into Steve’s eyes. His features are obscured by the grey hood up over his head, casting shadow down over the lower half of his face. Dressed in black pants, one hand still in a pocket, and this grey zip-up top, he was modern and up to date but his clothes showed no particular wealth, they were fairly ordinary. Steve glances down at his black trainers, noting his were most likely more expensive, before returning to his shrouded face. Still an answer doesn’t come, even after this man has stopped puffing on his cigarette. Steve raises his eyes and motions a little with his spare hand as a means of encouraging a reply.

???: “Can’t sleep.”

Steve Storme: “Ah. Same.”

Steve's brow furrows a little, kinda confused at why this stranger took so long to respond to such a simple question. But he did reply eventually so Steve shrugs it off - perhaps this man is feeling mentally exhausted, can't think straight. Whatever, it wasn't his concern, they'd only just met. He takes another puff on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out into the air, although purposely directed away from this stranger. Steve didn't want to piss him off, he was feeling too tired for a confrontation although if it came to it, he had no problem throwing punches.

Steve Storme: “I'm Steve, by the way.”

It's about time he introduced himself, he thinks, although as usual, he is hoping the man knows who he is already, from one of the various promotions he's wrestled for since his debut in 2007. In CGS, he’d reached the greatest achievement possible through induction into the Hall of Fame in August 2009. If the man had even a passing interest in wrestling he’d know Steve Storme and it was possible even if he didn’t, he would still know him. Steve and his Syndicate of Sexy faction had been in the tabloids frequently, infamous for wild parties with various celebrities. Although once Steve had reunited with Kaya, those days ended. He leans against the wall, his palm pressed on the red brickwork, and waits for an answer.

???: “I know who you are.”

Steve Storme: “Are you a wrestling fan?”

???: “No. Kaya's boyfriend, the one you punched out, remember?”

Steve’s face suddenly drops, his eyes narrowing and his fists clenching as the cigarette falls to the floor. He stamps it out softly while gritting his teeth. The man flips back his hood with his spare hand, revealing a heavily bruised right eye, the lid swollen. The corners of Steve’s mouth curls upwards a little, smirking as he sees the damage inflicted that night. The other man’s eyes bulge with rage as Steve’s smirk grows wider. The man’s hand finally slips out slowly from his pocket and then suddenly strikes violently, driving his knuckle duster-wearing fist into Steve’s nose with surprising speed.

Steve stumbles backwards, one hand clutching his nose instinctively. He raises both fists, noticing blood from the one which he checked his nose with. The man moves forward but Steve’s actual combat training means he evades the haymaker and fires back with two left jabs and a looping right hook with sends Kaya’s new boyfriend to the concrete floor. The man rolls onto his side, using both hands to protect his face, remembering the last time he was grounded by Storme. Steve looks down at the man with a vicious snarl on his face. He moves forward quickly a few paces and boots him in the stomach. The man shouts in pain. Steve aims another kick in roughly the same area but his anger misdirects it into his chest, causing the man to cough and splutter. “Oi!” a masculine voice shouts out from near-by. Steve has no time to see where it’s from; he takes one final forceful kick to the man’s abdomen and disappears down the side of the motel.

He pulls his top up to his face and presses it gently against his nose as he walks. After ten seconds or so he holds it out in front of him: a fairly large blood-soaked stain, the knuckle duster had busted him open pretty bad. That guy was lucky someone happened to be passing by. Steve really didn’t need trouble with the law right now; he was already going through enough as it is, so he had to end his beat-down early. But if he hadn’t been interrupted, Kaya’s boyfriend would be in a far worse state than he is now, he thinks. Ah well, at least he got to vent some more fury at that punk; that should teach him to come looking for revenge against a professional wrestler and CGS legend. Steve pushes open a side-entrance to the motel and enters the building; he’s been here before and knows his way around.
________________________________

Sunday: 3:46 AM

Steve Storme lays awake in a hotel room double bed, eyes half open and focussed on nothing in the complete darkness. Picturing her face in his weary mind: her soft jaw-line, thick lips, long eye-lashes and big brown pupils; when would this end? All he can think about is Kaya, despite being under twenty four hours away from what some consider the biggest match of his career so far: a singles bout with Kyle Evers and the World Heavyweight Championship on the line. Steve rolls his head right and reaches out for his clock on the bedside table. He manages to tap the top button after five seconds or so of fumbling. The digital clock’s red indication of the time fades in: 3:46 AM.

Steve exhales heavily, irritated at his insomnia at a time when he needs as much rest as he can get. He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes, feeling tired yet failing to fall into the sleep he longs for. Steve’s eyes become adjusted to the darkness; he climbs out of his bed and walks to the windows. He pulls the curtain back somewhat and looks out into the Montreal skyline. He watches the occasional car drive past on the streets beneath him but soon grows bored of this. Steve returns to his bedside and picks up his Sony Ericson mobile phone. He pulls on a sleeveless black vest and a pair of baggy black three-quarter length shorts. He stops to yawn, running his hands through his thick brown hair, and then exits the room.

The hotel corridor has a bold red carpet and cream coloured walls, lighting fixtures dotted frequently along them. Steve had decided to pay for a hotel room on the eve of such an important match, he was sick of staying in the low budget motels provided by Jimmy DeMarco and could definitely afford the expense. Steve moves slowly down this hallway, squinting slightly as his eyes take time to adjust to the level of brightness. He presses buttons on his cell phone as he walks, navigating his way to the contact details of Kyle Deathlocke. He stops walking and ponders calling his friend and tag team partner. After several seconds of evaluation, he presses the phone to his ear, leaning his back up against the wall, waiting for a response. After ringing for a while, Steve begins to think Deathlocke’s left his phone up but just as he considers hanging up, a voice is heard on the other end of the line.

Kyle Deathlocke: “What the fuck do you want, Steve?”

Steve Storme: “Oh hello to you too, Kyle.”

Kyle Deathlocke: “Look, it’s 4 a.m. and we’ve both got fucking matches tomorrow! What do you want?!”

Steve Storme: “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like talking to someone.”

Kyle Deathlocke: “... What’s happened now?”

Steve Storme “Nothing. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have waked you up.”

Kyle Deathlocke: “Well seeing as you have waked me up, you might as well tell me what the matter is; otherwise this whole phone-call would simply be a waste of my time, wouldn’t it?”

Steve Storme: “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t think this through.”

Kyle Deathlocke: “I advise you to do so in future then but I know you Steve. You’re thinking about Ka-.”

Steve Storme: “Nah Kyle, don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Go back to sleep and I’ll try to do the same. See you at the arena tomorrow.”

Kyle Deathlocke: “Ugh, whatever. Goodnight.”

The line cuts dead and Steve tilts his head back, pressed up against the wall with his eyes looking down at Kyle’s contact details as before. He shoves the phone into his shorts pockets and sighs again. He didn’t want to bother Kyle anymore. It had been nearly two weeks since he had caught Kaya with another man in his London apartment. For the following week or so, he relied on Deathlocke heavily to take his mind off her. They hung out, ate pizza, watched movies, made fun of various other wrestlers in CGS and generally had a good time. But he also offered advice for Steve and while Deathlocke was not the most impartial due to his longstanding dislike for Kaya, it was probably for the best at the time.

A fair amount of time had passed since then though and Steve didn’t want to irritate someone who had felt had already done enough for him. He wanted to appear as strong and unstoppable as the Steve Storme on Saturday Night Fusion each week, instead he was struggling through each day, left emotionally crippled and in need of support. Steve uses his bare foot to spring off the wall lightly and returns back to his dark bedroom, placing his phone in its original place, removing the vest and shorts and sinking into the springy mattress. He closes his eyes and waits.
________________________________

Sunday: 4:54 PM

Ella DeMarco walks slowly in her black stilettos down a hallway. The lifeless grey breeze block walls contrast with Ella’s tight-fitting bright red dress. Her heels tap the concrete floor as she goes, alerting Steve Storme. His head previously focussed down on his wrists as he tapes them, rises slowly until he has vision of who’s approaching. His eyes flicker up and down the curved figure of Ella before returning to his wrists. He finishes wrapping the white tape just seconds after the noise of Ella’s heels stops. He glances up at her polite smile, flashes one back weakly and then turns his gaze to the floor. Steve is sat near the bottom of a staircase, dressed in casual baggy grey pants, brilliant white trainers and a black t-shirt with a modern white design over the front. Neither of his two belts are with him for this interview, perhaps conveying of what little importance they are when the chance to be World Heavyweight Champion for a third time is so close. Ella looks up the staircase into the empty arena, eyes widening at the sheer size of it. Soon the doors will open and fans will fill the building to witness CGS wrestling. She turns her eyes back to the sitting Steve and clears her throat fairly loudly before speaking clearly and confidently into the camera.

Ella DeMarco: “Well Steve, in a few hours time you will face Kyle Evers in the main event of ‘Declaration of War’, a match which some are predicting will be the Match of the Year 2009. Roughly two months ago, your Brotherhood team-mate Kyle Evers pinned Jay Brooks in a six-man tag match to win the World Heavyweight Title, taking your belt but not actually beating you. Tonight is your first chance at getting the title back due to winning the Bloodshed Cup in October and the majority seem to think Evers has the edge here, making this perhaps your only CGS match as the perceived underdog. How do you feel ahead of what some might say is the most important match of your career?”

Steve glances up at Ella for a few seconds with a slight look of bemusement at her question, eyes narrowed. She notices scarring on the bridge of his nose, caused from Steve’s altercation earlier in the week although she doesn’t know this and decides against questioning him on it, assuming it was just a wrestling-related bruise from his last match. He exhales heavily yet says nothing. Ella shrugs her shoulders at his reaction and rolls her eyes but waits for a verbal response, knowing the General Manager Jimmy DeMarco would complain if she hadn’t at least got a brief interview with the CGS Hall of Famer. He sits in silence for twenty seconds longer, gathering his thoughts together before speaking quietly but firmly, eyes fixated on the floor.

Steve Storme: “How do I feel? I feel empty, alone, furious... although that’s nothing to do with this match against Kyle Evers... but you know Ella – there’s nothing to hold me back now once that bell rings. Before, I’d wrestle with the same thought in the back of my mind that this was probably tearing my relationship with Kaya apart. It didn’t stop me sending fists flying into the faces of my opponents – I still wrestled my way to victory over everybody matched against me. Twenty two wins and zero losses yet my mind has been somewhere else throughout this record-breaking streak.

Kaya never understood the appeal of wrestling. I met her in London at a club. She didn’t even know I was famous. Some of these people who watch Fusion each week wouldn’t believe the amount of girls who throw themselves at young muscled wrestlers with alluring gold titles draped over their tanned haughty shoulders. With fame comes females yet it was Kaya who caught my eye – her sexuality captivated me. I had to work for her, something I haven’t had to do for years. But the chase was well worth the prize.

She always looked down on my profession. She still sees it as mindless violence all in pursuit of some gold strapped to a piece of leather. She doesn’t see the symbolism. Wrestlers spend hours upon hours training; working out; on the road travelling from event to event. She can’t comprehend how such a time-consuming industry can be worthwhile when you factor in the health problems and risks. She wasn’t impressed with my World Heavyweight Title. It hurt. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved in this industry; I wanted to share that with the love of my life.

She loved me too much to not conceal her happiness when Kyle Evers pinned Jay Brooks to lift my World Heavyweight Title. But I read people well – I saw beneath the surface of her feigned disappointment that she was glad. She’s always felt that without wrestling the two of us would be better off. I guess she felt she would have a better chance of convincing me to quit if I wasn’t holding the most coveted title in the federation. I knew that. I knew deep down that me and Kaya would be stronger without wrestling taking up so much of my life. If you watch that “Aftershock” main event you’ll notice a hesitation from me when I see Evers going for the pinfall. A hesitation as my mind races with thoughts of Kaya, the three seconds elapsing as I did so. I thought I could have the best of both you see, I thought that our love would overcome all obstructions.

During the Bloodshed Cup tournament was when the relationship began to have serious problems. I was wrestling weekly in matches with no restrictions; Kaya was horrified by the level of violence involved as I passed Black Dagger, Wade Wilson and ultimately Eric Logan to lift the Ultraviolent Title. I think she began to realise that my retirement from wrestling was a long way off – that we’d continue to see each other sporadically. You see, she often refused to travel with me on tour. She wanted to stay with her friends in London and totally despised my wrestling companions. She hates Evers and Deathlocke; she thinks they are obnoxious delusional egotists who are far too immersed in the world of wrestling, detached from reality. We’d fight over my friends, her suspicion I was cheating, the amount of time I dedicate to my career and... I guess she found someone else while we were apart.

And now what else is left? There’s nothing holding me back now. Think what I did before, with the constant distractions and issues in my personal life, the arguments, the drugs: twenty two wins in a row as well as three titles including the top belt available in the fed. I love Kaya, I always will and only now has it become so clear what I’ve lost. But it’s too late. If I quit wrestling tomorrow, I’d have nothing. My real friends are all in this business, the time spent together on the road forges strong bonds. Kaya’s moved on and the betrayal cuts deep, she’s done with me but at least I’m clear-headed enough to realise it. And so wrestling is all I have; my legacy is all that matters.”

Steve breathes in deeply. Ella's expression exposes her surprise, jaw dropped and eyes looking nervously between Steve and the camera man. She did not expect such a reaction from Steve; his usual interview takes the form of insults to rivals and repeated claims of his superiority over them backed up with what he considers unarguable evidence. This time it was different; Steve’s hurt and this promo bled emotion, revealing the man behind the wrestler, a personal side to the superstar. The content of this speech and the way in which it was delivered showed Ella the impact the break-up with Kaya has had on Steve, previously having no idea that their relationship had ended. The pause is awkward and lasts too long. Steve looks up again as if to see if she’s still present and her face quickly changes to neutrality to avoid confrontation.

Steve Storme: “Well... is there anything else you want to ask me?”

Ella DeMarco: “Uhh... well yeah... do you have anything to say to Kyle Evers?”

Steve Storme: ”Sure.”

Steve gets to his feet quite suddenly and Ella backs away a little, giving Storme space. Steve stands still, looking directly into the camera with a blank expression on his face. He goes to speak, his mouth opening but no sound escaping. He returns to his previous facial position and waits a further ten seconds or so, gathering his thoughts again so as to speak with fluidity. He begins to speak, still in the same way and pitch.

Steve Storme: “I think everybody knows the respect and admiration I have for you, Kyle. The fans know it, the wrestlers know it and you know it too. As a member of your faction The Brotherhood, I’m certain that you respect me also but to what extent I’m not so sure... to the same extent I respect you? I don’t know but to cement that is something I aim to do tonight in our match. I’ve won so many titles in CGS, reached the ultimate apex of the Hall of Fame, yet those achievements do not necessarily equal respect in the eyes of my peers. Leon Caprice, The Witty Twit, Derek Levy... they all have tried to take me down on envious personal vendettas while showing very little respect for my accomplishments and ability. But only those I consider on or above my level have opinions which I care at all about changing, such as yours, Kyle.

Together we’re The X-Rated Horror Show, CGS Tag Team Champions, both unbeaten with impressive streaks and every title available between the two of us. That says a lot about the competition in CGS for athletes of our calibre. I believe your greatest student Kyle Deathlocke, you and I are in a league of our own right now. If this were not so then how could each of us gone so long without being beaten, collecting continuous victories against anyone matched against us? We are the very best to offer and that is beyond doubt for anyone of sanity.

So it was always inevitable we would clash sooner or later, Kyle, and I was growing restless anyway. You see, I never lost my World Championship. You pinned Jay Brooks, an average wrestler at best, for my belt and in the two months since, my hunger has only grown stronger by the week. The longer I’ve been parted from my title, the more desperate I’ve become to reclaim it. Now with nothing else left I must compensate through in-ring achievements and so this hunger has become insatiable. I remember my first half a year or so in CGS, I remember looking to Dash Blade and his World Heavyweight Title with such jealousy. I wanted that title more than anything in the world; I wanted to be the very best and only that belt could legitimize such ambitious aspirations. Now that same passion and determination has returned just in time for tonight, Kyle... maybe it’s simply the sheer spectacle of such a match that’s lit a fire inside me... but I think it’s more than a fire, it’s a furious inferno that reflects my life in theses times, the emotional pain and anguish.

And this will drive me forward; inspire me to accomplish things thought beyond my capabilities. Will tonight be mine? Some think it will, some think it won’t... what matters is that I know it can be. This will be my greatest struggle but I believe I can do this and whether the fans or the wrestlers think so is irrelevant. I believe I can do this and that’s what counts. You’ve been a friend, Kyle, and I appreciate it, especially in difficult times... but I want my title; I will throw my punches tonight with more force than I did for any of my hated rivals. It’s nothing personal; I just know it’ll take my optimum to win this.

You may have the physical possession that is the World Heavyweight Title but in my mind you are not the true champion until you pin or submit me, and I’m sure you know that deep down. To fully prove yourself as a worthy holder of the most prestigious title in CGS history, you must defeat me tonight. And as the days pass, the end of your career draws ever closer... you may never have another chance to do this... for your own legacy, you must defeat me tonight.

You see, one of these famed streaks must end at ‘Declaration of War’, one of us must pin the other and leave with the World Heavyweight Title held tightly in our grasp... but just who’s it going to be? I’ve got nothing stopping me now, Kyle; I think it’s about time to take back my crown. But if it doesn’t end the way I want it too, I hope I’ll have earned your respect to the extent you’ve earned mine.”

Steve turns round and casually walks up the stone steps behind him into the empty area. Ella peers up the stairs but he’s out of her vision. She turns back to the camera with an excited facial expression, eyes bright and a slight grin, pleased with the footage collected from Steve ahead of what may be the Match of the Year 2009. She motions with a little cut-throat hand sign and the camera fades out to blackness.

End RP

OOC: A personal favourite - perhaps my best. I don't know, let me know what you think.