Re: A Wingless Angel

by **krzy** Sat May 11, 2019 3:35 pm

George King wants vengeance.

The main event of the first ever Supremacy should NOT have gone down like this.

Disgusting.

That’s what that was.

No, a fluke.

Yes, a much more apt description of this travesty.

A King being pinned by Babos? A PEASANT?

Alas, even a broken clock is correct twice a day.

And so King leaves. The ref, Dashing at the announce table, that funny looking fan in the front row--they’re all safe.

King walks up the ramp, head held high like the royalty he is. That meant nothing because NOTHING will keep him from becoming World Champion.

He makes it past the stage and slips through the curtain to head backstage, when he suddenly reappears, walking backward and away from his opponent at Cyberslam, Brett Angel!

The crowd explodes with cheers!

But wait.

Angel is suspended...at least until he kisses King’s boot. As far as the CMV Universe knows, Angel has yet to do so. Which means, he could only be out here to...oh no…

Except a minute of heavy tension passes, and Angel has yet to kneel before the king. Instead, he holds out his hand and catches a microphone flung from who knows where.

ANGEL: My career hinges on humility! What happens from this point forward depends on whether or not I kiss the foot that kicked my ass mere days ago. Either the unthinkable happens, and I bow down, or the unthinkable happens, and CMV moves on without Brett Angel.

A pause.

Angel flashes a devilish smirk, those cold, grey eyes locked on the expecting George King.

ANGEL: The problem here, Georgey, is that I’m Brett. Angel. I bow before no man. I’m the Last. One. Standing. NOT kneeling. If this is the end, then at least I got to step foot on Supremacy before your toxin spread, just as it did to NGW, UnMatc--

A masked figure...no, THE very same masked figure who approached Angel before Validation, who tried to stand by Angel’s side in that handicap match, is now tackling Angel to the ground. Their momentum takes King down with them.

Amidst the chaos, the masked figure drags Angel over to a stunned King and forces his lips onto that royal boot.

It may not have been pretty, but a kiss it was--no one said Angel had to do it of his own volition.

Is this masked figure friend or foe?

If foe, what is the end game?

If friend, does the end justify such means?

by **krzy** Fri Jul 12, 2019 11:25 am

Backstage is where Brett Angel can be found, seated on the ground, the back of his head pressed against the wall as he stares up at the ceiling. He absentmindedly strokes the length of his scarf–the ends of which have been adorned with barbed wire–with his right hand.

ANGEL: I’ve had better days, that’s for sure, baby girl.

King of the Ring, now the Royal Rumble…

I guess nobility isn't in the cards for your old man.

Sure, I did it before, but I guess there's no making lightning strike twice during a...full moon.

A pause.

ANGEL: Yeah, I know the two have nothing to do with each other. But I needed to slip a metaphor in there. Get the people thinking there's something rattling around in this here brain of mine.

Your old man needs a win, let 'im have this one.

Angel looks down at an uneaten sandwich on a plate next to him. He tilts his head to the side as though he were listening to something, then he laughs.

ANGEL: Or maybe you're right--to hell with the flowery language--I'll cut right to the chase and wonder aloud just how it is so that men like Xander Slate can constantly weave victims into their webs.

Don't they all see the pattern?

He sees you getting big, he takes you under his wing to "guide you," then he pulls the rug from right under you when he has no use for you.

Every. Single. Time.

Angel throws up his hands incredulously.

ANGEL: Randy's body wasn't even cold!

Somehow Pierre thinks he'll be different. They always do...because the love story always starts out so sweet. And when it turns bitter, he'll say he never saw the wave coming despite the storm brewing in front of him this whole time.

Men like Xander keep finding ways to thrive in this lawless land, and no matter how hard I fight him, I'm the one left with the scars.

Angel looks down again, there's a small piece of the sandwich missing--but the camera has been pointed at Angel's face this whole time.

ANGEL: I'm right there with you, baby girl. I don't have much of an appetite either.

Angel tilts his head, again, as though listening to something. A look of anger flashes across his face. He groans as he pushes himself off the ground.

ANGEL: Let's go, I hear Harvey calling my name.

As Angel exits on one side of the screen, legendary interviewer Guy. enters from the other.

GUY.: Damn it, Brett. I know you've been around here. I've been trying to interview you for weeks!

The annoyance quickly disappears from his face when he spots that sandwich on the ground.

GUY.: After all that running around? Don't mind if I do.

He squats down to reach for the sandwich, then abruptly drops to the ground as he loses his balance.

It would be funny if it weren't for the look of pure horror on his face.

GUY.: No...

He crawls over to the corner that his eyes are locked on, and his hand trembles violently while he reaches for what's half-hidden behind a some crates.

Six bottles stacked neatly in a pyramid.

Hauntingly empty.

by **krzy** Wed Jul 17, 2019 4:02 pm

Brett Angel finds himself within the depths of the backstage area as Supremacy rolls on. He’s staring at a poster on the wall:

“CMV Presents: COMING HOME!”

The main graphic features the main event of the evening: The first-ever championship scramble match where Undisputed Champion will defend his prized CMV Undisputed Championship against four of the biggest names in CMV:

Reece Ortiz

King Slate

Josh Wolf

The fourth challenger is clearly Brett Angel. Whether it’s the body paint or his natural glow, he’s easy to pick out of the crowd. However, this poster has been defaced—literally.

Angel’s face has been violently scratched out to the point where even the paint on the wall the poster is hung on has been damaged.

GUY.: I saw.

Angel’s face twitches as a voice calls out from his right. The legendary interviewer Guy. takes a few steps forward. Guy. doesn’t repeat himself, not that he needed to. The halls were deathly quiet before his appearance. Angel likely heard him just fine–and Angel knows Guy. wasn’t talking about the poster.

Angel chuckles.

ANGEL: That’s the beautiful thing about eyes, ain’t it? Let’s you see all kinds of beautiful and wonderful things this world has to offer. Then there are the horrors. The cruel and the ugly things that you can’t turn away from.

Then there are the things you see when you go looking for trouble. The things you had no business laying eyes on.

GUY.: That’s your excuse? That I shouldn’t have seen it?

ANGEL: There’s nothing I’ve done that needs excusing.

Guy. wields his journalistic experience as a sword to deftly cut through Angel’s deflections with a poignant question.

GUY.: How long?

Angel walks over to the poster and tears it off the wall. In the next second he’s standing in front of Guy. Angel forcefully shoves the paper into Guy.’s chest.

ANGEL: Show’s only in a few days. Not long at all.

GUY.: Brett…

Angel and Guy. lock eyes for a long, tense second. The former International Champion walks off. Guy. crumbles up the poster and angrily tosses it off the wall, his grunt echoes in the halls. The paper hits the wall and stays there.

Guy. furrows his brow, but before he can investigate further, a voice calls out that he’s due for his next interview.

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