| JM | Date: Thursday, 2011/08/18, 1:19 AM | Message # 1 |
|
Jobber
Group: Champion
Messages: 23
Status: Offline
| The City that Screams - Part One
Marsham v. Payne: RP #1
Many surprises transpired at the end of Shatterpoint including the the main event where Justin Marsham sacrificed a win to gain the upper hand against his nemesis, Marcellus Payne. Neither man of El Fuego could complain about the conclusion – though Crimson Blaze's eagerness could have caused him to step on the toes of his partner. Those two would be rewarded for their match, receiving a number one contendership match for the Heavyweight Championship at the approaching Supercard, Rising from the Flames. For Marcellus Payne, however, he would be punished – receiving a championship match against the Epitome of Technical Finesse.
The scene opens to a bright orange sunset. The warm afternoon Nevada skies are painted like a brilliant mural, streaks of red and yellow hues dancing across the desert – eventually fading beneath the horizon. The Epitome of Technical Finesse himself, Justin Marsham, stands upon a balcony overlooking the ultimate adult playground – the Las Vegas Strip. There is no shortage of decadence or grand architecture in the city. Replicas of the world's wonders, national monuments and prostitutes all gathered together in once place. It is amazing.
Marsham had stayed in the Bellagio a few years back, but had never been able to afford the penthouse suite. Yet – now – as the EWA Heavyweight Champion and a certified high roller, Marsham stands on the balcony of that very suite. A pale blue button-down shirt is worn with sleeves rolled up just below the elbow, revealing an expensive custom-designed watch. Azure eyes peer out over the city while he relaxes, leaning gently against the railing. Beneath Marsham, the streets buzz with life; however, the commotion and noise is far too distant to reach the EWA Heavyweight Champion. For him, all is serene.
Concerns for this week's event and the chance of losing the Heavyweight Championship belt do little to disturb Marsham's solace. It is not until another individual makes their appearance, stepping out from the suite and onto the balcony behind him. Loud – like a gunshot – the voice of the individual shatters the silence like glass. The person has been seen with Marsham before, but has not had their face televised since Marsham inaugural stint in CZW.
”I just got off the phone with Eloise and I have everything set for your press conference tomorrow,” states Solomon Black – dressed down in a simple navy polo and khakis.
The initial shock of Solomon Black appearing behind Marsham transforms quickly into curiosity. For those who were unaware of Black's relationship with Marsham, the self-proclaimed Man of a Thousand Faces has long been an influential component behind the scenes. He is an agent like no other, always looking for the best interests of his clients. Imagine Marsham's career as a giant clock. The largest gear would represent Solomon. Without its unceasing movement, the clock would fail to operate; and, without Solomon's unremitting dedication, Marsham's career would suffer.
Solomon had last been seen in CZW as head columnist for The Black List, a news article that summarized and evaluated the ongoings of the federation. He has managed several professional wrestlers in his day far beyond the current Heavyweight Champion. Not often does Solomon see television time any more. His office is based out of Sin City and – with Marsham working on the East Coast – it is so very rare for Marsham to see Solomon face-to-face unless over Skype.
”Good.” mutters Marsham, offering no glance back at his agent.
”Have you heard any word from Ryan? I found it quite odd he no-showed the last event when he was to face Thrax. He answered the challenge, but opted to not attend. It doesn't seem like him.” Solomon questions as he pushes past the beige drapery and to the rail beside Marsham.
Marsham nods. ”I spoke with Ms. Fontaine yesterday and Ryan this morning. He has some things to attend to, so I wouldn't expect much from him at this point. He is keeping in touch and we are in good terms, so don't worry about that.”
”Wonderful. Well, we have a lot planned for tomorrow, so I'd advise you to get some sleep...even though I know you aren't going to take my advice and just do whatever the Hell you want. But, it is my job and obligation to at least say something.”
With a chuckle of laughter stifled beyond clenched teeth, Marsham glances over to his agent. He now remembers why he keeps a distance from Solomon. Twelve states away, Solomon cannot so easily instruct Marsham as if he were his parent. Oh how Marsham despises Solomon's antics and meddling; however, there is no arguing how efficient he can be.
”Great work on Shatterpoint, by the way. I just revisited that epic conclusion when you crucified Black Jesus in the center of that ring with a Wicked Driver. That really had the fans roaring!”
”It didn't have to be then. If he had come out to the ring at the start of the show when I requested, then we could have put that out of my system then. He instead sent that annoying ass manager of the ring. We saw how that turned out. Look, Payne's gonna do what Payne's gonna do. Unfortunately, win that Heavyweight belt isn't one of the things that he's gonna do.”
Solomon shrugs. ”He's going to be running on all cylinders. You know that.”
Laughing, Marsham replies, ”Do you think that I'm an idiot? I know that! Anyone not firing on all cylinders for a Heavyweight Championship title bout would be a fool...and Black Jesus isn't a fool. He might not be a fool, but he definitely does not have what it takes to become a Heavyweight champ. I still have a lot of time to develop this division and I'm hardly fearful that he will be able to strip this belt from my waist. That, of course, doesn't mean that I won't be one hundred and ten percent prepped for this match.”
”–which is why you need sleep.”
”--which is why I need you to distance yourself from telling me what the fuck to do.”
Solomon shakes his head. ”Well, while I distance myself, let me just tell you that I called in a few favors into the EWA home offices. I'm working my best at getting the Supercard changed. That number one contendership match just doesn't sit right with me. El Pablo and Crimson Blaze to square off? I can think of many more and very different challengers that would make for more profitable match-ups against you. After you retain, you're going to have to face either El Pablo or Crimson Blaze. Where is the marketability of that?”
”Don't touch the card. Leave it be.”
”Excuse me? You're comfortable with it? Crimson Blaze had been smacked around more than once by you now. He cannot even manage to pull out a win...other than the one that you basically spoon fed him. Then, you've got the Five Star Superstar which sounds and looks more like a washed up, sleezy motel that a number one contender. Look man, let me pull some strings. I've already made the calls in. We could have a damn good chance at making the next event much more spectacular.”
Marsham unleashes a cold sigh. ”I will make due with what happens. YOU need to make sure everything is in order for me tomorrow. That press conference is extremely important for what I'd like to do. Just make sure that you drop this whole changing of the card idea.”
”Fine,” a disappointed and dejected Solomon responds.
One final glimpse of the Las Vegas Strip is inhaled before Marsham turns away. He brushes past Solomon and re-enters the suite to collect his things. When the sun sets over Sin City, that is when the streets come alive. The Epitome of Technical Finesse shall be among them tonight. Mere days separate him from his second title defense. The last champion, Buzzsaw, lost his belt the second time it was put on the line. Would Marsham follow this same path?
Time will only tell.
|
| |
| |
