Ruination 48

Damn, look at this beautiful all white Escalade pulling into the Epicenter parking garage.  Who might this be, you ask?  That’s a great question, because that’s what this crowd is thinking as well.  The SUV halts and the back doors open.  Oh, baby! The crowd erupts as The SHOOT Project Premier champion, Black Sheep Baez, and his On Godtourage, Matty Ice and Georgie Campo, exit the vehicle.  Baez is, of course, dressed to the nines in a light gray tailored suit and this drip is coordinated to perfection.  The cherry on top is that beautiful gold strapped snug around the champs chiseled waistline.  

Baez adjusts the lapels of his sports coat and smiles.  His pearly whites, and the lenses of his fashionable eyewear, sparkle.  He rubs the faceplate of his championship, always showing it some love, and he looks over at Georgie.

Black Sheep Baez: Got damn.  I love this building.  You smell that, G?  

Whatever the scent is – the champ is takin a real big inhale.  His head tilts to the side and slides back until he finishes.  The air releases from his nostrils like a bull en route to a gore.

Black Sheep Baez: It smells like success, ya feel it?  Sweet, sweet, sweeeeeeet success.  Like a lilac in full bloom and the wind hits it just right.  This is it. I’m feelin’ damn good this week, fam.  Ya boi is limber.  He’s loose.  Ya boi is done damn near ready to take these threads off and put on that wrestle drip so he can slap a fool around that beautiful ring.  The stage of God’s.  Ya boi really wanna slam someone and then drop on’em and start wrenchin’ their body until they submit.  

Georgie: I mean that sounds like a real damn game plan if I can say so ma’self, Borricua.

Matty Ice: Yee yee, and lest we not forget that what you may be smellin’ is the fresh scent of an unkempt Pigpen Matsumoto. 

Black Sheep Baez: That’s just it though, bruh.  Them smells all come together.  Pigpen, that ole’ sweet’n’sassay, three day old underoos of that Trailer Trash fella, the minty sweetness of Maddie Seton’s hair, that sexy ass cologne I smelt when walkin past Josh Breedlove, and even the maple garlic fart that toots outta Roy Vezina’a vezina.  They create this amalgamation of pungence.  Sweaty, meaty, men and women, just beatin’ the got damn soul outta each other.  It’s like walkin into Bath and Body Works, but for wrestling scents.

Georgie: Aight.  I think I’m feelin’ it.  Don’t care to smell it, but I’m feelin’ what ya layin’ down.

Matty Ice: I thought tonight was supposed to be partyin’ with the Raiderettes?

Black Sheep Baez: Ah, yee, that can still happen ‘cuz the night is just beginnin’ to ripen.  The Raiderettes are like once the fruit gets perfect and juicy.

Georgie: Bro like Alan Watts if Alan Watts was Puerto Rican, handsome, a champion, and hood as a motha fuh.  On somethin’ philosophical.  Turnt the night into a juicy ass peach.  

Black Sheep Baez: Just feelin’ good, fam.  Ain’t not a damn thing stoppin me, us, you, Matty.  Nah.  We on that God.  Yessuh.  

Matty Ice: Yo, I’ll tell you what about to stop me though and that’s this piss I gotta take, so I’ll catch up with yous garabato folla in like diez minutos.  

The host of That Smoke cast, and one of Al’s ride’er’dies goes galloping off down the with a tipped bladder and urine anxiety.  Georgie looks confused, not that that’s different than any other day, and looks at Black Sheep.

Georgie: What the fuh he just call us? 

Black Sheep Baez: Matty a clown for real.  Georgie, my dude, did you hear somethin’ about Lexi Gold recently?  I haven’t been payin’ much attention, but I swore I heardt she may be outta commission for a minute.  What’s the scoop on that 411, son?

Georgie: Not too sure, fam, but I gots a dude down at Rawson-Neal said he sawnt her with his own two eyes roll in on a dolly like Hannibal Lectar, on God.

Black Sheep Baez: On God?

Georgie: I said on God.

Black Sheep Baez: Well got damn.  Sit by the river long enough to watch your enemies float on by.  Movin’ on, and movin’ up, cuz this what we do and ain’t not a damn person finna stop us (he starts to smugly laugh) ya know what I’m sayin’…

And that sure laughter is contagious because now Georgie’s doin it, and they’re slappin and dappin’ and dabbin’ like two goofballs bein dumb obnoxious.  They stop abruptly and their enthusiasm melts into dark curiosity.  There’s a bunch of commotion further down an adjacent hallway.  They can hear the shouts from SHOOT Project officials.  Loud bangs.  The sounds of fists hitting a skull and the slaps of boots to ribs.

“Get off him! Stop! Security!” Is heard in the distanced followed by “we need some help over here!” Two different voices, but they’re corralling a scuffle and ya boi’s eyes widen.  Baez and Georgie look at each other.  The light bulb goes off.  Al silent mouths: “what the fuck?” And then they take off running.  They’re hustling up the hallway and the camera races behind them.  The officials continue to shout, scream, and attempt to pull apart whatever is going on.  

The champ and Georgie turn left down the next hall and there he is.  Matty Ice in a puddle of blood and unconscious on the floor.  Baez and Georgie stop on a dime, their shoes screeching across the waxed floor.  Tables, chairs, audio equipment, the area looks like a tornado hit it.  Referees, a few REIGN stars, and security, surround the fallen On Godtourage member.  Black Sheep removes his glasses.  He’s in awe, and his jaw drops.  Then he sees him.  NC-17 off in the distance being pulled away by Johnny Vig, and three security guards.  Baez glares, and grinds his teeth.  Georgie slides onto his knees beside his friend.  

NC-17 raises a bloody, torn, right fist and waves his shredded knuckles at the champ with an enduring tobacco tar laced grin.  Baez unbuttons his suit jacket, loosens his tie, removes the jacket, and tosses it aside.  He lunges forward, leaping over Matty’s body, and he’s got his sights set on demolition.  But he’s blocked by a wall of individuals directed to pacify the potential warfare that could be ignited by Al’s anger.  Black Sheep isn’t going to try and break through the human barricade.  He snarls as NC and his manager fade off into the bowels of the Epicenter, and most likely being removed from the building.  Baez is undeniably livid.

Black Sheep Baez: Aight, aight, not tonight.  Tomorrow, familia.  (He speaks the following fast, and angry) Quieres coger el toro por los cuernos, pendejo, pero no estás preparado. No está listo. El toro está listo. Escupo sobre la tumba de los tontos.

The champ spits, and shoots a rocket of saliva on the ground.  EMT’s have arrived behind him and tend to Matty.  Baez breathes heavily, and then turns around to return his focus on his friends.  The scene fades.