MY LAWYER MADE ME CHANGE THE NAME OF THIS RP SO I WOULDN'T GET SUED

Warning: There is a mention of something people might find troubling at the end of this RP, though it is brief and I feel it is used in a positive way.

THE YELLOW PAGES

One thing that has always fascinated me about submission wrestling, is that it is a conversation conducted not in words, but in pressure, leverage, and patience. Most of the time, all people see is two wrestlers tangled up on the mat…but to those who practice it, those who embrace the art, it is a chess match played at full speed with the body as both the weapon and the puzzle.

These are the things that occupied my mind, Danny Boy, as I weighed my options on what the match stipulation for my Alias title would be.

This being my third time winning the title, I contemplated having the number three involved somehow. I knew there was no way I was going to paint myself into a corner with a triple threat match, and two out of three falls matches end up dragging on longer than they need to. So I thought about making a match with three phases, the first a regular match, then a no disqualification match in the second phase, and the final phase being a submission match since it gives me an excuse to use my finisher.

Then I asked myself, what happens if we don't make it past one of the early phases.

It makes my title stipulation meaningless, and I wasn't going to let that happen. So then I thought about having time limits for each of the phases, only allowing the match to end in the final phase, but realized that limits me…why would I do that to myself?

So many ideas threw each other over the top rope, until only three stood tall in the center.

A three minute time limit match.

A submission match.

A no disqualification match.

I wanted to use all three, to just live up to the moniker of asshole that has been bestowed upon me, but I figured Lindsay would do what she usually does and tell me no since she just loves to give me shit for absolutely no reason.

Eventually I decided on doing my own little twist on a submission match stipulation, in which the only way the challenger can win the match is by submission. Emphasis on the word challenger since I, on the other hand, am allowed to win by any means necessary. If I decide to bash you over the head with a chair, it's fine because I cannot lose by disqualification. If I feel like running around the ring for thirty seconds…totally cool, because I cannot lose by count out.

The only way I can lose the Alias title is if you make me submit or pass out from the pain, Danny Boy.

When I step into the ring with you at Culture Shock, I'm not expecting much more than some buffed up brute ready to punch me into submission. I'm sure there's much more to you than a couple of bloody knuckles and a thick English accent, but that's what I see when I look at you.

Pretty sure that's all anyone sees.

That's all you've been since you got here.

So far, that's all you've needed to be.

Sadly, at Culture Shock, that's not going to be enough. You're going to have to dig deep, Danny Boy, because I'm much more than just another pretty face. I've brought down giants in this business, and I'm still etching my name in record books decades after a hall of fame career.

The crowd boos my name every time it is announced, but there isn't a soul on this Earth that doesn't know it…that doesn't respect what I've accomplished. While your name is a fart away from being forgotten, just like the guy that liked Applebee's, the guy with the tooth fetish, and that guy with the watermelon head.

Not great company to keep, but that's the road you seem to be headed down.

Unless…

Well, unless you can find a way to beat me at Culture Shock.

That brings up the million dollar question: can you impose your dominance, your will, before I weasel my way to another win?

I know my answer, and it is going to unfold slowly – measured in breaths and inches – until you're lying there on the mat bearing silent witness to a contest that was as cerebral as it was physical.

=-=-=-=-=   REMEMBERING MY FIRST “Do you remember the first time I won this title?”

Tony Gamble stared down at his newly won Alias title in front of him on the dandelion covered table cloth, pure jubilance permanently scarred on his face as he stirred a tornado into existence in the center of his cup of coffee.

“Vaguely,” Victoria Henderson replied, her mouth an inch away from a tender, flaky, descent into buttery paradise. “That was a long time ago, Antonio.”

“Almost twenty years,” the memory of his match against Adam Dick, the Illustrious Face Eater, crawled out from under the refrigerator like a roach after the lights were turned out. “May of Two Thousand Six.”

“Yeah, I'm not going to remember that,” a small, dry sound erupted from her throat, it was sharp, almost cynical. A condescending hah, that Jiles would be proud of. “Have you ever heard of mommy brain?”

“I don't think that's how that works.”

“And you've been a mom for how long now?”

“I'm just saying…”

“Well don't,” her left eyebrow arched slightly as her lips curled into a spiteful sneer. “Your ignorance is leaking all over my floor.”

The scarred corner of his lip watched as its neighbor fought gallantly against the urge to curl into a smile, only to fall short of victory and succumb to the inevitable. “Well, okay then.”

Victoria sipped from her mug, smugly.

“I was just going to mention how all I could think of back then was winning my first title,” he shook his head, unsure why the nostalgia had him a little choked up. “It’s crazy how I've now had the most title reigns in PRIME over every other champion, and I've still never held the one I want the most…the one everyone wants to hold before they leave their boots in the ring.”

“It's not like you've had many chances,” the mother of his child, once known in PRIME as Violet Rayne, rested her mug on the table. “and I doubt you're going to be getting another anytime soon.”

“You never know,” Tony tapped his fingers across the face of the title, the dull thud barely audible as fantasies of lifting the Universal title over his head for even a moment danced a jig in his mind. “Fred Dick and Daytona Diamonds managed to get a shot, why wouldn't I?”

“You're not exactly on Lindsay's short list of people she's fond of,” she leaned forward and placed her hand on top of Tony's. “And you're definitely not getting any younger.”

“I probably won't make it on her long list either, to tell you the truth.” He allowed a chuckle to pass through his lips, and paused a moment before he continued. “Thing is, if I could prove that I deserve a shot, I don't think she would deny it.”

“Maybe, but that means you need to continue to win matches,” she moved her hand and wrapped it around her mug. “How does Cancer feel about that, seeing as how you are defending the title on night one?”

“He said I should consider dropping it to focus on the Squad Goals match,” The Grin sighed audibly. “While Ivan suggested I focus on the title, and sabotage Cancer's chances at beating Youngblood's team.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to remain Alias champion,” he completed his smile. “Then help Jiles beat Youngblood's team.”

“So you're not planning on listening to Ivan,” she asked, her left eyebrow peaked in interest.

“Not really feeling like I should since it doesn't benefit me in any way, and I'm not exactly thrilled with not being one of Ivan's choices for Squad Goal partners.”

“That did surprise me.”

“I know,” he leaned back in his seat. “I figured I'd be his top choice.”

“That's not what surprised me,” her head tilted slightly in a slow, mournful motion, eyes shadowed in disagreement. “It was actually your reaction. I didn't even think you liked Ivan.”

“I mean, you're kind of right,” his answer was accompanied by a slight shrug. “It's really that I don't trust him, but I still didn't expect him to let someone else poach his top guy.”

Peals of laughter filled the air, as Victoria's head tilted back over the back of her chair.

“Come on,” the Permascar Superstar folded his arms across his chest, as the right side of his lips struggled to form a frown. “Nothing I said was that funny.”

“You don't think so?”

“No, but apparently you do.”

“Well yeah,” she tried her best to stifle the laugh, but the strength of her opposition was too great and she fell short of her goal. “I'm sorry.”

“No, no,” he extended his right arm, open palm up. “Please, continue.”

“So, look, I'm not going to pretend to be up to date on everything going on in PRIME,” slightly out of breath, but a bit more composed, Victoria attempted to explain. “But from what you've told me, I'm not sure you can trust Jiles much more than you could Ivan…and you're hardly Ivan's top guy.”

“Well, he's made that painfully obvious, hasn't he?”

“What's painfully obvious, is that whoever you're working for is out there getting Universal title shots on the regular, while you're cleaning up whatever mess they find themselves in.”

“First of all, I work with people not for them,” a little agitated by the comment, Tony’s voice became a bit coarse. “And second, it's my own fault I haven't earned a shot at the Universal title. I haven't actually been living up to a hall of fame pedigree since my return.”

“Maybe not,” Victoria rested her hand on Tony's once more, her eyes, soft as twilight, rested upon him with a tender radiance. “But you've always been more than just someone's lackey, and you know it.”

“To tell you the truth,” he responded with a shrug. “The only thing I really know is that I need to win my match against Danny Christie, then make sure Cancer’s team wins our Squad Goals match.”

“You have a lot on your plate.”

“Nothing I can't handle.”

=-=-=-=-=

NEVER FIGHT ALONE

“How are you coming along with your homework?”

“Good,” Olivia looked up over the top of her laptop at her father. She was stretched out on her bed, feet propped up on her pillow as she clicked a few keys. “I think.”

“You think?”

Tony leaned against the door's frame, arms folded across his chest, and legs crossed at the ankle. His eyelids looked heavy, like window shades pulled halfway down to keep out some of the sun, while that forever grin seemed to betray his emotions with its devilish glee.

“Well, yeah,” she motioned toward the screen in front of her. “When am I ever going to need to figure out a fraction from a decimal?”

“I wish I could answer that for you,” Gamble shifted enough to lift his shoulder away from the door frame. “But we don't even use math in PRIME, and I use the calculator on my phone if I ever need to figure something out.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” The Grin’s adorable daughter slaps her laptop shut and sits up on her knees. “When do we start training?”

“Training for what?”

“For me to join PRIME, silly.”

“Yeah, that's definitely not happening,” Tony’s head drifted from one side to the other rather quickly, an absolute dismissal of the absurdity that had just passed through the lips of his child.

“Why not,” her shoulders only moments before held with light-hearted grace, slumped beneath an unseen heaviness. “With you being my dad, I'm sure I'll be a natural just like Annabelle.”

“Because you don't know what it's really like, what this business can do to you, and I wasn't something better for you.” Tony stepped into the room, arms now at his side as he approached. “I'm sure seeing Annabelle following the trail of crumbs her father left behind was great, but for every Annabelle there's ten Rose's that have their heart turn black from all the darkness this business tries to keep locked up in crates.”

“I just…”

“This isn't something we're going to discuss any further.”

The euphoric radiance that once held her adolescent face only moments before retreated, replaced by a delicate, shaky shadow as her expectations shattered like fine crystal.

“You deserve so much more than what this life takes from you,” she turned away when he got closer. “I know I sound like a hypocrite telling you not to do something I make a living off of, but you don't know the things I've seen over the years.”

“You said we weren't going to talk about it.”

“I know, I just want you to understand.”

“I really think I need to be alone right now.”

“I'm sorry, it's just…”

“Please, Dad,” she held her breath, a small, fragile statue, as her lower lip started to quiver. Tiny dew drops hung from her lashes, hesitant to fall, as she curled up into a ball inches away from his reach.

“Okay,” the ache was not a sharp pain, but a deep, heavy numbness that drowned his intent in a sea of gray apathy.

The last thing he wanted to do was walk away, after the way he had just raised his voice. He had practically burst whatever bubble of hope and joy she may have felt about following in his footsteps, not even allowed a chance to explain the choice from her point of view.

She watched as he did what she asked, and pulled the door shut behind him.

With a sharp, shuddered intake of air, the battle to keep the dam from breaking came to an abrupt end, knuckles white as she clenched the sheets beneath her, sight blurred as thoughts that had been buried clawed their way to the surface. She shook her head, as palms rubbed on her thighs.

Scars hidden beneath denim begged for a new neighbor or two. She slammed her fists on the bed, but their screams only became louder as the tears began to flow freely.

She had fought this war within her before, and she was stronger now than ever before. She glanced over at her phone, the desire to hear his voice instead of the ones in her mind made her heart flutter, but she knew he would want to come over and hold her – support her – but that would raise questions she didn't want to answer, so she resisted.

It was going to be a long, difficult night, but she knew she had it in her to get through it because she wasn't alone. Still on her knees, she leaned forward and clenched her hands together.

“Dear Heavenly Father…”