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The Morning After
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Topic Started: Oct 29 2012, 07:03 AM (186 Views)
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James Stall
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Oct 29 2012, 07:03 AM
Post #1
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- Posts:
- 3,341
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Still. That is the only way to describe James Stall’s hotel room the morning after his first ever World Title win. It is a small room in a privately owned bed and breakfast overlooking the French Quarter of New Orleans. Last night it was filled to bursting with guests. Revelers spilled into the hallways, and the leeches pressed themselves against the walls. During their own private Mardi Gras the music thumped. Bodies pressed against each other. Clothes came off. Last night James Stall stood atop a wobbling desk and sprayed champagne over his guests. Now the bottle of Dom Perignon sits in a trash bin with several other bottles like it. A bottle of Grey Goose vodka which had been rolling around on the floor at some point now finds itself at home pressed against a table leg. Several crushed cartons of orange juice rest on the dresser, and fallen red plastic cups lay on the floor while unclaimed articles of clothing adorn the nightstand.
The overhead fan has stopped working. A string of beads has entangled itself in the blades. The air sits. Not even a breeze disturbs the curtains which have been cracked open to allow a small pillar of light to rest on the floor. In the bed lays Isabel Marie. The comforter comes half way up her body and fails to cover her exposed breasts. Her hair is matted over her, and she is turned away from the window. She sleeps with one hand underneath the pillow and one arm thrown over her side so that her hand dangles off the side of the bed. She is awoken by a whisper pricking at her ear.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Isabel smiles and wipes the hair from her face. It is the first movement to occur in this room in the last hour.
“Thank you.”
She turns herself over, swings her arm around and, it lands on nothing but air. Her hand sinks into the comforter, and she opens her eyes to see James Stall on the floor in front of the window. He is without clothes, and he sits on his knees with his posterior resting on his heels. In his lap is the World Heavyweight Championship. He lifts it up and holds it out in front of him.
“Simply gorgeous. Perfection.”
James brings his championship close to him and runs his finger along the name plate. It had been his first act as Champion to have Priest’s name removed from the title and replaced with his own as soon as he stepped back behind the curtain. Now he sits with index finger tracing the S in his last name over and over again as he reminces about the great men who have held this title, men like Jimmy Helmsley, Troy Turner, Outkast. He tilts his head toward the ceiling and the pillar of light cuts down the middle of his face.
“And no one will take you from me.”
James brings the World Championship to his lips and then presses the gold against his cheek as he cradles it in his arms.
“For too long undeserving have held you in their dirty hands and made you cheap. But no more. You have given me prestige, respect, and the pulpit for me to stand at, and now I will give you back your dignity.”
Isabel climbs out of bed and saunters over to James. The gentle swaying of her hips is lost on him as he continues to hold the championship against his face with his eyes closed. She delicately places a hand on his shoulder.
“James, what are you doing?”
James’ eyes snap open and he grits his teeth together.
“I’m trying to focus.”
He shifts the title over to his left hand and places his right palm on the gold plate.
“We have a long road ahead of us, you and I, and it all starts with that pretender of a North American Champion, Wildebeest. I promise you a glorious victory. I swear that I will not let you be outshone by another man’s title. You will be held high and worshipped as you deserve. Wildebeest will feel the heel of my boot against his neck as will all the blasphemers and pretenders in time.”
Isabel drapes herself over James and pecks at his neck.
“Are you really worried about Wildebeest? Don’t be. You’re twice the man he is.”
Her hand slides down his side and onto his thigh.
“In every way.”
And she nibbles at his ear.
“So why don’t you come back to bed.”
James lifts his head and stares straight out the window. His voice is coler than the early morning air.
“There’s a grocery store two blocks down. Buy yourself a cucumber and have some fun.”
Isabel recoils. Her hands tenses around his shoulder.
“Hey-“
James tosses his shoulder back, and Isabel falls off balance and her naked body lands on the floor. James looks back down at the World Heavyweight Championship and grunts at Isabel.
“Stop breaking my concentration.”
Isabel scrambles to her feet. She hurriedly gathers up a few items of clothing from under the bed to dress herself. She purposefully stomps around the room in a huff, but James pays her no heed, even as she slams the door behind her. He is far too entranced by his prize. A smile forms on his lips as he holds the belt with both hands.
“She doesn’t understand you. No one does. Not like I do. That’s the problem. Ignorance has been allowed to run rampant in New Era, and it must be pushed out like puss from a festering sore. The wound must be made clean, and dead flesh must be cut away before it can heal. I will be New’s surgeon.”
James holds the title into the air and watches as the sun reflects off the gold and matches the glimmer in his eyes.
“I will save you.”
Stalls climbs to his feet and sets the World Heavyweight Championship on the bed before strolling over to the closet and pulling out a pair of white linen boxers which he slips into. As James crosses back toward the bed, his eyes fall to the bottle of vodka on the floor. He picks it up and examines it carefully as he swirls the contents around. Half a shot left. James shrugs and takes a swig, draining the bottle. The vodka causes a slight burn in his throat and brings a smile to his face.
James picks up the championship and marvels at its heft as he weighs it in his hand. He tosses the belt onto his shoulder and grins childishly as he pats. Suddenly his snaps from side to side as he looks for something. He strips the title from his shoulder and runs toward the bathroom. James slides on the tile floor and nearly falls as he enters the bathroom. He throws the title back up on his shoulder and looks at himself in the mirror. His mouth opens wide and he lets loose an audible sigh almost as if he’s mimicking… cheering.
Yes. James Stall is pretending to be a wild crowd. With his championship on his left shoulder, James raises his right arm and waves to the adoring audience as he mouths the words “Thank You” over and over again. James holds the title out in front of him and admires it.
“He did it! James Stall did it!”
James speaks in a high pitched voice out of the side of his mouth.
“Here is your winner and new World Heavyweight Champion, James Stall!”
James cups his hand to the side of his mouth.
“Boooooooo. Hiss. Booo.”
He chuckles to himself before spotting a hairbrush which he proceeds to pick up and use as a microphone.
“Mister Stall, you just won the New Era World Heavyweight Championship. What are you going to do now.”
James throws his arms out wide, hoists the title high and tosses the brush across the room as he bellows.
“I’m going to Disney World!”
James collapses backward in a fit of giggles and slams himself against the glass door of the shower as he presses the championship to his chest. He catches his reflection, stops laughing, and quickly straps the title around his waist. He then flashes himself a smile and runs his fingers through his hair before throwing his arms out in front of him and posing like a body builder. James places his hands behind his head, puffs out his chest and flexes. He relaxes with a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief.
“World Heavyweight Champion.”
James undoes the belt from his waist and looks at himself holding it. His voice is almost bubbly.
“World Heavyweight Champion.”
He spins around and shoots a finger and a smile at the mirror.
“WorldHeavyweightChampion.”
James tilts his head up toward the ceiling and pretends to grab a dangling microphone.
“Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooorld Heavyweight. Eight. Eight. Eight. Eight.”
He watches his hand motion backward like an escaping jellyfish before snapping his head back toward the mirror.
“Champion!”
Stall looks at the belt again. He looks back at his reflection and hoists the belt high into the air over his head. With his other hand he does his patented and well-rehearsed chest thump.
“WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION!”
James smiles at himself after finally settling on a phrasing he likes.
Suddenly James face changes again, and his smile disappears as he remembers something else he has to do. He leans out of the bathroom and looks at his backpack sitting across the room. James bites on his lower lip, sets the belt back where it belongs, on his shoulder, a walks out of the bathroom. He crosses to the backpack, and from there he pulls out his Macbook and sets it on the dresser. In moments his is ready to take care of his business for the morning, a message to his next opponent, North American Champion, Wildebeest.
James pulls up a nearby wooden chair and sits in it. He shifts his title up on his shoulder and presses record before beginning a very deliberate slow clap. 1… 2… 3… 4.
“You must be pretty proud of yourself, Beest. I bet you’re happy being North American Champion. You’re probably ecstatic over the opportunity to face me as well. I’m sure you feel you’ve earned some respect and will continue to do so when we meet. I do not doubt that you’ll want to beat me not only to try and prove that you’re a better man than I am and a better champion, but you believe you can score some sort of revenge for the beating I gave your friend Priest at Fear Itself. You are welcomed to try.”
James places on arm over the back of the chair and leans back. He smiles as he tilts his head to the side and continues to bait Wildebeest.
“To the fans this must appear like quite the match up. They’re undoubtedly so excited to see the North American and World Champions square off. They’ve probably even entertained the idea that you’re at my level.”
James’ head methodically turns back toward the camera as his upper lip curls. His teeth shine like fangs as his words spit venom.
“Do you know how I know you’re not at my level? It’s because you follow Priest around like a sick fucking puppy. You take order from him. You learn life lessons from him. But guess what. I’ve beaten him. I took your precious leader and nearly broke his back in the middle of the ring.”
James pats his hand against his championship.
“He. Tapped. Out.”
Stall smiles. Of all his record breaking New Era submission victories this one is certainly his favorite, and as he slowly twists his hand and points toward Wildebeest, he is as proud as ever.
“And there’s not a damn thing you can do to dispute that fact. No excuses can be made. I made Priest give in. I forced him to admit that I am the better man, and you, you are no Robbie Priest, and you know that. You're Wildebeest, a dumb animal suitable only for following the herd and stampeding at the slightest provocation.”
James leans forward with his serpentine grin on full display.
“Am I making you angry? Good. Because it’s time you dealt with some hard truths. Look at the pack you hang with, Tombstone and Priest. There’s a reason they get so much hype, a reason they’re chasing my championship and you’re not. They’re better than you. You are the weakest link, and you’re a link I’m going to break come NewTv.”
James sits back and presses his hand to his mouth as if he’s just let loose a secret before chuckling to himself and continuing on.
“It’s just common knowledge that you’re the weight that brings White Noise down at this point. You’re North American Champion. That’s quite the accomplishment, but we both know it won’t stick. Why? Because you’re not cut out for this business. You’re a loser. You were born a loser. It’s what you’re good at. And soon enough you’ll burn yourself out and get right back to jobbing like you did before. Sure, you’ll probably climb back up again. I imagine your career will be quite Sisyphusian. But this is your high water mark, so enjoy it. Enjoy the next few days because when we meet I’m going to bring your world crumbling down, and the illusion that you’ve built around yourself to protect your ego will shatter.”
James looks at his object of devotion, the idol that grants him the control he has spent his whole life looking for, the World Championship. He picks it up off of his shoulder and dangles the shining gold belt in front of the camera like an owner dangling a toy in front of a pet cat.
“Do you see this? This is mine. This is my reward for over a year of sacrifice, the payment for the blood I spent. It is the symbol of my skill, the prize I have fought so long and so hard to attain. It is my life’s work, my one pursuit, my greatest treasure, and my greatest joy. It elevates me. I have ascended. No longer am I a main event wrestler. I am the main event.”
James uses his face to push the championship aside.
“I am the face of this company. I am its voice. I am its soul. Pray to whatever gods you want, but this belt makes my words gospel.”
Stall’s cheek twitches as he drops the title onto his lap and out of frame. A fire flashes in his eyes as he clenches his fists.
“Do you see your title? The one you wear so proudly around your waist? That’s mine. I built that title into what it is today. My blood is fused with the gold. It has been polished by my sweat. And whatever you think you might accomplish with it will be dwarfed by me, because in the end, my name will be the one most associated with the North American Championship.”
James looks down momentarily as he picks up his World Heavyweight Championship and throws it back on his shoulder. He carefully readjusts it and looks back at the camera.
“You have been impressive as of late. That’s doubtless. The way you turned your career around is nothing short of a miracle. You climbed your way out of the gutter to claim one of the most prestigious titles in New Era.”
James scoffs.
“Congratulations. You are no longer the laughing stock of this company.”
Stalls rests his arms in front of the Mac and leans forward once again as he squints at the camera focusing his eyes and aiming his words right at Wildebeest’s heart.
“But you are not one of the great ones. Don’t fool yourself into thinking otherwise. I am a great one. I am the personification of greatness. My words are beyond reproach. But you? You may fancy yourself a truly great champion. But do you know what you are? A name on a fact sheet. You’ve done nothing. You’ll do nothing. Soon enough someone will come along and take that belt away from you, and you’ll get shuffled back into the deck. Forgotten. Just where you belong.”
Keeping the stoney expression on his face, and without moving his head, James slides his hand over the keyboard and stops recording. He sits back and nods, quite satisfied with himself. His eyes shift back to the World Heavyweight Championship as he slides it off his shoulder and into his hands.
With the morning business taken care of, James climbs out of the chair and flops back into bed just as the preset alarm goes off to signal seven thirty am. James slams his fist against the clock, effectively shutting it off by breaking it.
James turns over on his side with a smile on face and cradles the title in his hands. As he drifts off into a pleasant sleep, he whispers to himself.
“World. Heavyweight. Champion.”
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New Era Record: 29-26-1
New Era Accomplishments: Record Holder for Longest World Heavyweight Championship Reign (239 Days) Record Holder for Longest Title Reign (239 Days) Record Holder for New Era Submission Victories (9) Record Holder for Main Event Wins (16) Co-Record Holder for Super Show Wins (11) x1 Winner of the New Era Secret Santa Tournament x2 North American Champion x2 New Era World Heavyweight Champion (Current)
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