Post by Delilah Ghost on Apr 8, 2008 15:29:12 GMT -6
To the victor, as they say, go the spoils. At Hog Heaven: Southern Salvation, the winners were given a spot in a battle royal for the newly "vacated" belt. Blood, sweat and pain placed five men on a path to gold. The yellow been beaten with a sack of brick road, one might say with a aching smile.
And, O RCW faithful, where there be winners, there also be losers. A simple fact of life. Not everyone can win. Not everyone can leave crowned with the golden laurel. Someone has to walk to the back on their own, not on the shoulders of others. For every winner, there is a loser sitting in the back with his head hung in shame and defeat.
Isn't there?
There couldn't be any chance of losing being a good thing. They wouldn't call it losing then, would they? If it leads to a gigantic bed in a penthouse, surrounded by pillows, a beautiful woman at your side, could you really be called a loser? If every bruse, every stitch, every bandage was earned in a night-long battle that very nearly broke both men involved...is that still truly losing? Does it make 'win' and 'lose' nothing more than an empty argument?
Only if you really, really want to argue.
The so-called 'loser' in question blinks at the morning sunlight falling across the bed. Mikey rubs his eyes, wondering if the redhead that has stolen most of the blankets will be waking up as well. He stretches, the various aches and pains left over from his war with Ase waking him up even more. Mikey grins at the sleeping Delilah, happy she's returned and wondering just what it'll take to rouse her. He pulls a feather out of one of the pillows and tickles her neck with it, making her mutter and roll over. He tries again, this time going for the ear, but no reaction. Mikey grins again, deciding to take a more...drastic measure. He licks his finger, reaching for her ear. Before he can accomplish his dastardly deed, however, he is rewarded with a growl from his lady love.
"Do it, and they'll be calling you ol' Nine Fingers."
He meets the bleary look of death with his best innocent smile. Delilah grins back, reaching over him to grab the clock off the nightstand.
"Stupid daytime. Highly overrated. Where's the supervillans threatening to plunge the world into eternal darkness when you need them?" Delilah casually tosses the clock to the floor, earning a half-hearted scowl from Mikey.
"What? Those are overrated too." Another grin, and Delilah pulls the blankets over her head. Mikey watches the lump that is his girlfriend wiggle its way to the end of the bed. She appears after a moment, wearing Mikey's boxer shorts and putting her tank top from the night before back on. Mikey frowns at the mostly healed, but still ugly looking, gash that runs the length of Delilah's back. With a gratuitious butt shake, Delilah wanders out of the bedroom, leaving Mikey alone to wonder if she'll ever tell him what happened to her.
Delilah returns, cup of coffee in one hand, oversized can of Red Bull in the other. He gratefully accepts the cup, but shakes a finger at the can in her hand. Delilah chuckles, hugging the can of Red Bull tight.
"Mine. All mine. You can't take it. Gonna drink it all. Allllll all all. My giant-sized, sezure inducing, bigass can of sweet goodness. I don't care if it's illegal for me to have the big can in three states. What happened to the pen?" Delilah tosses the tv remote and a notepad on the bed. She wanders around the room, searching for the pen in question while sipping on her drug of choice. Mikey snaps his fingers to get her attention and points at the floor in front of the windows. Delilah bends over to pick it up, a slight grimace passing over her face. She hands it to Mikey, rejoining him in bed and snatches up the remote. He scribbles something on the notepad while she flips through the channels.
You ok?[/i]
"I thought I was supposed to be asking you that? Ooohh, Voyager marathon, sweet."
I'm not the one allergic to painkillers. How many stitches?[/i]
Delilah frowns down at the paper, not meeting Mikey's concerned gaze.
"A hundred and forty six. Now shaddup before you ruin my trekkie fix."
DS9 was better[/i]
"Are you trying to pick a fight with me? Sisko was badass, but so was Janeway. She made the borg her b*tch and was hot as hell doing it."
Fair enough, won't argue with my favorite geek[/i] he wrote with a smile.
"Sweet talk me later or I'll go all klingon on your ass."
Promises, promises.[/i]
Delilah merely responds by snatching the notepad out of his hands and swatting him with it. They remain there in bed for several hours, neither one going any further than the kitchen for more coffee and Red Bull. Both would have been content with staying in bed for the day, but a ringing doorbell threatened to change that.
"I thought the guys went back home?"
That's what they said. Pete?[/i]
"Nahhh. Him and Sammy went to visit Ma. Go see who it is."
Mikey lifts up the blanket, looking down at himself and back at Delilah.
"What? Just because I have pants on, I have to get the door? That's not fair, not fair at all."
Mikey grinned as Delilah stalked out of the bedroom, listening to her rant and rave about hot guys with no pants that can do it their own damnned selves. She returns again a moment later, torn envelope in one hand, tape in the other.
"Courier," she says, popping the tape in the vcr and getting back into bed, "My weekly RCW tape. Shall we watch and mock our fellow wrestlers?"
And they seem to do exactly that. With the occasional rude gesture from Mikey and a diatribe from Delilah on how Jeffery Hollywood's wardrobe would make a blind gay man go 'what the hell?', both are perfectly happy to laugh at Puck's own wardrobe issues. Delilah's mood changes once the battle royal promos start. Mikey watches her fidget, expecting the predictable Red Bull mania to kick in at any moment.
"Office...favorite? Philly? Office favorite? Did someone kick this b*tch in the head when no one was looking? I don't think Tarja's been paying quite as much attention as she likes to think if she calls Philly an office favorite."
All the makeup probably makes it hard to see[/i]
"If she's not careful her entire closet's going to magically turn pink and frilly. 'Scrouring' the goth ice queen right off her pasty damned face."
Scrouring?[/i]
"Her word, not mine. Ya think miz Tarja 'Barbara Walters' Turunen is a 'natual' brunette? Jeez, Puck pulled that look off wayyyy better than she does."
Meeeow[/i]
"I can be catty if I want. Hell, be amazed I haven't hit 'raging b*tch of doom' yet from all the Red Bull."
Yellow alert![/i]
"I'll make you eat that paper."
She seems pretty confident that Ase can take Philly[/i]
"I'm confident that when they were handing out fashion sense, Tarja was hiding in the broom closet. She thinks Ase has Philly's number, and Philly's gonna change that number, hand it back to Ase, then take him out while Ase is asking for permission to wipe his ass with it."
ouch[/i]
"Well, I imagine it's a painful place to get a papercut."
Mikey grins, shaking his head at Delilah.
"What? Y'know, I'm starting to feel a bit sorry for Doug and Eno here. Both good wrestlers, both former WpW guys, both going to get hauled outta there on stretchers. Well, maybe not Eno, but I doubt there's much chance of them winning...this..."
Delilah's eyes go back to the tv screen once she hears her name coming out of Brock Davids mouth. Mikey watches Delilah, seeing her jaw clench and the white-knuckled deathgrip she had on the remote. As soon as his promo ended and Phil's began, Delilah lashed out, hurling the remote at the tv and, amazingly enough, embedding it squarely into the tape slot and replacing Phil with a screen full of static.
"Undisputed champion? Un-frickin-disputed champion? Am I high? I must be high. One would have to be high to even entertain the completely INSANE notion that this chucklehead could get into a ring with four guys that completely OUTCLASS this jackoff and walk away a first time ever RCW Undisputed Champion. Mister oh me and my brother hate her even though neither one of us could hope to beat her in a match because Adam's nothing more than a Billy Idol reject that hasn't had a good gimmick since WpW and I'm on so much steroids I have a mardi-gras head and raisinette balls and I hope nobody takes the time to reflect on how me having a belt in the first place is a huge, flash in the pan, crazy twist of drunken fate straight up F***ING FLUKE?! As Ma would say, the bleedin' poofter is sorely f***ing mistaken if just tossing my name around wouldn't get him in any sort of trouble. Cupcake needs to learn a little respect, I'd say. Cupcake needs to shut his ever-lovin' PIEHOLE before he ends up needing it WIRED SHUT!!! If he really wanted to take the 'Delilah's B*tch' position, he could have just asked. Gummy worms. Gummy worms my ass. It's gummy BEARS!! Get it FRIGGIN' RIGHT!!!! Jesus H. Motherf*ck he has no clue. You, sir, are undisputed indeed. An undisputed TOOL! We'll see just how smug he is when he wakes up to a life-sized, panty-wearing FIREBOMB IN THE MORNING!!! "
Delilah snatches up an empty can, crushing it and hurling in at the tv. Mikey watches her, struggling to keep himself from grinning. He didn't much feel like being fed one of those cans. He scribbled a quick message on the notepad and held it in front of his face.
Are you done?
?
Please don't hurt me
Mikey waited a moment before lowering the paper, meeting Delilah's gaze over the top of it. She was trying to look serious. Failing, but still trying.
"I wish you could talk. Then I'd be able to tell you to shut up."
Wishes, horses, you know the rest. I was expecting worse.
"Bite me. I've only had three."
Mikey bared his teeth at Delilah, snapping his mouth shut with an audible clack. And with that, O RCW Faithful, we should withdraw for safety's sake. Retreat like ghosts, carried on the morning breeze. If either of these star-crossed lovers knew of our presence, we would find ourselves literally crucified.
Or at the very least, drowning in a vat of jell-o.
You know how she gets.
And, O RCW faithful, where there be winners, there also be losers. A simple fact of life. Not everyone can win. Not everyone can leave crowned with the golden laurel. Someone has to walk to the back on their own, not on the shoulders of others. For every winner, there is a loser sitting in the back with his head hung in shame and defeat.
Isn't there?
There couldn't be any chance of losing being a good thing. They wouldn't call it losing then, would they? If it leads to a gigantic bed in a penthouse, surrounded by pillows, a beautiful woman at your side, could you really be called a loser? If every bruse, every stitch, every bandage was earned in a night-long battle that very nearly broke both men involved...is that still truly losing? Does it make 'win' and 'lose' nothing more than an empty argument?
Only if you really, really want to argue.
The so-called 'loser' in question blinks at the morning sunlight falling across the bed. Mikey rubs his eyes, wondering if the redhead that has stolen most of the blankets will be waking up as well. He stretches, the various aches and pains left over from his war with Ase waking him up even more. Mikey grins at the sleeping Delilah, happy she's returned and wondering just what it'll take to rouse her. He pulls a feather out of one of the pillows and tickles her neck with it, making her mutter and roll over. He tries again, this time going for the ear, but no reaction. Mikey grins again, deciding to take a more...drastic measure. He licks his finger, reaching for her ear. Before he can accomplish his dastardly deed, however, he is rewarded with a growl from his lady love.
"Do it, and they'll be calling you ol' Nine Fingers."
He meets the bleary look of death with his best innocent smile. Delilah grins back, reaching over him to grab the clock off the nightstand.
"Stupid daytime. Highly overrated. Where's the supervillans threatening to plunge the world into eternal darkness when you need them?" Delilah casually tosses the clock to the floor, earning a half-hearted scowl from Mikey.
"What? Those are overrated too." Another grin, and Delilah pulls the blankets over her head. Mikey watches the lump that is his girlfriend wiggle its way to the end of the bed. She appears after a moment, wearing Mikey's boxer shorts and putting her tank top from the night before back on. Mikey frowns at the mostly healed, but still ugly looking, gash that runs the length of Delilah's back. With a gratuitious butt shake, Delilah wanders out of the bedroom, leaving Mikey alone to wonder if she'll ever tell him what happened to her.
Delilah returns, cup of coffee in one hand, oversized can of Red Bull in the other. He gratefully accepts the cup, but shakes a finger at the can in her hand. Delilah chuckles, hugging the can of Red Bull tight.
"Mine. All mine. You can't take it. Gonna drink it all. Allllll all all. My giant-sized, sezure inducing, bigass can of sweet goodness. I don't care if it's illegal for me to have the big can in three states. What happened to the pen?" Delilah tosses the tv remote and a notepad on the bed. She wanders around the room, searching for the pen in question while sipping on her drug of choice. Mikey snaps his fingers to get her attention and points at the floor in front of the windows. Delilah bends over to pick it up, a slight grimace passing over her face. She hands it to Mikey, rejoining him in bed and snatches up the remote. He scribbles something on the notepad while she flips through the channels.
You ok?[/i]
"I thought I was supposed to be asking you that? Ooohh, Voyager marathon, sweet."
I'm not the one allergic to painkillers. How many stitches?[/i]
Delilah frowns down at the paper, not meeting Mikey's concerned gaze.
"A hundred and forty six. Now shaddup before you ruin my trekkie fix."
DS9 was better[/i]
"Are you trying to pick a fight with me? Sisko was badass, but so was Janeway. She made the borg her b*tch and was hot as hell doing it."
Fair enough, won't argue with my favorite geek[/i] he wrote with a smile.
"Sweet talk me later or I'll go all klingon on your ass."
Promises, promises.[/i]
Delilah merely responds by snatching the notepad out of his hands and swatting him with it. They remain there in bed for several hours, neither one going any further than the kitchen for more coffee and Red Bull. Both would have been content with staying in bed for the day, but a ringing doorbell threatened to change that.
"I thought the guys went back home?"
That's what they said. Pete?[/i]
"Nahhh. Him and Sammy went to visit Ma. Go see who it is."
Mikey lifts up the blanket, looking down at himself and back at Delilah.
"What? Just because I have pants on, I have to get the door? That's not fair, not fair at all."
Mikey grinned as Delilah stalked out of the bedroom, listening to her rant and rave about hot guys with no pants that can do it their own damnned selves. She returns again a moment later, torn envelope in one hand, tape in the other.
"Courier," she says, popping the tape in the vcr and getting back into bed, "My weekly RCW tape. Shall we watch and mock our fellow wrestlers?"
And they seem to do exactly that. With the occasional rude gesture from Mikey and a diatribe from Delilah on how Jeffery Hollywood's wardrobe would make a blind gay man go 'what the hell?', both are perfectly happy to laugh at Puck's own wardrobe issues. Delilah's mood changes once the battle royal promos start. Mikey watches her fidget, expecting the predictable Red Bull mania to kick in at any moment.
"Office...favorite? Philly? Office favorite? Did someone kick this b*tch in the head when no one was looking? I don't think Tarja's been paying quite as much attention as she likes to think if she calls Philly an office favorite."
All the makeup probably makes it hard to see[/i]
"If she's not careful her entire closet's going to magically turn pink and frilly. 'Scrouring' the goth ice queen right off her pasty damned face."
Scrouring?[/i]
"Her word, not mine. Ya think miz Tarja 'Barbara Walters' Turunen is a 'natual' brunette? Jeez, Puck pulled that look off wayyyy better than she does."
Meeeow[/i]
"I can be catty if I want. Hell, be amazed I haven't hit 'raging b*tch of doom' yet from all the Red Bull."
Yellow alert![/i]
"I'll make you eat that paper."
She seems pretty confident that Ase can take Philly[/i]
"I'm confident that when they were handing out fashion sense, Tarja was hiding in the broom closet. She thinks Ase has Philly's number, and Philly's gonna change that number, hand it back to Ase, then take him out while Ase is asking for permission to wipe his ass with it."
ouch[/i]
"Well, I imagine it's a painful place to get a papercut."
Mikey grins, shaking his head at Delilah.
"What? Y'know, I'm starting to feel a bit sorry for Doug and Eno here. Both good wrestlers, both former WpW guys, both going to get hauled outta there on stretchers. Well, maybe not Eno, but I doubt there's much chance of them winning...this..."
Delilah's eyes go back to the tv screen once she hears her name coming out of Brock Davids mouth. Mikey watches Delilah, seeing her jaw clench and the white-knuckled deathgrip she had on the remote. As soon as his promo ended and Phil's began, Delilah lashed out, hurling the remote at the tv and, amazingly enough, embedding it squarely into the tape slot and replacing Phil with a screen full of static.
"Undisputed champion? Un-frickin-disputed champion? Am I high? I must be high. One would have to be high to even entertain the completely INSANE notion that this chucklehead could get into a ring with four guys that completely OUTCLASS this jackoff and walk away a first time ever RCW Undisputed Champion. Mister oh me and my brother hate her even though neither one of us could hope to beat her in a match because Adam's nothing more than a Billy Idol reject that hasn't had a good gimmick since WpW and I'm on so much steroids I have a mardi-gras head and raisinette balls and I hope nobody takes the time to reflect on how me having a belt in the first place is a huge, flash in the pan, crazy twist of drunken fate straight up F***ING FLUKE?! As Ma would say, the bleedin' poofter is sorely f***ing mistaken if just tossing my name around wouldn't get him in any sort of trouble. Cupcake needs to learn a little respect, I'd say. Cupcake needs to shut his ever-lovin' PIEHOLE before he ends up needing it WIRED SHUT!!! If he really wanted to take the 'Delilah's B*tch' position, he could have just asked. Gummy worms. Gummy worms my ass. It's gummy BEARS!! Get it FRIGGIN' RIGHT!!!! Jesus H. Motherf*ck he has no clue. You, sir, are undisputed indeed. An undisputed TOOL! We'll see just how smug he is when he wakes up to a life-sized, panty-wearing FIREBOMB IN THE MORNING!!! "
Delilah snatches up an empty can, crushing it and hurling in at the tv. Mikey watches her, struggling to keep himself from grinning. He didn't much feel like being fed one of those cans. He scribbled a quick message on the notepad and held it in front of his face.
Are you done?
?
Please don't hurt me
Mikey waited a moment before lowering the paper, meeting Delilah's gaze over the top of it. She was trying to look serious. Failing, but still trying.
"I wish you could talk. Then I'd be able to tell you to shut up."
Wishes, horses, you know the rest. I was expecting worse.
"Bite me. I've only had three."
Mikey bared his teeth at Delilah, snapping his mouth shut with an audible clack. And with that, O RCW Faithful, we should withdraw for safety's sake. Retreat like ghosts, carried on the morning breeze. If either of these star-crossed lovers knew of our presence, we would find ourselves literally crucified.
Or at the very least, drowning in a vat of jell-o.
You know how she gets.
