MISTER TWO TIME
“Ah, hell. Ain’t like it’s the first time you had yer desk smashed, or door kicked in. Pretty sure there’s a budget fer all that now.”
The deep, gravelly voice of PRIME’s resident Bad Dog, Wade Elliott, greets us as we fade back in from the nights’ main event. The camera follows him down a back hallway of the Paycom Arena as he puts his arms through an old work coat.
Matching his stride, the Queen of the Ring, who huffs in annoyance.
Lindsay Troy: There is, but I could’ve done without my tablet being collateral damage.
Her hair sways over the collar of her leather jacket and she adjusts the bag on her shoulder.
Lindsay Troy: Still, to see how much I irritate Ivan…probably worth it.
Wade Elliott: (snorting his amusement) He’s a sensitive ol’ sonnuva bitch. Can’t help em’ all.
The Blue Collar Brawler pushes an exit door open with one hand, allowing his Queen to exit first. They step out into the back parking lot, but their walk to Wade’s truck has an obstruction.
The Champ, leaning against a white Audi, arms crossed over his broad chest. A small grin behind his dark ‘stache.
Lindsay Troy: (smiling) Well, if it isn’t young Mister Two Time. Surprised you’re still here.
Hayes Hanlon: (deflecting) Remember how Sonny Silver told you to do what you could to get me signed?
Lindsay Troy: I do. His praise is hard to come by.
The Comeback Kid looks down to his Universal Title fondly, and gives it a pat.
Hayes Hanlon: Think he saw this coming?
The Queen laughs and smirks.
Lindsay Troy: You should ask him yourself sometime. But you’re not waiting out here to talk to me about Sonshine. What’s up? Figured you’d be out on the town by now with the rest of the boys.
Hayes Hanlon: Honestly, I just wanted to say thanks. Man, if you told me after I won the Five Star that I’d follow it up by winning this thing not once, but twice? I would have never believed you.
He takes a moment, words tumbling around his head, while the Lady of the Hour and the Southern Sparkplug give him the time.
Hayes Hanlon: And, uh…I know that it puts me in some pretty special company, including you, Ms. Troy. I know there aren’t a lot of wrestlers that get a shot at the Big Belt at all. No offense, Wade.
Wade holds up a palm, no offense taken, before re-crossing his arms. The Event Horizon turns back to Troy.
Hayes Hanlon: So…thanks. Thanks for taking a chance on me.
Lindsay Troy: You’re welcome, Hayes. You’ve got a lot to live up to by carrying that belt, all the Universal Champions do, but I think you’re up to the task.
Hayes Hanlon: I appreciate that. And I won’t take Tyler lightly! I don’t know how a dude that little wins a Battle Royale, but he was trained by you, so…
The Queen smiles again.
Lindsay Troy: Well, success runs in his family. Tyler wasn’t trained just by me, though. He was also trained by Cecilworth and Dan Ryan, and despite all that Dan’s done, that doesn’t take away from how dangerous he is.
Wade Elliott: Dangerous as a big ass pile’ve vanilla soft serve…
Lindsay snorts and Wade looks pleased with himself.
Lindsay Troy: Anyway, enough about him for the moment. You’ve got a defense before Tropical Turmoil, Hayes. You make it through that, then you’ll go head to head with Tyler in San Diego.
Hayes Hanlon: Hey, if I can survive Ivan and Rezin in a cage, then I can handle whoever you got. To whom do I owe the pleasure?
Lindsay nods and retrieves her tablet from her briefcase. She powers it on, grumbling as she tries to navigate to something despite the cracked and mangled screen.
Lindsay Troy: Sorry, give me a minute. This thing got Stanislav’d earlier.
Hayes Hanlon: I know the feeling…
Hayes cranes his neck to see what the Queen is up to. Finally, Lindsay finds what she’s looking for and hands the tablet over to the Event Horizon. His dark eyes grow wide as they draw across the promotional image for ReVival 27.
His eyes shoot up to PRIME’s power couple. The Benchmark throws on her trademark smirk, and the Bad Dog snickers behind his gray beard. Hanlon looks back to the tablet, “exasperation” the only befitting description for the look on his face.
Hayes Hanlon: OH FOR FUC…
FADE.
TO.
BLACK.