Post by David Atkins on Feb 2, 2006 4:39:57 GMT -5
True to his word, Travis addressed Khrystal's words regarding him, brief and hardly noteworthy as they were, the very next time he entered the ring. He emerged, wearing an unremarkable t-shirt and an old pair of jeans, from beneath the Eye of Chaos. That was the gigantic monitor, that humongous and expensive bit of equipment that had become standard in almost every wrestling federation following the WWF's use of the 'Titon Tron' in the late nineties. As does every wrestler, his personally selected theme song played as he walked, a foul language riddled hard rock track from the Beautiful Creatures. What could possibly be more appropriate for Travis King, Travis himself had once asked his wife, than a 'fuck you' song from a band that remembered how to use the guitar?
In his right hand he carried a gym bag. It probably, and this was a thought shared by almost everybody who noticed it, contained his ring attire. It suggested to them that Travis might actually be competing tonight, and that excited them, though it should be noted that the top stars of the LOC rarely appeared in non-televised matches. There was one security official, backstage, whom had been tempted to search the bag when Travis carried it toward the stage, but he didn't. He knew, just like everybody knew, whether they had been told directly or simply followed the example set down by others, that you didn't detain Travis without a damn good reason.
Slipping into the ring, affectionately referred to by many in their business as the squared circle, he dropped his bag haphazardly near it's center and walked to the far side to retrieve a microphone. Unlike some superstars, Travis felt no need to carry his own mic. He figured it was a waste of time for him to go chasing after one backstage when there was always one waiting right there at ringside. With it in hand, Travis surveyed his public for a few minutes, his dark eyes picking out face after face that he would probably never remember as he waited for them to settle down. When they did, he lifted that microphone and spoke into it. "As a professional wrestler, my job is to get in this ring and entertain all of you people. Normally I do that by getting in here and beating the living shit out of this person or that, and y'know, I think I'm actually pretty good at it."
His words brought on a small pop from the fans as the majority of them cried out in affirmation of his last statement. He waited, riding it out before he spoke again. "But, y'know, that doesn't leave a lot of room for creative expression. I mean, there are only so many ways a man's ass can be kicked. So I had this idea..." Travis knelt alongside his gym bag and opened it, reaching inside. "When I was a kid, I kinda fancied myself being an actor or a comedian. It just, y'know, appealed to me, the idea of pretending to be other people. I even did some movies a few years back, but I hear they kinda sucked even though they sold like hotcakes when they hit DVD."
"Let's see what we've got here... " Travis withdrew an object from his bag and pressed it into his mouth, then stood up. He worked his jaw around a bit and then grinned at the camera and it was a grin full of crooked, yellow plastic teeth. "Oi!" He hollared into the microphone, affecting a horrible parody of a british accent. "Can ya guess 'o Oi em? Oi'm Johnny f'ckin' Biddle, 'ats 'o! Only, in spoite o' moi bed teeth an' 'orrible body odor, oi'm not relly Bri'ish! Oi'm relly from Austrelia where Oi practice moi seacond job."
"Oi'm tha Crocadile 'Unter!"
"'At's roight, mates," Travis paced in a slow circle around his gym bag. "Only reason Oi got inta wresslin' was so that Oi could keep paying the bills, after moi crappy li'le tv show hit it's peak populari'y an' people star'ed rememberin' 'at 'ey 'ad be'er things to do with 'er days."
Amid the scattered applause and bubbling laughter, Travis stopped and grinned. The he held up one finger as he move back to his bag, a silent plea for the crowd to give him a moment. And a moment is all it took of him rummaging around in the bag before he found what he was looking for; a blond wig. Grinning, Travis placed it upon his head and turned it slightly to the side so that it's pony tail stuck out on the side of his head. Then he reached back into the bag for one last item; a teddy bear. Rising, he began to waddle and tromp around then ring. He shook the bear one of the camera men menacingly, and the man moved back down the ring steps much to the amusement of the live audience. Finally, too amused to continue, he grinned at the camera, with his 'bubba' teeth still in place, and spoke once again into the microphone. "Am I or am I not," he paused for just a second, allowing the crowd to still into absolute silence before continuing, "the second ugliest woman you've ever seen?!"
Snickering, he went on, "I tried and tried to think of something to say with this get-up, but Khrystal is a pretty hard act to imitate." He whipped off the wig and tossed it and the bear out into the crowd on either side of the ring. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm a couple of evolutionary steps past Neanderthal." Then, after spitting out the false teeth, he winked at the camera. "But only a couple."
"But hey!" He returned to his bag. "I'm not done, not by any means! So you fuckers in the back that think you're gonna go take a piss break, SIT DOWN! You don't wanna miss this."
The third item-- fourth, if you don't count the wig and bear together as one-- was a Darth Vader voice changing helmet, which he promptly snapped open and placed on his head. Rising, he pushed the button on the little chest plate that hung from the helmet, initiating the Vader breathing sound effect. As it played, he flipped on the voice changing apparatus.
*Rasp rasp rasp!*
"You have but one chance to determine my identity."
*Rasp rasp rasp!*
"And this is your one clue."
*Rasp rasp rasp!*
"Not even federal prison is any match for the DARK SIIIIIDE!!!" He paused for a moment, allowing the rasping breath to come again before finishing the clue (and he silently wondered if the story leaked onto the internet about Klowd's mutilation of the Khrystal's most favored toy was true). "And neither... is Frankebear."
Apparently, Travis was not the only man in the building who read the internet or found mocking the situation fairly amusing. The was a great deal of applause from the on-hand audience as he unsnapped the helmet and looked around again with a wide grin on his face. Then, after checking out the faces around ringside, Travis slide out of the ring with the Vader mask in hand. He left the microphone on the apron. He walked over toward the corner, where there was seated a little boy of perhaps eight or nine. Travis ruffled the kid's hair with his free hand and then offered him the Vader helmet. The little boy was ecstatic screaming for joy and then giving the superstar a buck-toothed grin as he went to work on opening the toy so that he could put it on. Amused, Travis returned to the ring, retrieving the microphone as he slide inside.
"Now then," Travis paced in a slow circle around the gym bag, "have I sufficiently mocked all of the shit talkers in the LOC?" He received a very definite negative response. "Hey, if you guys want me to make fun of 'Bad' Bobby Clarke, you're outta luck; how do you parody a parody? Dude's nothin' but a cheap rip off of me." A positive response this time, many people in the audience apparently finding this as funny as Travis' deliberately lame acts. "But hey! I actually do have one more."
Travis stopped and backed toward his bag, "I wanted to do this next one for the express purpose of showing you all that nobody is safe, that good ol' Travis King still has a thing about authority figures. Ya know? And if this gets me fired... well, that'll suck."
Snickering, he turned, squatted down, and reached into his bag once again. The first object he withdrew from the bag was a tripod with extendable legs. He took a moment to set it up. With all three legs fully extended and set, it was perhaps five feet tall. Travis returned then to his bag for the last time. He withdrew two cartoony 'musketeer' hats he had found while walking through a toy shop in a local mall. One was red, the other purple, and both had silver lining their edges. The purple one, he placed on the tripod; the red one he placed on his own head. The he struck the most deliberately homosexual pose he could, one leg cocked to the side and his hand on his waist. Then he walked toward the ropes, pointing at somebody out in the crowd. "Excuse me, sir? Sir! You didn't ask me if you could wear that orange shirt into my arena today. This is my show, and you could wind up on camera, so you really should have asked. Security!" Travis snapped his fingers twice and pointed again. "Remove that man!"
While the security guards at ringside looked at each other uncertainly, Travis turned his attention back to the tripod. "My dear Aramis, what do you think of how I handled that situation? Surely, you must agree that we have to control every aspect of the show?"
*Silence.*
"I thought that's what you would say! Seriously. You can't surprise me anymore." Travis looked out into the audience and then hurried around to the other side of the ring. "Hey! No sneezing without permission!" Then back to 'Aramis.' "Can you believe the nerve of some of these people?"
*Silence.*
"I agree!" He shook his head with a 'bemused' grin on his face. "I swear, sometimes I think we have two heads... and one brain."
Travis' attention, as well as the attention of most of the fans in attendance, was diverted suddenly by a man whom had just emerged from the backstage area. He was obviously security, though he wasn't the chief whose face Travis and even a few of the fans would have recognized. He crawled into the ring and whispered something to Travis, who pulled off the red musketeer hat as he asked the man a question. He backed away from the superstar, his hands spread apologetically.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Travis addressed the audience, "I have just been informed that my time is up and I have to go. It looks like maybe security is a little worried about the content of this segment, for some reason. Like they think that somebody may be a little offended..." The microphone went dead, as the security official whom had come down to the ring was looking toward the backstage area and making a cut-throat gesture. Travis shook the microphone, tapped it, then tossed it aside and shrugged. He tossed the musketeer hat into the crowd, did the same with the purple one, and then stood up on the ropes and took a bow as his music came on to signal his exit. All the while the security official was hovering near him anxiously, urging him to hurry up.
Finally, Travis picked up his bag and his tripod and left the ring.
In his right hand he carried a gym bag. It probably, and this was a thought shared by almost everybody who noticed it, contained his ring attire. It suggested to them that Travis might actually be competing tonight, and that excited them, though it should be noted that the top stars of the LOC rarely appeared in non-televised matches. There was one security official, backstage, whom had been tempted to search the bag when Travis carried it toward the stage, but he didn't. He knew, just like everybody knew, whether they had been told directly or simply followed the example set down by others, that you didn't detain Travis without a damn good reason.
Slipping into the ring, affectionately referred to by many in their business as the squared circle, he dropped his bag haphazardly near it's center and walked to the far side to retrieve a microphone. Unlike some superstars, Travis felt no need to carry his own mic. He figured it was a waste of time for him to go chasing after one backstage when there was always one waiting right there at ringside. With it in hand, Travis surveyed his public for a few minutes, his dark eyes picking out face after face that he would probably never remember as he waited for them to settle down. When they did, he lifted that microphone and spoke into it. "As a professional wrestler, my job is to get in this ring and entertain all of you people. Normally I do that by getting in here and beating the living shit out of this person or that, and y'know, I think I'm actually pretty good at it."
His words brought on a small pop from the fans as the majority of them cried out in affirmation of his last statement. He waited, riding it out before he spoke again. "But, y'know, that doesn't leave a lot of room for creative expression. I mean, there are only so many ways a man's ass can be kicked. So I had this idea..." Travis knelt alongside his gym bag and opened it, reaching inside. "When I was a kid, I kinda fancied myself being an actor or a comedian. It just, y'know, appealed to me, the idea of pretending to be other people. I even did some movies a few years back, but I hear they kinda sucked even though they sold like hotcakes when they hit DVD."
"Let's see what we've got here... " Travis withdrew an object from his bag and pressed it into his mouth, then stood up. He worked his jaw around a bit and then grinned at the camera and it was a grin full of crooked, yellow plastic teeth. "Oi!" He hollared into the microphone, affecting a horrible parody of a british accent. "Can ya guess 'o Oi em? Oi'm Johnny f'ckin' Biddle, 'ats 'o! Only, in spoite o' moi bed teeth an' 'orrible body odor, oi'm not relly Bri'ish! Oi'm relly from Austrelia where Oi practice moi seacond job."
"Oi'm tha Crocadile 'Unter!"
"'At's roight, mates," Travis paced in a slow circle around his gym bag. "Only reason Oi got inta wresslin' was so that Oi could keep paying the bills, after moi crappy li'le tv show hit it's peak populari'y an' people star'ed rememberin' 'at 'ey 'ad be'er things to do with 'er days."
Amid the scattered applause and bubbling laughter, Travis stopped and grinned. The he held up one finger as he move back to his bag, a silent plea for the crowd to give him a moment. And a moment is all it took of him rummaging around in the bag before he found what he was looking for; a blond wig. Grinning, Travis placed it upon his head and turned it slightly to the side so that it's pony tail stuck out on the side of his head. Then he reached back into the bag for one last item; a teddy bear. Rising, he began to waddle and tromp around then ring. He shook the bear one of the camera men menacingly, and the man moved back down the ring steps much to the amusement of the live audience. Finally, too amused to continue, he grinned at the camera, with his 'bubba' teeth still in place, and spoke once again into the microphone. "Am I or am I not," he paused for just a second, allowing the crowd to still into absolute silence before continuing, "the second ugliest woman you've ever seen?!"
Snickering, he went on, "I tried and tried to think of something to say with this get-up, but Khrystal is a pretty hard act to imitate." He whipped off the wig and tossed it and the bear out into the crowd on either side of the ring. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm a couple of evolutionary steps past Neanderthal." Then, after spitting out the false teeth, he winked at the camera. "But only a couple."
"But hey!" He returned to his bag. "I'm not done, not by any means! So you fuckers in the back that think you're gonna go take a piss break, SIT DOWN! You don't wanna miss this."
The third item-- fourth, if you don't count the wig and bear together as one-- was a Darth Vader voice changing helmet, which he promptly snapped open and placed on his head. Rising, he pushed the button on the little chest plate that hung from the helmet, initiating the Vader breathing sound effect. As it played, he flipped on the voice changing apparatus.
*Rasp rasp rasp!*
"You have but one chance to determine my identity."
*Rasp rasp rasp!*
"And this is your one clue."
*Rasp rasp rasp!*
"Not even federal prison is any match for the DARK SIIIIIDE!!!" He paused for a moment, allowing the rasping breath to come again before finishing the clue (and he silently wondered if the story leaked onto the internet about Klowd's mutilation of the Khrystal's most favored toy was true). "And neither... is Frankebear."
Apparently, Travis was not the only man in the building who read the internet or found mocking the situation fairly amusing. The was a great deal of applause from the on-hand audience as he unsnapped the helmet and looked around again with a wide grin on his face. Then, after checking out the faces around ringside, Travis slide out of the ring with the Vader mask in hand. He left the microphone on the apron. He walked over toward the corner, where there was seated a little boy of perhaps eight or nine. Travis ruffled the kid's hair with his free hand and then offered him the Vader helmet. The little boy was ecstatic screaming for joy and then giving the superstar a buck-toothed grin as he went to work on opening the toy so that he could put it on. Amused, Travis returned to the ring, retrieving the microphone as he slide inside.
"Now then," Travis paced in a slow circle around the gym bag, "have I sufficiently mocked all of the shit talkers in the LOC?" He received a very definite negative response. "Hey, if you guys want me to make fun of 'Bad' Bobby Clarke, you're outta luck; how do you parody a parody? Dude's nothin' but a cheap rip off of me." A positive response this time, many people in the audience apparently finding this as funny as Travis' deliberately lame acts. "But hey! I actually do have one more."
Travis stopped and backed toward his bag, "I wanted to do this next one for the express purpose of showing you all that nobody is safe, that good ol' Travis King still has a thing about authority figures. Ya know? And if this gets me fired... well, that'll suck."
Snickering, he turned, squatted down, and reached into his bag once again. The first object he withdrew from the bag was a tripod with extendable legs. He took a moment to set it up. With all three legs fully extended and set, it was perhaps five feet tall. Travis returned then to his bag for the last time. He withdrew two cartoony 'musketeer' hats he had found while walking through a toy shop in a local mall. One was red, the other purple, and both had silver lining their edges. The purple one, he placed on the tripod; the red one he placed on his own head. The he struck the most deliberately homosexual pose he could, one leg cocked to the side and his hand on his waist. Then he walked toward the ropes, pointing at somebody out in the crowd. "Excuse me, sir? Sir! You didn't ask me if you could wear that orange shirt into my arena today. This is my show, and you could wind up on camera, so you really should have asked. Security!" Travis snapped his fingers twice and pointed again. "Remove that man!"
While the security guards at ringside looked at each other uncertainly, Travis turned his attention back to the tripod. "My dear Aramis, what do you think of how I handled that situation? Surely, you must agree that we have to control every aspect of the show?"
*Silence.*
"I thought that's what you would say! Seriously. You can't surprise me anymore." Travis looked out into the audience and then hurried around to the other side of the ring. "Hey! No sneezing without permission!" Then back to 'Aramis.' "Can you believe the nerve of some of these people?"
*Silence.*
"I agree!" He shook his head with a 'bemused' grin on his face. "I swear, sometimes I think we have two heads... and one brain."
Travis' attention, as well as the attention of most of the fans in attendance, was diverted suddenly by a man whom had just emerged from the backstage area. He was obviously security, though he wasn't the chief whose face Travis and even a few of the fans would have recognized. He crawled into the ring and whispered something to Travis, who pulled off the red musketeer hat as he asked the man a question. He backed away from the superstar, his hands spread apologetically.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Travis addressed the audience, "I have just been informed that my time is up and I have to go. It looks like maybe security is a little worried about the content of this segment, for some reason. Like they think that somebody may be a little offended..." The microphone went dead, as the security official whom had come down to the ring was looking toward the backstage area and making a cut-throat gesture. Travis shook the microphone, tapped it, then tossed it aside and shrugged. He tossed the musketeer hat into the crowd, did the same with the purple one, and then stood up on the ropes and took a bow as his music came on to signal his exit. All the while the security official was hovering near him anxiously, urging him to hurry up.
Finally, Travis picked up his bag and his tripod and left the ring.