So Sick Of You Guys...

[johnmwhite]

White Castle
Detroit, MI

--The phone rings. Its shrill scream peals round the hollow corridors of a building in the rotten heart of a ruined city. There is a groan from within the room, a weak grunt and a hacking cough. John Michael White rests up on his elbow, having slept at the desk. At least it was a big desk, black and cold. The lawyer strokes his smooth head and rubs his eyes, trying to bring himself round. Still the phone rings, never ceasing, never giving in. Reminds him of himself... once upon a time. The former Ring Wars and REW World Champion snatches up the receiver, and speaks.--

John Michael White: Yes?

Voice: John? You don't sound well.

John Michael White: I have pneumonia, I'm dying.

Voice: You have a cold, John.

John Michael White: It's at least a flu.

Voice: Yeah, more like man flu. Honestly, you're pathetic.

John Michael White: Did you just phone me to berate me or do you have something to say, Andrea? How did the show go?

Andrea: Yeah, about that... only one match took place.

--The lawyer sighs.--

John Michael White: Figures.

Andrea: And it wasn't the main event.

--JMW rubs the bridge of his nose.--

John Michael White: Great, bye-bye sponsorship money. And the tickets... are you still at the arena? You've got to bail with the house money, now.

Andrea: Well, I'm not at the arena.

--JMW leans back in his chair. His mouth lolls open, sucking in air like a reptile tasting the surroundings. His damn nose is blocked up, his head hurts, his throat hurts... ugh. But at least they got the money.--

John Michael White: Good job. I'll get you a flight home, maybe I'll meet up with you at DTW. If I don't die first.

Andrea: Unfortunately the arena burned down.

--Thud. The lawyer's head hits the desk.--

John Michael White: Why do these people do this to me?

Andrea: Sorry?

John Michael White: Nevermind. Just tell me what happened.

Andrea: We don't know yet, the fire marshal is still investigating. But I just thought you should know. Also Holiday's the new world champion, though Trash was hanging around backstage so I'm not sure why he did not hit the ring for the match.

John Michael White: I swear, these people do these things just to raise my blood pressure.

Andrea: Oh and Tough Nutz, Billa's bodyguard, was taken to the hospital, I just got off the phone with them as well. Apparently he was found in a restaurant bathroom with slash marks all over his back.

John Michael White: Sounds like Dream or Kuu's handiwork. You know what? I'm sick of this. I can't leave these people unsupervised for five minutes. They either vanish into the ether and we don't get any damn work out of them--

Andrea: John, relax, you're sick.

John Michael White: I'm not finished! They either shirk their responsibilities or they show up and cause absolute mayhem. Have they any idea how high the premiums are this company pays? A company that keeps having to pay back tickets because of no shows, a company that continually has to explain to the police why vicious assaults occur in public, or why BUILDINGS burn down. I have had enough. I am issuing an executive order, Andrea, and I want you to see to it the rest of the roster hear about it.

--There is a pause, then the crackle of a sigh on the line.--

Andrea: Yes?

John Michael White: You're in the mid-west, and I have some business interests going on over there. I want you to take the show on the road. Madison, Wisconsin.

Andrea: John, what about all that union stuff?

John Michael White: Governor Walker is a friend of mine, and unions aren't. Fair wages? Benefits? Being able to negotiate with your financial superiors so you don't get cheated and screwed by sociopathic politicians hell bent on promoting their ideology whatever the cost so society? BAH! What nonsense. If these delinquents are so itching to cause trouble, they can do it where it will do some good. We have a new champion, let's see how deep his desire is to hang on to that gold. Holiday will defend his title in a battle royale, to be held in the rotunda of the state Capitol.

Andrea: What about the protests?

John Michael White: Hopefully they will be blamed for all the ruckus and the police will bust some heads. Let's just join the party. Everyone is invited - anyone on the roster... hell, even people who aren't. First fall to a finish.

Andrea: All right, I'll tell them. You take care of yourself, John. Try to relax.

John Michael White: Yes, yes.

--The lawyer hangs up the phone. He sighs heavily. That was some unpleasant news... but hopefully his actions will send a message. JMW leans down, his fingers scratching at the back of some fluffy ears. Natalie looks up at her master, tail wagging, eyes bright.--

John Michael White: Relax, she says. Well, she is a nurse. Some music, Nat?

--The dog barks an affirmative. John Michael White reaches to his desk, pressing a button on his keyboard. And, as he lies back in his seat and closes his eyes, the music fills the room. The lawyer sings along.--

John Michael White: Rah rah ah-ah-ah!
Ro mah ro-mah-mah
Gaga Ooh-la-la!
Want your bad romance.