The Aftermath That Was Also A Prelude...

[Blake Worship]

The scene opens backstage in the REW Arena, still many hours away from the start of this week's Wrath. A tall muscular black man can be seen strolling idly up and down its halls, carrying strapped to his back a huge titanium bat molded like a crucifix on one end. He is none other than The DisCiple Blake Worship, and he is currently on what he likes to call...

"Horse" Duty...

The DisCiple marches down a hall that ends near some backstage concession stands where employees and ringers alike are enjoying snacks and relaxing. He quickly scans the area and stops at a snow cone stand, where he sees the females of DHS, Dark Angel and Tahti Kuu, purchasing blood-red snow cones for themselves and for little Nate, who clings to his mother's leg, sticking his hand out to receive his icy treat. They walk away from the stand, and Dark Angel's intense gaze, softened now by the joy of being near her son, lands on Blake.


Dark Angel: Hey Blake!


Angel's face shifts into a smile as she makes moves to go chat with her old friend. She then stops, feeling Tahti's firm hand restraining her. Angel turns, annoyed to look at Tahti, and sees her staring at Blake with a look of worry. Angel turns back to Blake and sees him slowly unstrapping his 5' titanium Crossbat, eyes beginning to don a slight blue tint, their gaze never leaving Dark Angel for even a millisecond. Angel stifles a gasp, having never seen such open and clearly dangerous hostility like this from The DisCiple, but she slowly and sadly gives a slight nod of her understanding as she grips her son's hand tighter and walks away with him and Tahti, throwing a fleeting glance over her shoulder to the man who saved her son's life...

Blake Worship was waging war on DHS, and Angel now truly knew how things had changed.

Worship places the Crossbat behind him once more, taking the end of the leather strap at the bat's handle and going diagonally across his massive form looping it back around the business end of the bat. Blake walks down another hall, just one of about 4 that was devoted solely to ringers' accomodations. He passed by a locker room with a fresh new star nameplate on its door, colored bronze to indicate the ringer was new.

The name CORRIGAN was scrawled in intriguing handwriting on a piece of paper and slapped over the official nameplate, an apparent cry to differentiate itself from the masses. Music blared through the hinges and under the door. Worship can't help but smile and unexpectedly finds himself banging on the kid's door to drown out his blasting music. Nothing happens, so Blake knocks again. A garbled "Fuck off!" can be heard from somewhere within the room. Blake's grin only widens as bangs on the door once more, the force of his fists threatening the integrity of the door's hinges. The stereo goes down some notches, and after a few moments of spying through the peephole, the door is snatched open by Jonny Corrigan.


Corrigan: What the hell do you--want...?


Jonny's last words slip off his tongue and fall stupidly to the floor as he raises his gaze from the taut rippled chest barely contained by the large T-shirt in his face and angles his head upward to meet the now stern yet gentle amber eyes of Blake Worship. Corrigan sucks his lip instinctively, chewing at the inner skin as his fingers begin to twiddle and dance, as though he were mentally preparing to jump from one skycraper to another.


Worship: [offers hand] The name is Blake Worship. Pleasure to meet you.


Corrigan's eyes go wide for just a split second, giving away the fact that he must have heard The DisCiple's name before and knew what it meant to be face-to-chest with him at the moment. After a moment of deliberation he takes Worship's hand, deciding it unwise to get on this modern-day black Hercules' bad side.


Worship: [smirks] I'm guessing you've heard of me by now, then.

Corrigan: [shrugs] I may have read a few REW magazines on the trip here.

Worship: Interesting. How's REW treating you so far?

Corrigan: [scowls] Some days I wonder if this wasn't all a huge mistake.

Worship: Perfectly natural. It took me awhile myself to accept this fed as my new home. I fought it, I jilted the whole organization. But RW is deceased, and REW has always been here for me. Once you find the right people, you'll always be welcome here.

Corrigan: It's nice to know at least some people appreciate me here, unless your article was just a fabrication...

Worship: No, my articles are impartial and unbiased. I tell it like it is. The fans may hate you, NOW, but eventually they will love your style like some of the ringers here already do.


Corrigan chews on his lip, drifting into his own world of thought. Worship almost psychically predicts his thoughts, cutting into his daydream.

Worship: But, that doesn't mean every invitation is a good one, Jonny. You should know that I KNOW Cloud has spoken to you...


Jonny snaps his head up to glare into Blake's eyes suspiciously.


Worship: It's clear to me that you appreciate your space. The lone wolf type, not like the ringer though. Word of advice, kid. STAY THAT WAY. I mean it. You've got the hots for a woman with major baggage. Forget it, Jonny. You don't want to intertwine yourself with them. Don't let Cloud's flattery drag you into a world of destruction.

Corrigan: I'm guessing this is your way of implying I should join YOU, instead, am I right?

Worship: Whenever you decide you really want to BE about something, make a difference for the better, OUR way, the Regulators will be waiting with open arms. But if you don't, then just stay out of it. Because if you flirt with DHS, I'll be forced to regulate on YOU, Jonny. And I don't wanna have to do that, because I like you. So don't make me have to end your promising career before it has a chance to start...


Blake shifts his Crossbat on his back and stares down at Jonny with his patented thug grin, Corrigan staring back with confused eyes, teeth ripping at the inside of his lip as Blake turns and walks away. Blake shifts around to the hall leading to his room, and suddenly it is Worship that finds himself face-to-chest with 7'2" bruiser named Boxer. Blake glances around Boxer to look at a number of notes left on his door and then looks back up at Boxer.


Worship: Aww! Were you leaving me a love letter?

Boxer: If there's anything to love about you, I have yet to find it, Blake.

Worship: [smirks] Read my article, did you?

Boxer: [squints] Sure did.

Worship: And I'm guessing you've got something to say about it?

Boxer: You bet I do punk! If you think for one second--


In one insanely swift blurring movement and a blinding flash of glinting metal, Worship wields his colossal Crossbat, cornering Boxer against the wall with the bat right up under his chin. Boxer retches in pain but is unable to do much more than spit up drool and spots of blood as Worship draws his face right under Boxer.


Worship: I don't give a fuck what you have to say, your mouth is the last thing I want to hear, especially to my face. EVER. You got something to say? Save it for an interview with Niko or Scoop. At least then I can just turn the TV off. Not as though this takes much more effort. You might be an undisputed from CwO, but this is REW! This is the fed that picked up where the once great RW left off. And here, in this place, I am the standard by which all else is measured. So until you've proven yourself worthy against me in that six-sided ring, save your petty talk for someone who pities you enough to listen, because I am NOT the one!


Blake's eyes flash a dangerous electric blue before he releases Boxer, who had apparently been held up off his feet by Worship's grip, and crumples to the floor grasping his neck. His eyes burn with raw anger, and he gets to his feet as Blake stands there watching him. After a minute Boxer spits tinted red saliva at the floor and turns to walk away, not wishing to further exasberate the situation with more talk. Blake watches him go before turning once more down the hall to his locker room.

He notices a small plastering of notes from staff and ringers alike, apparently left by admirers of his article. He snatches one left by Boxer off the door and tears it up, not in the mood for more of him. He takes the rest off and moves inside, unstrapping his Crossbat and sitting in his favorite comfy armchair to read them all...

Good work, my friend. Way to make me proud. Keep it up.
Signed,
The Boss

I agree with The Boss. Good work, indeed, Blake.
-Seth

You do nice work, kid. Your paycheck will soon reflect that. Enjoy it. Very nice work, and welcome to the staff.
-Caius Turner

The Demon of the North is watching you Blake...
Are you ready...?

See you at the PPV, Blake...
Hope you packed your exorcist kit...
As if that will save you...

Blake stares at the last two notes, knowing even without names who they were from but not wanting to think about it. He drops them all on the table in front of him and lays his head back just as The Real Deal bursts into the room.


T Money: Yo yo yo! Hey Blake, what's up?

Worship: Nothing T, man. Just chillin'.

T Money: [picks up the notes] What are these?

Worship: [opening just one eye] Letters of appreciation, and some of warning...

T Money: [grim] Jay Ray and Cloud...

Worship: You got it.

T Money: [half-hearted smile] Speaking of Cloud, I especially liked the first part of your report, talking about the epic battle between the teacher and his "star" student... I mean, way to exaggerate Blake! [forces a laugh]


Worship opens his eyes and sits up to look at T, sensing where this conversation was headed.


Worship: [sigh] T, look...

T Money: So it's true, then?

Worship: T, hold on--

T Money: If that's how you really feel then just say it, Blake. It's fine.

Worship: T-Terry, just wait--

T Money: I said just SAY it, Blake!


Worship stares up into the now fierce eyes of his former student. He drops his gaze, giving a barely recognizable nod "yes" before glaring painfully at the floor.


T Money: I figured as much. I think I always knew you favored him, just didn't want to believe it. Whatever man, I need to get some fresh air and mentally prepare for my match. I'll see you, Blake...

Worship: T wait, let me explain--


With a slam of the locker room door T was gone. Worship picks up the last note and rereads the words of the cocky demon that was once his student over and over before crumpling it in a ball, chucking it across the room laying his head back in his chair once more...


The Righteous Path Is Never Simple...


[shadow=gray,left,300]Fade to black...


TBC...[/shadow]