Afterburn for All-Star Showdown VIII

[FGA Office]

Catch up with your favorite FGA grapplers on Afterburn! Get their thoughts on the latest, their opponents, and other backstage happenings right here, only on Frontier+.

[bbbaseball96]

The following interview was filmed a few minutes after Ace Voltage defeated Zola Star at All-Star Showdown.

The camera fades into the backstage area. We see Amanda Johnson standing with a sweaty and tired Ace Voltage. He is still in his wrestling gear with a white towel on around his neck.

Amanda Johnson: Ladies and gentlemen. Please welcome my guest at this time, Ace Voltage.

Ace, how are you feeling after this hard fought match against Zola Star?

Ace: Hard fought? Please, Amanda. That was a piece of cake! I stated that I wanted increased competition and to tell you and FGA the truth, Zola is on the same level as the other two chumps I defeated on Flashpoint.

Amanda: Ace, I respectfully disagree with you. Zola Star is a phenomenal wrestler and really challenged you tonight. There were a few instances where you were almost pinned in the middle of the ring.

Ace, who started off in a good mood, quickly frowns and has an annoyed look on his face.

Ace: Amanda, you’re an interviewer, I don’t need your insight on MY matches. I wasn’t even close to losing. I was not worried for a second. It’s very simple, Zola is not on my level. Who really is? I am undefeated here in FGA and I plan on staying undefeated for a loooong time. Until FGA can find me some actual competition, I don’t think that will be a hard task.

Amanda: Well, Ace, what are your plans going forward in FGA?

Ace: First off, I need to clean Zola’s makeup off my boot.

He picks up his foot and shows the sole of his boot to the camera.

Ace: Guess she’s using some cheap makeup for it to all come off on my boot so easily after hitting her with Thunderstruck. But, to answer your question Amanda, my plans have not changed. My plan has always been to show that I am the real Main Event of this company. My plan has always been to become champion in this company. With that said, do I deserve a title opportunity now? Maybe not. Will I deserve one soon enough, you can bet the house on it.

Amanda: I take it you will be watching the title matches closely tonight then?

Ace laughs.

Ace: You’re very funny Amanda. I just won my first Pay-Per-View match. I’m going to celebrate! I can read about the matches tomorrow morning. If I’m not in the match, it’s not important and it’s not the main event. People pay to see ME, not Savanah Taylor, not Jaelynn Ramsey, not Chris Madison, not Sadie San Fransisco, and definitely not Zola Star. These chumps buy tickets to see me, the TRUE Main Event on Frontier Grappling Arts. Have you seen the ratings increase, Amanda? Has your pay increased since I’ve gotten here?

Amanda: Well, I…

Ace cuts her off.

Ace: I can answer that for you. FGA’s revenue has increased since I’ve gotten here. I’m sure you’ve benefited from my arrival, the ratings have benefited and Flashpoint has benefited. The only person to not benefit so far? Zola Star.

Let this be a lesson to any idiot in FGA who wants to step up and challenge me. I’m not here to play around. I’m here to become champion and NOBODY will stand in my way. I highly suggest thinking twice before stepping up in my face. You will regret it, just ask your beloved Zola. Because, I AM the Main Event of FGA and I am the best this company has to offer.

Ace smirks to the camera and walks away as the scene fades with Amanda having a disappointed look on her face.

[Lou]

The Staples Center is essentially a ghost town hours after the completion of All-Star Showdown VIII save for much of the FGA staff members still present. Out in the parking garage, however, are the triumphant tag team of Nate Bristow and Tully Barnes, still hanging around in party mode after their win over the teams of Baewatch and Ashley Marie Chase and Antoinette Sands earlier in the evening. Party hats and streamers included.

Nate Bristow: You are all looking at the best tag team in the world, ladies and gentlemen!

Tully Barnes: Best tag team in the world right here!

They’re literally shouting at passersby en route to their cars in the main parking lot. Bristow is seated atop the hood of a green plaid ‘76 Ford Pinto in a white “Harbingers of the Apocalypse” t-shirt, jeans, and white Nike Free Runners. Barnes, meanwhile, is at his right, leaning up against the car rocking some sunglasses and sipping on a 40 oz. of Olde English. A little Lee Brice is blaring from the stereo.

Nate Bristow: We’ve been telling ya’ll for months.

Tully Barnes: And now it’s only a matter of time, people.

Nate Bristow: We are the next FGA World Tag Team Champions!

???: Is that so?

Bristow & Barnes’ celebration party is interrupted by the sweet voice of Flashpoint’s resident reporter.

Nate Bristow: Amanda Johnson!

A sheepish grin creeps across Bristow’s face as he hops off the hood of the car, rips the party hat off his head, and swaggers on over toward Johnson. Barnes takes a big swig and places the bottle down before following suit.

Amanda Johnson: Are Bristow & Barnes the next FGA World Tag Team Champions?

Even hours after the show has gone off the air, Amanda is on our game. She wouldn’t dare miss a sound bite like this one.

Tully Barnes: You watched the show tonight, Amanda. What do you think?

Nate Bristow: Yes, Amanda...you saw what we did out there tonight.

Tully Barnes: We stepped into the ring tonight with two--not one but two--of the FGA’s very best tag teams. And tell ‘er what we did, my brother?

Nate Bristow: We beat them.

Barnes chuckles, while that grin becomes more menacing for Bristow.

Tully Barnes: That’s right.

Nate Bristow: And we didn’t just beat them. No, no...we put on a goddamn clinic in that ring! We showed the world what we are capable of. We showed the world exactly why we’ve been staking our claim as the best tag team in the world for so long.

Tully Barnes: And before soon…

Nate Bristow: Before soon, nobody throughout this entire industry will be able to deny it.

Tully Barnes: We want those World Tag Team Championships.

Nate Bristow: We need those World Tag Team Championships.

Tully Barnes turns to his side and grabs hold of the camera and fills the frame with his face.

Tully Barnes: PENDRAGON, WE’RE COMING FOR YA’LL!

Bristow snickers.

Nate Bristow: We’ll be seeing ya’ll real soon!

The tag team partners share a collective cackle before turning their backs to the FGA interviewer and heading back to their antique ride.

[Deleted]

The sound of laughter can be heard as the camera tilts upwards; over the untied boots, past the black pants and the torso glistening with sweat, before it dollys-out to reveal none other than the Tenacious Little Bastard himself, Dom Harter sitting there. That familiar, crooked grin spread across his face. A glint in his eye as he brushes his blonde streak upwards, sending little beads of sweat flying.

His chest heaves with every breath as he sits there, elbows resting on either knee, his Seattle Pro tag team title on the bench next to him, resting atop his ‘Best High Flyer 2019’ t-shirt and leather jacket.

Dom Harter: I told you all that I could do it– that I would beat Evan Envi…

He chuckles again, wagging his finger at the camera as he does so.

Dom Harter: …so, now: I’m ready for my title shot, Miss Geroux.

Harter says with that crooked grin still plastered on his face. The rest of the emotions will come later, but for now he’s silenced his doubters, and felled another former World champion in the process. Beaten the man who screwed him out of the Frontier Lions Cup and that elusive Golden Crown. Dom continues staring in the camera, grinning all the while, as the scene fades to black.

[Deleted]

Backstage at the Staples Center, and Mary-Jane McCracken is standing alone. She looks disheartened after being ejected from the ringside area moments earlier, but she smiles as she sees Annie Zellor burst through the curtain with a smirk on her face.

Annie Zellor: There you are…

She says, before the two embrace in a hug, with Annie planting a quick kiss on her valet’s cheek. The two both start laughing, presumably at their well executed plan.

Annie Zellor: You star!

Mary-Jane McCracken: Just doing my job…

A cocky little smirk appears on the face of ‘The Best Damn Valet In The Biz’ as the words pass her lips, and the pair share another laugh. Zellor rubbing her own shoulders to try and ease the pain from that It Won’t Be Long when, suddenly, Jessie Pederson appears on the scene. The intrepid interviewer has just finished interviewing Susan Kent ahead of the triple threat United States Tag Team Title match, and has decided to catch another scoop

Jessie Pederson: Annie, Mary-Jane. Would it be possible to get a quick word with you about your match tonight?

Not even Pederson’s presence can put a damper on the mood in the room though. Annie’s still tending to her arms as she turns to Jessie, smiling all the while.

Annie Zellor: You mean ‘congratulate’, don’tcha Jessie? ‘Cause I think after that match I deserve some congratulations?

Mary-Jane McCracken: Definitely.

Annie Zellor: I mean, I went out there and did exactly what I said I was gonna do, Jessie. I beat Kazu Hirano! Pinned him clean! One, two, three, right in the middle of that ring!

If you don’t include the low blow…

Jessie Pederson: Some people might argue about the cleanly pa–

Mary-Jane McCracken: I never saw her do anything wrong…

To her credit, Jessie resists the urge to point out that Mary-Jane had been ejected by that point in the contest.

Annie Zellor: See, Jessie, I told you so. And, here’s the thing– I’m not gonna tell you Kazu Hirano isn’t a good wrestler. He might even have a bright future ahead of him, but– and this is important, Jessie. He’s no match for me!

If you don’t include making her submit a few minutes ago.

Annie Zellor: So now, I’m gonna make sure I get my title shot…

With that, Annie and Mary-Jane walk away with a swagger in their step. Jessie doesn’t quite know how to process what just happened, so she watches them leave, seemingly believing that they won cleanly tonight.

But just wait until Annie hears what Kris Cruise says about her later in the evening!

[James Edwards]

It's late in the night. Several hours have passed since the close of All-Star Showdown. The Staples Center cleaning crew is slowly making headway on the leftover mess of confetti, drink cups, and popcorn boxes. The road crew is halfway done breaking the ring down. The only person not working is James Edwards. The Burning Heart sits in the third row next to the entrance ramp. He wears a forlorn look on his face and doesn't notice that he's being watched until one of the men breaking down the ring shouts at him and points at the cameraman.

James turns his gaze toward the interlopers and frowns. He isn't happy about their presence. A cough breaks the tension. Edwards suddenly looks weak, and, after a moment of deliberation, meekly waves the crew over.

James Edwards: I guess y'all wanna know what happened tonight? It's hard to talk, honestly.

Edwards' voice is husky, a gift from Chris Madison's Peruvian Necktie.

James Edwards: I don't know what to say, man. Are y'all expectin' me to make excuses? Throw a shit? I don't wanna talk about this. I ain't in the best mood. I just wanna be left alone!

Another coughing fit silences Edwards before he can begin a tirade. Once he's done, James gazes back at the ring and sighs.

James Edwards: I had to win tonight, and I didn't.

Edwards stretches, refusing to make eye contact with the camera crew. A few moments pass, and James keeps staring intently at the ring, reenacting the fight in his mind.

James Edwards: Madison was better than me tonight. Even after beatin' the holy hell outta him for the first part of the match, he kept coming back again and again. I took almost everything he had, but he took all I had left. I'm sure a lot of people are happy he choke me out. They're dancin' on my grave right now. I'm damn sure Madison is one of em'. The thought of people smilin' at my failure, again, doesn't make me happy.

Edwards slouches forward and rubs his temples.

James Edwards: Then again, maybe I deserve it. Don't get me wrong, FGA did me wrong with the way they had their media machine portray me; having announces callin' me spoiled and the like, but what I've been doing ain't right either. I don't know. I ain't sure where to go from here.

Edwards winces and gently massages his throat.

James Edwards: All this talkin' ain't doing my throat any favors. Catch up with me on the next Flashpoint, and maybe I'll tell y'all a little more if I feel like it. Have a good one and safe travels home.

Edwards looks back up at the ring, his brow furrowed, as he tries in vain to solve the puzzle his professional life has become.

[Marlon Cure]

.

The roar of the sold-out crowd in the Staples Center hasn't died out, even as All-Star Showdown VIII has gone off the air and The World Champion left the ringside area to celebrate her victory. Inside of the ring, Marlon Cure slowly began to make it up to his feet, still very heavily banged up from the final moments of what was probably the hardest fought match he's had under the FGA Banner. The referee tries to assist him, but Cure waves him off as he tries to pull himself up with the ropes.

After a few moments of struggling, he finally manages to stumble back up to his feet, clutching at his injured midsection as he sucks in each breath he takes painfully. The officials continue to try and check up on “The Head That Wears The Crown”, but Cure is still refusing their assistance. Leaning against the ropes, Cure’s pained expression becomes darkened for the briefest of moments as the reality of the situation washes over him.

He lost. Simple and plain.

He gives a stiff nod, accepting the outcome before he gingerly ducks out through the middle ropes. Managing to make it out onto the floor, Cure begins the long walk towards his locker room, head held high as he refused to let himself be played for weak, even in defeat.

The fans give a loud roar of approval and, seemingly moving as one, direct their cheers, their adulation to Cure for his part in the classic match they've just witnessed.

Thank You Marlon!

Thank You Marlon!!

THANK YOU MARLON..!!!

Cure didn’t acknowledge the cheers but managed a tired smirk as he hobbles up the ramp and onto the stage, before he disappears behind the curtain.

[Seth Iser]

Backstage we see the lone figure of Seth Iser who has retreated to be alone in the locker room. He has changed out of his ring attire and into the professional looking suit he often wears when representing the sport but there’s a limp in his overall step as he reaches to grab the Pride Title from the chair and puts it over his shoulder. He’s gritting his teeth and favoring his lower back. But when he sees the camera his face tightens and he’s obviously not happy with the intrusion.


Seth Iser: You really want something that bad? Your funeral.


There’s hostility in his tone as he takes a breath and slouches over the wall to help steady himself a little better but he’s using his frame to fill the room a little more in a more intimidating gesture.


Seth Iser: If you want proof why I hate wrestling fans their conduct tonight cements it further. You gave us a standing ovation after one man decided he might end BOTH our careers with a superplex onto concrete. You were CHEERING when medical people were checking on us. Cheering perhaps on the prospect that our careers might have ended in an instance no doubt. Disgusting…


Seth lets out a grunt as he takes a step forward.


Seth Iser: You cheered for an inconclusive result as well. Have none of you any pride either? Heathens, hertics. Go to hell, all of you.


That question was rhetorical as Seth just rolls his eyes in absolute disgust.


Seth Iser: Even if it was a draw, that counts for a successful title defense. That’s three. One away from tying the record. Two from breaking it. But if you want me to address the results of it fully right now and go on a rant on Tyler Storm...I’m not going to do that in this setting. I refuse to.


Seth starts to lumber out still feeling his oats from the brutal bought, his breathing still slightly labored but his anger carrying the night.


Seth Iser: That issue deserves the setting of the ring. The confines of the ring. Where wrestlers and the real gladiators of this sport do their business! And if you wanted more from me tonight? You’re not going to get it. And if you’re going to complain about it...you can also go straight to hell with the fans. That’s the prison YOU deserve since you seem obsessed with keeping me in mine. Now get the hell out of my face!


An angry Seth ends up using his palm to pie face the camera and the camera man both down onto the ground before he starts to lumber away and we see him start to leave the building in obvious pain.

[sasso]

The Mid-Atlantic Legacy Champion heads backstage fresh off a successful title defense. She's banged up, limping a bit, but seems in good spirits. Lazily dragging the belt along the ground beside her, she approaches a cameraman and gets their attention. As the shot gets a good look at her face, a crooked grin present on Piper's visage reveals she's bleeding a bit from the mouth.

Piper Lennon: Y'know, all the pictures I take, I think they're useful. I've probably gone into this before but I think it helps being able to look at a moment in time, and really analyze and intrepret it y'know?

A light shrug.


Piper Lennon: Or even looking at several moments in a row, to get a bigger picture. Which is good, being able to reflect and get a great look to draw your own conclusions. Relying on your own eyes instead of what the world around you tells you.

She taps the rim of her glasses.


Piper Lennon: Like, if I just went off what other people said instead of looking with my own eyes maybe I'd buy into the whole 'devaluing the championship' narrative. But really, if you look at the picture of ol' Danny boy laid out. Then you look at a picture of the rage coursing through Peachy when she tackled me through that food cart. The motivation when her old man taped himself back together and wished her luck or whatever that was tonight. Take a picture of her kicking out of that first Snapshot, then one final Snapshot ... me standing tall after a hell of a fight, still Champion.

A beat skips.

Piper Lennon: Picture all that? Suddenly you've got a narrative of someone who did what a 'Champion is supposed to'. I mean I'm not sure I buy into all that stuff, but if you do for the sake of this argument. I made someone want to fight for this shiny strap. I built them up, someone who'd been a tag team specialist into a dangerous threat. Motivated them to be at their very best and shine on this big ol' stage. Then I still went ahead, walked through all that fire and stepped out still Champion.

She flashes another smile.

Piper Lennon: So really, if you want to subscribe to those conventions? I raised this baby up and made sure fighting for it was high stakes, great Champion. If you feel being a great Champ is all about impressing your identity on it, not blending in and following the lead of everyone else ... being the one to set the example and take the path less traveled? Boom, done that too, so really any school you're coming from I'm pretty awesome which I'd imagine is gonna make people start cheering the crap out of me. Might have to take a photo of all their ... just orgasmically happy faces.

Piper brushes a few stray hairs aside.

Piper Lennon: But I dunno, I see it as why just limit myself to that tiny box? Why not expand my mind, expand the possibilities? The way I see it, I can do whatever I want, so I might as well just start collecting these babies and swimming in gold like Scrooge McDuck. Or maybe a hostile takeover of the show, whatever, I dunno I'm not gonna limit myself-- I'm just getting started. Point is, all that limits you is your mind and the way I see it? No limits. 

A wink and fade to black.

[The Mason]

The scene fades open in the background of the Staples Center, focused solely on a quickly-swelling eye. A few seconds later as the camera pans out, it becomes clear that we’re looking into the face of “The Chief” Evan Envi. He has gauze wedged into his left nostril and a bag of ice resting between his shoulder-blade and neck. He sits cross-legged in a chair inside the trainer’s room, eyes locking on the trainer as he approaches, reaching down to replace the melting bag of ice with a cold pack.

Evan Envi: How bad do I look?

The trainer, a taller, older man looks back at Envi behind a pair of lenses and chuckles a bit as he tosses the bag of ice into the sink.

Trainer: Well. Would you like me to describe it to you?

Evan Envi: Eh.

The Chief sighs a bit, pushing himself up to his feet. He turns to the trainer, lips parted to make another remark-- but he stops as something catches his eye near the doorway. He perks a brow and steps forward as the beginnings of a smile crack across his face.

Evan Envi: What’s up, champ.

Envi exhales, masking the pain on his face as he continues making his way toward the doorway.

The camera swivels around to see who it is that The Chief is referring to. In the doorway stands the FGA World champion, Fujiko Mine. Shock crosses her face as she registers her former nemesis, but it only lasts for a moment as she puts up a wall. Almost reflexively, she draws the title that came between them up to her chest.

Fujiko Mine: Evan.

She lets the stone demeanor fall as she turns to the trainer.

Fujiko Mine: Conny, hey.

The warm reception to him a stark contrast.

Fujiko Mine: An ice wrap for me please? You can just toss it.

Conrad blinks, hesitation before he pivots to the fridge, retrieves the requested item, and gently tosses it in her direction. She reaches out and pulls it from it's arc, then turns a gaze back in the direction of The Chief.

Fujiko Mine: HI. How can I help you.

Evan’s gaze is an indistinguishable one as he looks at Fujiko for a few moments, silent, the smallest traces of a smile on his face before he sighs, pulling the cold pack away from his neck. He makes no attempt to hide his gaze as it lowers toward the FGA World Championship, jaw tightening for just a moment.

Evan Envi: You don’t need to hear it from me, obviously.

His eyes travel back up to meet the champion’s.

Evan Envi: But good job. I saw the whole thing back here and just— just felt I should say that. Since…

He trails off, rubbing at his neck for a bit before he clears his throat.

Evan Envi: Just wanted to say it.

A smile crosses the face of the FGA world champion as she hears the words the former champion says. She turns her gaze away from Evan, trying to find her resolve.

Fujiko Mine: Thanks. Than-

Her eyes flicker past her shoulder for a second. She masks something by shifting to place the ice pack underneath the world championship, using it to help her hold it in place.

Fujiko Mine: Evan…

She takes in a breath. There is an uncomfortable silence, then…

Fujiko Mine: You can stop staring.

Evan looks at Fujiko calmly for a moment before his cheeks quickly grow a soft shade of red. He furrows his brow and clears his throat.

Evan Envi: I-- wha-- I wasn’t.

Evan takes a deep breath, looking away for a moment before turning back to Fujiko. For a few thoughtful seconds, he’s silent; contemplative.

Evan Envi: You know. Now that you’re here… there’s something I wanted to ask you. And every time I think about it, it always feels like it might be the wrong time or the wrong place but-- then a couple days turns into week, and a couple weeks turn int…

Evan trails off, clearing his throat a second time before he gives his best attempt at projecting a calm, cool demeanor.

Evan Envi: What I’m trying to say is, would you wanna--?

XENA: WHAT ARE YOU DOING.

Evan Envi: Ohmygod.

Fujiko turns to see the amazon XENA standing a foot behind her. Her gaze is locked onto The Chief, rather than her charge. The eyes of the PAINMOTHER bore into the former FGA World champion as she grabs at Fujiko’s bare shoulder.

XENA: Sorry Evan, I’m gonna get her out of her BEFORE you convince Nat or someone to ambush her in the parking lot or something.

Evan blinks hard; but, stunned, is unable to properly react. Fujiko barely has a chance to say anything before she is suddenly behind XENA, who shoots a nasty glance back at him while she ushers the champion away.

XENA: C’mon girl. We’ve got some people to see and some celebrating to do.

Evan Envi: Bu-- wait, we--

Before Evan can get another word out, the World Champion is pulled seamlessly through the doorway and out of sight; with XENA turning and pointing at her own eyes, then at Evans’ before she too is gone.

Evan Envi: Wha--

He drops his cold pack to the floor and turns to look at Conrad with wide eyes.

Evan Envi: WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!

The trainer nods.

Conrad: Mhm. That was unfortunate is what that was. Gotta be quicker’n that.

Evan groans aloud and sinks back down into the chair as we fade to black.

[The Mason]

For the second time of the post-Night One festivities, we see Evan Envi, this time far removed from the trainer room and changed back into street clothes-- in this instance, a dark pair of shorts and the classic black shirt which simply reads “DO GOOD.” He rubs at his now-swollen right eye, before letting out a short gasp of pain.

Evan Envi: Jesus…

He groans under his breath and bends down to pick his suitcase up off of the ground-- but he leaves it there as he hears the door open behind him. Envi doesn’t have to turn toward the doorway to know who it is. He simply stands upright and initiates the conversation.

Evan Envi: Richard.

Valero staggers through the doorway, displaying a slight limp as he too sports some street clothes--dark denim jeans, white Nike Rosches, and a matching black “DO GOOD” t-shirt. Initially entering with his eyes set on his friend, he looks toward the ground as he reaches for the door handle.

Ricky Valero: Got a hot date tonight?

He flashes a smirk and lets out a chuckle.

Ricky Valero: I don’t want to slow you down!

Evan smirks a bit and turns toward Valero.

Evan Envi: Didn’t see you in here after your match so I figured you didn’t want me to go knocking on doors looking for you. Wasn’t sure what kind of state of m…

Envi lets the sentence trail off, taking advantage of the sound of the door closing cutting him off. Valero clutches his ribs in agony as he slowly turns back toward Envi with a scowl.

Evan Envi: How are you, sir?

Valero sucks his teeth.

Ricky Valero: Probably about as good as you are right now, don’t you think?

He starts to make his way across the room toward his fellow Good Guy.

Ricky Valero: We’ve been on top for awhile now, Evan. But tonight...tonight was a really bad night for The Good Guys.

The comment earns a wince from Evan-- but the Chief clearly can’t disagree. Valero groans before stumbling backward into a chair tucked in the corner of the locker room. Envi nods, placing his hands on top of his head for a moment.

Evan Envi: Yeah… it… went different in my head I think. All of it. But you killed it out there. I know it wasn’t the result you wanted, but— but don’t let them take that away from you, y’know?

The Chief leans back against the table in the dressing room, casually sliding his phone over to his side as Valero sighs and responds.

Ricky Valero: I know. I fought. I put up a fight out there. But I wanted to put that snake Karma out of business. I wanted to walk out of that ring tonight a winner. I pushed him to the limit, I had him on the ropes…

He shrugs while his eyes examine the floor beneath his feet.

Ricky Valero: ...It just didn’t happen. You know I thought when I won that five-way match before Gold Rush Rumble that things were finally starting to turn the corner but...

...But before he can finish what he has to say, his eyes look up to find his friend completely tuning him out. Evan subtly catches Valero’s gaze and pushes the phone behind him.

Evan Envi: My bad.

The room becomes uncomfortably silent. Valero’s glare narrows in the direction of his friend and his upper lip curls as he bites at the inside of his cheek. His fingers tap nervously against the steel chair.

Ricky Valero: Really?

And then he scoffs and shakes his head. The tension which had suddenly overtaken the room is unmistakable.

Ricky Valero: So what...are we just going through the motions now, Evan?

Valero rolls his eyes. Evan looks taken aback… but a small, hesitant laugh comes out of his mouth as he raises a brow at Valero.

Evan Envi: Come on.

Ricky Valero: The whole world stops for The Chief. But when it comes time to talk about what Ricky’s dealing or what happened to Ricky tonight, we just throw a half-hearted compliment into the wind and shift our focus elsewhere, right?

Ricky clenches his jaw and rolls his neck, biting more fervently at the inside of his bottom lip. Evan’s protective smile fades from his face and he scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Evan Envi: Dude, I--

Ricky Valero: Aren’t we friends? Aren’t we best friends?

But before Envi can even respond, Valero slides the chair back and wobbles up to his feet. Envi raises a hand, taking a half step back.

Ricky Valero: Then why is it that I have always had your back, but you never seem to give a damn about me?

The fire rages inside Valero’s eyes and his face is steaming. But again, before Envi can get a word in, Valero cuts him off.

Ricky Valero: Who was on the phone, Evan?

His eyes lock in with Envi’s.

Ricky Valero: Fujiko?...Kazu?

Evan’s jaw is all but hanging open at this point. He looks at Valero with wide eyes. His expression lingers somewhere between offended and hurt. The Chief seems to realize, after a few seconds, that he was asked a question and shakes his head, stammering.

Evan Envi: No-- no.

He points to the phone as if to support himself.

Evan Envi: It-- it was Jonah. It was my kid… man. I-- are you okay?

Envi’s expression becomes one of guilt. His voice cracks as he speaks to Valero.

Evan Envi: Like-- where did all that come from? You really mean all that?

Valero’s face is one lacking in emotion. He stares blankly at his best friend without so much as a breath. But when he does go to speak, Envi quickly jumps back into the conversation.

Evan Envi: You know I care about you. You’re my best friend. I didn’t… 

He runs a hand through his hair, evidently out of intelligible words.

Evan Envi: I’m sorry.

Valero cocks an eyebrow.

Ricky Valero: Really, Evan?

He scoffs and rolls his eyes.

Ricky Valero: You’re seriously trying to pull the kid card out on me?

Valero can’t contain himself now, literally breaking down into manic laughter. Envi looks ready to retort, but Valero cuts him off again.

Ricky Valero: That’s utter bullshit and you know it. Jonah could wait. It just didn’t matter to you.

He starts toward the door, passing right by Envi, who watches him in bewilderment.

Ricky Valero: And that’s all it comes down to.

Valero reaches for the handle and yanks the locker room door open. But before he exits, he turns with one more thing to say.

Ricky Valero: I’m sorry you lost to Dom tonight. Everyone in the world knows you’re better than him, and on any other night, you’re walking out of that ring the victor. We’ll gather ourselves the rest of this week and then get back to pushing you back to the top where you belong. The Good Guys always win in the end, Evan…

And with that, he turns and departs. Evan watches Ricky exit, mouth still slightly hung open. He walks toward the door, considering following his friend out into the hall, but Evan stays put. He runs a hand over his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief before he turns his attention back to his belongings.

Evan Envi: Gotta get it together… gotta get it together…

Envi mumbles it to himself over and over as he goes to collect his bag from the corner of the room. We fade to black as Envi turns, making his way out of the dressing room and into the corridor, shutting the lights off behind him.

[ChrisMadison]

The feed cuts backstage, just outside of the trainer’s room. Amanda Johnson stands still, microphone in hand and camera crew in tow. Just as she was about to knock on the door, it swings open and Chris Madison gingerly steps out. She looks him over quickly, noticing that he was walking slowly and clutching his side. Without hesitation, she addressed his condition.

Amanda Johnson: Well Chris, you won tonight against James Edwards, but by the looks of it, you didn’t leave that ring unscathed.

Chris chuckles and winces.

Chris Madison: I’m man enough to put my personal feelin’s aside and acknowledge when I’ve been in a fight. James might not have his head screwed on straight, but the man can still fight.

Amanda Johnson: After watching the two of you go back and forth, no one can say that either of you held back any punches. Congrats on the big win. It has to feel good to get a little retribution for his unexpected attack.

Madison nods his head after listening intently.

Chris Madison: It does. Feels real good. Time heals the pain... By tomorrow I’ll feel like a million bucks, especially knowin’ that the night before I put James asleep in front of a sold out arena filled to the rafters with diehard FGA fans who were just as sick and tired of his childish antics as the rest of us! He had this comin’ to him and hopefully reflects on this match and corrects himself.

Amanda Johnson: Sounds like you’re ready to put this little feud behind you. So what’s next for Chris Madison?

Madison raises his arms and places his hands on his hips while thinking over Amanda’s question. He lets out a sigh, tilts his head, smirks, and shrugs his shoulders.

Chris Madison: I’m not the kind of guy who goes around makin’ demands. Typically I let Frankie handle that aspect of the business. I choose to let my actions in the ring do most of the speakin’. With the draft around the corner, I could very well end up flippin’ brands. What’s next for me is unknown; but whoever it is, you better believe that this old dog hasn’t lost a step and is ready to go to war with anyone!

Madison glances at Amanda momentarily before walking off as the feed cuts away.

[The Mason]

The scene opens up in the backstage area of the Staples Center-- evidently inside one of the event suites. The floor is a velvet color, the walls are adorned with flat screens as well as posters of previous celebrity guests. The room is lined with round tables and wooden chairs-- and in fact, this is the second time our cameras open up here this evening.

Creak.

With the familiar creak of the door, footsteps fade into the scene until finally, Ashlyn De Luca appears. Her cheeks are a bit more flushed than they had been when we saw her in the suite earlier. She walks toward the window overlooking the Staples Center, drawing in a deep breath before the door closes behind her. Ashlyn raises a brow, looking over her shoulder.

Ashlyn De Luca: Maaanda! You made it. Sit down, sit down, let me pour you a drink.

Amanda Johnson walks into frame, looking at Ashlyn De Luca with a half-smile, albeit a knowing one. De Luca makes her way out of frame as Johnson casts a glance around the event suite, shaking her head slightly. After a slight clink-clink, De Luca returns with two champagne glasses, filled with a little bit of champagne. She extends her hand, holding it out toward Johnson, but the interviewer shakes her head a bit, raising her hand slightly to decline.

Amanda Johnson: I’m good. I’m still working.

Ashlyn De Luca: Hm.

She shrugs and clinks the glasses together, speaking softly.

Ashlyn De Luca: Cheers to me then.

And with that, she downs Amanda’s glass of champagne in one deep swig. She gently sets the glass down on the table before pulling the chair out to take a seat herself, across from Johnson. Ashlyn grins at her, clearly prepared for whatever Johnson has in store.

Ashlyn De Luca: Go ahead. Ask me.

Johnson sighs a little, looking curiously at De Luca, shaking her head slightly.

Amanda Johnson: What is it that you think I’m prepared to ask you, Ashlyn?

Ashlyn De Luca: About how I did exactly what I said. About how I put on a dominating-- a captivating performance out there and put my former tag team partner in his place. Ask me about what’s next, Amanda.

The interviewer takes a breath, looking away for a moment to collect her thoughts before looking back toward De Luca.

Amanda Johnson: You won your match against Logan Alexander. It was clearly a very emotional contest, and there was nothing pretty about the way you won… but did you still feel threatened by Logan after the match? Because I think… depending on how you answer that question says a lot about what the future holds for you, don’t you think?

De Luca looks a bit confused for a moment… before she laughs dismissively and reaches over to pick up her own glass of champagne.

Ashlyn De Luca: I don’t know what you mean by that.

Amanda Johnson: After the match, you could’ve stayed out there and basked in-- whatever you want to describe that outpouring from the fans was-- but you didn’t. You got your hand raised and you, more or less, left the ring to a very hurt, very vulnerable Logan Alexander. The fans in the Staples Center chose to come to their feet and show their respec--

Ashlyn De Luca: That moment did not belong to Logan.

Amanda raises a brow, leaning forward n her chair a bit as she lets Ash continue.

Ashlyn De Luca: You know what it felt like when Logan pulled himself up off the mat and just stood there, letting those people scream for him and whistle for him as if he’d just won?

Amanda shakes her head a little, finally offering a shrug.

Amanda Johnson: I imagine it didn’t feel too great.

Ashlyn De Luca: He tried to discredit me. Just like everybody in that arena-- just like everybody screaming for anyone other than me after that performance was trying to discredit me.

De Luca reaches forward for the second champagne glass, taking it between her fingers as she looks at Amanda-- before tilting her head back and downing the champagne with a sigh. She sets the glass back down and narrows her eyes at Amanda.

Ashlyn De Luca: I should be competing for a World Championship.

Amanda Johnson: Yeah?

Ashlyn laughs a bit under her breath, rolling her eyes away from Johnson.

Ashlyn De Luca: This night ends with Savannah Taylor as the International Heavyweight Champion. And that’s good, I guess, but-- but how can you not look at that title and wish for so much more? I know I do. And I can do something about it.

Ashlyn shrugs softly.

Ashlyn De Luca: The title deserves more. It deserves me. And I’m not sure yet how I go about getting that, but… in time, Amanda. And it’s only a matter of time.

Amanda nods a bit, giving Ashlyn a faint smile. Ashlyn scoffs, looking away, shaking her head.

Ashlyn De Luca: You look like you don’t believe me.

Johnson raises a brow.

Amanda Johnson: I wasn’t aware it really mattered what I believed. You asked me here to gather your thoughts after your win and here I am. Maybe I should’ve prepared more.

De Luca doesn’t look back at Amanda. Her gaze remains fixed on the carpet for a moment before she snorts softly under her breath and shakes her head.

Ashlyn De Luca: We’re done.

Amanda is silent for a few passing seconds before finally nodding and pushing the chair out, rising to her feet.

Amanda Johnson: Goodbye then.

Without another word, the interviewer pivots on her heel and walks out of frame. First, her footsteps fade, and then the door opens-- then falls shut. Ashlyn sits alone in the room, arms folded, gaze still fixed on the carpet. Finally, Ashlyn shakes her head and rises to her feet. She turns, walking to the window of the event suite that overlooks the arena that is now-empty aside from the crew that disassembles the ring and surrounding set. We fade to black.