Oz
* * *
The following storyline is untelevised/unfilmed.
* * *
The light fixtures flickered over head as Miss Sarah clung to the gallant physique of the King of Hearts. There was visible fear on her face as she continued to look back over their shoulders to see if anyone was following.
No one.
They turned another corner and reached the old locker rooms, which haven't been used since Virtue was actually its own company. Once again, the brunette beauty looked behind them and dug her nails into the bare hip of the Patriarch of Pretty.
Ripplemagne:
"Will you stop being so paranoid? This isn't Australia. Niggas in New Yawk are out they mind. Some... a little more than others... but hey! That's the beauty of the concrete jungle."
The girl didn't speak as she kind of whimpered in the arm of Ripplemagne as he stopped and snagged away from her. It was rare to see her that startled by something, so he put a smile on for her.
Ripplemagne:
"Relax. I'm here. Nothing bad ever happens when the Ripplemagne is around. Aye?"
Nodding, Ripplemagne places his bare hand -- having removed the arm gloves after the match from earlier -- to her cheek and wiped a strand of hair from her face. The dim setting brought them closer together until their rosy lips ignited and collided with a fervor of untamed affection through the weapons dance in their mouths. Their tongues battered against one another like broadswords at war as she pushed back against him, pinning him against the door.
The lad's hands were raised up as she unhinged the door with a tug downward on the hook knob. They barreled through the dust covered locker room and onto one of the old mattresses as she mounted herself over him. Beyond her control, her hands wound up and down his chiseled physique as his nimble fingers slid up the back of her frilly white shirt.
With one hand, he managed to unclip her bra as the other rogue-like hand perched itself over her rear. But all paused at the clamor of ruckus and rumbling...
Miss Sarah:
"What was that?"
Ripplemagne:
"Probably the rickety old boilers. This place is as decrepit as an Arata Tanaka and Tommy Rogue match."
Passing it off as nothing, Miss Sarah deviously grinned and extended the tip of her tongue, gently lapping up the cherry chapstick coating the lad's lips. With the snap of his teeth, he caught her tongue and pulled her puffy lips back in as the tips cycled around one another like a cyclone in progress.
The styled nails of the girl coasted along the lad's defined biceps as he ran his nimble fingers up her neck and through her hair. A solid moan seeped from her lips as she buried her face in his shoulder and clamped down on his neck. The King of Hearts responded by bringing his pearly whites to meet her offer at the neck -- but clamped down his vampire-like eye teeth into her ear, nibbling across the border of it.
Through her shirt and flesh, he could feel her heart thumping and accelerating as he always managed to give her that rush. Bringing his poignant tongue down along her neck with flickers, he knew when she was losing it. Along her arms, he could feel goosebumps and at their legs, he could feel her calves locking up as she curled her toes up in her shoes. The velvety hand of the girl began to slide down his built pectorals, through the valley of his abdominals, where she finally reached his waist.
Rearing back, she undid the button on his jeans and gazed at how his finely crafted hips protruded from his waist, tugging his flesh along for the right. Biting her lip, she began to edge the zipper of his jeans down as his own hand caressed her outer thigh while he watched.
Eagerness began to consume her as she reached the end of the zipper trail to be met with...
The pounding from earlier growing louder. A brief pause was followed by apathy, but it didn't matter. The room began to shake without them actually being the cause of it and the bed tipped over, sending both of them to the ground.
Miss Sarah:
"I don't suppose this is the boiler?!"
Ripplemagne:
"...Maybe they didn't feed Napalm his 6:00 meal."
The furniture began to tip over and crash to the ground; lamps broke, cupboards flew around the room and it became obvious that this wasn't a regular occurrence. This room hadn't been touched in ages and if these things weren't already broken from something like this... this was something new.
The two glamor idiots scrambled around the room, trying to keep their balance. It didn't work very well because Miss Sarah was thrown off balance from her bra not holding her sweater puppies in place and Ripplemagne was desperately trying to hold his pants up. Needless to say, hilarity ensued.
As long-dry light bulbs fell from the high hats in the ceiling, Ripplemagne and Miss Sarah stumbled around until they crashed shoulder to shoulder and went down to the ground.
They both tried to regain their composure after they fell, but they looked up wide eyed to see... the wardrobe coming down. Right on top of them.
* * *
Ripplemagne:
"Ugh..."
The solid white wardrobe heaved off of the two barren bodies at the behest of the young man underneath it. Hoisting it up and pushing it over, Ripplemagne grabbed his head as the grainy visuals around him failed to come into view.
Fixing the button and zipper on his jeans, the lad slumped up to his feet and waited for his vision to come back to him. As it did, everything seemed as it was except... the room wasn't dirty.
The dust that entrenched the roach hole was gone and the walls all seemed pristine. It was like someone turned the dystopia into a utopia. It was like someone shook the snow globe that was this old locker room.
But it wasn't long before that was completely eclipsed by the sight of Miss Sarah laid out on the ground. Reacting quickly, Ripplemagne yanked a sharpie from his jeans pocket and drew a moustache and beard combination on her. After capping the marker and putting it away, Ripplemagne put on a look of concern and began to shake her awake.
From the rattling, the lass winced and exhaled a deep breath before having to deal with the same sensory damage that Ripplemagne did before.
Miss Sarah:
"...What happened? Was that an Earthquake?"
Having had enough of the Frontier Arena, the duo rise to their feet. As Ripplemagne unhinges the door, Miss Sarah fixes her bra, which has somehow managed to spin 90 degrees.
Ripplemagne:
"We don't get Earthquakes in New Yawk, slut butt. This arena is just a walking death trap. Me thinks we should head back to Queens on the double and never book a match in this Hell hole again. It's like half falling ap-- Wha'?"
As the door opens, the pair look around as if they just stepped into the Land of Oz. The walls... there's no graffiti on it. There isn't dirt embedded between the tiles on the floor. There's actually color instead of a faded blend of what could pass for a chalk drawing.
The King of Hearts and his Queen shift down the hallway, baffled and speechless by the polished corridors.
Miss Sarah:
"How long were we unconscious for?"
The two navigated the hallways with complete unfamiliarity with the staff. It's as if they didn't even know who he was. As Miss Sarah walks forward, rendered completely stupefied and bewildered with what might have happened, she deduces that there's probably a rational explanation for this and that it will soon be explained to them.
Ripplemagne:
"My cell phone is not giving me any service. It's acting like we're in the dessert. Confounded gizmo! Give me the answers that I seek!"
Bashing the phone against the wall does nothing, so Ripplemagne slides it back into his pocket in complete and utter defeat.
???:
"Aha. You must be the jobber we got for a squash with Flyin' J.J. Strong."
The two turn their heads to see an elderly man with glasses and a close cut pompadour. Clad in a suit, the man looks rather professional, but who knows? They just met a hobo in the hallway.
Ripplemagne:
"What?"
???:
"My mistake. 'Enhancement talent'. Why aren't you in costume already? The show is going to start any second and you're in the opening bout. Ugh... I guess you get what you pay for."
Miss Sarah:
"Excuse us, sir. We're a little confused. Who are you and what seems to be the problem?"
Michael Weaves:
"Oh, my apologies. I assumed you already knew who I was. I'm Michael Weaves, owner of the company. You mean you're not The Scarecrow?"
Ripplemagne:
"Now, I know this ho' looks like Dorothy and the Ripplemagne has been known to trip over his own feet on occasion, but the Patriarch of Pretty ain't no scarecrow. And he certainly ain't no jobber."
Michael Weaves:
"This is bad. I can't promise a Scarecrow versus J.J. Strong match on the card and then not go through with it. This is a disaster!"
Miss Sarah:
"Well, maybe we can help."
Michael Weaves:
"No. If he's not already here, then there's no way he's going to make it in time. But-- Hey. You're a wrestler, right?"
Ripplemagne:
"You're kidding, right?"
Michael Weaves:
"Would you mind donning the Scarecrow costume and wrestling the match? I know you don't stand much of a chance against someone like Flyin' J.J. Strong, but there's a big pay day in it for you if you do it for me."
Ripplemagne:
"...You're kidding, right?"
Miss Sarah:
"He'd be happy to do it!"
Ripplemagne:
"...You're kidding, right?"
Michael Weaves:
"Thank you so much! You're a life saver! The costume room is the first door on the left."
With a cheerful smile, Miss Sarah tugs a reluctant Ripplemagne toward the costume room as he mutters and grumbles angry words at her.
Ripplemagne:
"The Ripplemagne does not appreciate being forced into things!"
Miss Sarah:
"Well, next time you should think about that before calling me Dorothy again."
Ripplemagne:
"Face."
Miss Sarah:
"Love ya."
As she pushes him into the costume room and closes the door behind him, Miss Sarah thinks to herself. How did that guy not know who Ripplemagne was? How could he own the Frontier Arena and not know the biggest star in the place in years?
It didn't make sense.
* * *
After a few minutes, the door opens up as Ripplemagne steps out in Scarecrow garb with a sulk and a stiff step through the polished doorway.
Ripplemagne:
"You're dead."
Miss Sarah:
"Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"
A few stage hands began to escort Ripplemagne to the arena as Miss Sarah had a giggle fit to herself. After being clowned on in Your Feature Presentation for two seasons, this was a much needed laugh for her.
The curtain sprawled open as the stage hands pointed Ripplemagne where to go. With a sneer, he took a deep breath and stepped through...
* * *
The following storyline is untelevised/unfilmed.
* * *
The light fixtures flickered over head as Miss Sarah clung to the gallant physique of the King of Hearts. There was visible fear on her face as she continued to look back over their shoulders to see if anyone was following.
No one.
They turned another corner and reached the old locker rooms, which haven't been used since Virtue was actually its own company. Once again, the brunette beauty looked behind them and dug her nails into the bare hip of the Patriarch of Pretty.
Ripplemagne:
"Will you stop being so paranoid? This isn't Australia. Niggas in New Yawk are out they mind. Some... a little more than others... but hey! That's the beauty of the concrete jungle."
The girl didn't speak as she kind of whimpered in the arm of Ripplemagne as he stopped and snagged away from her. It was rare to see her that startled by something, so he put a smile on for her.
Ripplemagne:
"Relax. I'm here. Nothing bad ever happens when the Ripplemagne is around. Aye?"
Nodding, Ripplemagne places his bare hand -- having removed the arm gloves after the match from earlier -- to her cheek and wiped a strand of hair from her face. The dim setting brought them closer together until their rosy lips ignited and collided with a fervor of untamed affection through the weapons dance in their mouths. Their tongues battered against one another like broadswords at war as she pushed back against him, pinning him against the door.
The lad's hands were raised up as she unhinged the door with a tug downward on the hook knob. They barreled through the dust covered locker room and onto one of the old mattresses as she mounted herself over him. Beyond her control, her hands wound up and down his chiseled physique as his nimble fingers slid up the back of her frilly white shirt.
With one hand, he managed to unclip her bra as the other rogue-like hand perched itself over her rear. But all paused at the clamor of ruckus and rumbling...
Miss Sarah:
"What was that?"
Ripplemagne:
"Probably the rickety old boilers. This place is as decrepit as an Arata Tanaka and Tommy Rogue match."
Passing it off as nothing, Miss Sarah deviously grinned and extended the tip of her tongue, gently lapping up the cherry chapstick coating the lad's lips. With the snap of his teeth, he caught her tongue and pulled her puffy lips back in as the tips cycled around one another like a cyclone in progress.
The styled nails of the girl coasted along the lad's defined biceps as he ran his nimble fingers up her neck and through her hair. A solid moan seeped from her lips as she buried her face in his shoulder and clamped down on his neck. The King of Hearts responded by bringing his pearly whites to meet her offer at the neck -- but clamped down his vampire-like eye teeth into her ear, nibbling across the border of it.
Through her shirt and flesh, he could feel her heart thumping and accelerating as he always managed to give her that rush. Bringing his poignant tongue down along her neck with flickers, he knew when she was losing it. Along her arms, he could feel goosebumps and at their legs, he could feel her calves locking up as she curled her toes up in her shoes. The velvety hand of the girl began to slide down his built pectorals, through the valley of his abdominals, where she finally reached his waist.
Rearing back, she undid the button on his jeans and gazed at how his finely crafted hips protruded from his waist, tugging his flesh along for the right. Biting her lip, she began to edge the zipper of his jeans down as his own hand caressed her outer thigh while he watched.
Eagerness began to consume her as she reached the end of the zipper trail to be met with...
The pounding from earlier growing louder. A brief pause was followed by apathy, but it didn't matter. The room began to shake without them actually being the cause of it and the bed tipped over, sending both of them to the ground.
Miss Sarah:
"I don't suppose this is the boiler?!"
Ripplemagne:
"...Maybe they didn't feed Napalm his 6:00 meal."
The furniture began to tip over and crash to the ground; lamps broke, cupboards flew around the room and it became obvious that this wasn't a regular occurrence. This room hadn't been touched in ages and if these things weren't already broken from something like this... this was something new.
The two glamor idiots scrambled around the room, trying to keep their balance. It didn't work very well because Miss Sarah was thrown off balance from her bra not holding her sweater puppies in place and Ripplemagne was desperately trying to hold his pants up. Needless to say, hilarity ensued.
As long-dry light bulbs fell from the high hats in the ceiling, Ripplemagne and Miss Sarah stumbled around until they crashed shoulder to shoulder and went down to the ground.
They both tried to regain their composure after they fell, but they looked up wide eyed to see... the wardrobe coming down. Right on top of them.
* * *
Ripplemagne:
"Ugh..."
The solid white wardrobe heaved off of the two barren bodies at the behest of the young man underneath it. Hoisting it up and pushing it over, Ripplemagne grabbed his head as the grainy visuals around him failed to come into view.
Fixing the button and zipper on his jeans, the lad slumped up to his feet and waited for his vision to come back to him. As it did, everything seemed as it was except... the room wasn't dirty.
The dust that entrenched the roach hole was gone and the walls all seemed pristine. It was like someone turned the dystopia into a utopia. It was like someone shook the snow globe that was this old locker room.
But it wasn't long before that was completely eclipsed by the sight of Miss Sarah laid out on the ground. Reacting quickly, Ripplemagne yanked a sharpie from his jeans pocket and drew a moustache and beard combination on her. After capping the marker and putting it away, Ripplemagne put on a look of concern and began to shake her awake.
From the rattling, the lass winced and exhaled a deep breath before having to deal with the same sensory damage that Ripplemagne did before.
Miss Sarah:
"...What happened? Was that an Earthquake?"
Having had enough of the Frontier Arena, the duo rise to their feet. As Ripplemagne unhinges the door, Miss Sarah fixes her bra, which has somehow managed to spin 90 degrees.
Ripplemagne:
"We don't get Earthquakes in New Yawk, slut butt. This arena is just a walking death trap. Me thinks we should head back to Queens on the double and never book a match in this Hell hole again. It's like half falling ap-- Wha'?"
As the door opens, the pair look around as if they just stepped into the Land of Oz. The walls... there's no graffiti on it. There isn't dirt embedded between the tiles on the floor. There's actually color instead of a faded blend of what could pass for a chalk drawing.
The King of Hearts and his Queen shift down the hallway, baffled and speechless by the polished corridors.
Miss Sarah:
"How long were we unconscious for?"
The two navigated the hallways with complete unfamiliarity with the staff. It's as if they didn't even know who he was. As Miss Sarah walks forward, rendered completely stupefied and bewildered with what might have happened, she deduces that there's probably a rational explanation for this and that it will soon be explained to them.
Ripplemagne:
"My cell phone is not giving me any service. It's acting like we're in the dessert. Confounded gizmo! Give me the answers that I seek!"
Bashing the phone against the wall does nothing, so Ripplemagne slides it back into his pocket in complete and utter defeat.
???:
"Aha. You must be the jobber we got for a squash with Flyin' J.J. Strong."
The two turn their heads to see an elderly man with glasses and a close cut pompadour. Clad in a suit, the man looks rather professional, but who knows? They just met a hobo in the hallway.
Ripplemagne:
"What?"
???:
"My mistake. 'Enhancement talent'. Why aren't you in costume already? The show is going to start any second and you're in the opening bout. Ugh... I guess you get what you pay for."
Miss Sarah:
"Excuse us, sir. We're a little confused. Who are you and what seems to be the problem?"
Michael Weaves:
"Oh, my apologies. I assumed you already knew who I was. I'm Michael Weaves, owner of the company. You mean you're not The Scarecrow?"
Ripplemagne:
"Now, I know this ho' looks like Dorothy and the Ripplemagne has been known to trip over his own feet on occasion, but the Patriarch of Pretty ain't no scarecrow. And he certainly ain't no jobber."
Michael Weaves:
"This is bad. I can't promise a Scarecrow versus J.J. Strong match on the card and then not go through with it. This is a disaster!"
Miss Sarah:
"Well, maybe we can help."
Michael Weaves:
"No. If he's not already here, then there's no way he's going to make it in time. But-- Hey. You're a wrestler, right?"
Ripplemagne:
"You're kidding, right?"
Michael Weaves:
"Would you mind donning the Scarecrow costume and wrestling the match? I know you don't stand much of a chance against someone like Flyin' J.J. Strong, but there's a big pay day in it for you if you do it for me."
Ripplemagne:
"...You're kidding, right?"
Miss Sarah:
"He'd be happy to do it!"
Ripplemagne:
"...You're kidding, right?"
Michael Weaves:
"Thank you so much! You're a life saver! The costume room is the first door on the left."
With a cheerful smile, Miss Sarah tugs a reluctant Ripplemagne toward the costume room as he mutters and grumbles angry words at her.
Ripplemagne:
"The Ripplemagne does not appreciate being forced into things!"
Miss Sarah:
"Well, next time you should think about that before calling me Dorothy again."
Ripplemagne:
"Face."
Miss Sarah:
"Love ya."
As she pushes him into the costume room and closes the door behind him, Miss Sarah thinks to herself. How did that guy not know who Ripplemagne was? How could he own the Frontier Arena and not know the biggest star in the place in years?
It didn't make sense.
* * *
After a few minutes, the door opens up as Ripplemagne steps out in Scarecrow garb with a sulk and a stiff step through the polished doorway.
Ripplemagne:
"You're dead."
Miss Sarah:
"Payback's a bitch, isn't it?"
A few stage hands began to escort Ripplemagne to the arena as Miss Sarah had a giggle fit to herself. After being clowned on in Your Feature Presentation for two seasons, this was a much needed laugh for her.
The curtain sprawled open as the stage hands pointed Ripplemagne where to go. With a sneer, he took a deep breath and stepped through...
* * *
