Nak: Pygmalion

[Derek]

[OoC: Sorry this is a shorter post, we are having some major life changes and medical issues at the Hauk household, and I had to write this on my phone. but I don't no-show. Good luck, Tony]

FIVE WEEKS AGO

Shinsuke Nakamura stepped through the curtain into the gorilla position, Breakout Championship over his shoulder. The crew broke into applause, a show of respect for a match well-fought. Shinsuke bows, almost made bashful by the attention. "Stone Cold" Steve Austin approaches. The general manager slaps the King of Strong Style on the back and leads him away.

"Hot damn, son, I was sitting by the monitors when you came out and damn near dropped my beer when I heard that pop. Goddamn if it didn't sound like the second coming out there. Whatever yer selling, they're buying. I knew it was the right time to shove that belt on you."

Shinsuke runs his hand over the front plate. "Thank you. It will be my honor to defend it, and be the...eh...measuring stick for all upcoming superstars."

Austin opens up a new can of beer. "Yeah.  About that. Look, son, remember when I explained the ladder around here? Well, after that pop, I'd be a damned fool to keep you on any rung for too long. You got that belt off Carlito for me, but I don't need you to keep it. I got plenty of jackasses that I need you to help me keep in line at the top of the card, you dig?"

The realization came to Nakamura quickly, and his face fell. "I see. You want me to throw another opportunity away. You seem to find some joy in making me a loser, Steven."

Austin took a measured sip. "You got that babyface fire, son. The crowd wants to see you fighting from the bottom, don't worry about it. And all these other bastards may get to visit the pay window, but you're the one who gets to back a truck up to the First National Bank of 3:16. If you're going to be my guy, you can't get distracted splashing around in the kiddie pool. We need to get you in the deep end."

After a long sigh, Nakamura nods. "I am still your guy. Who are we making this time?"

Austin pulls the tab off his can. "I'll think about that and get back to ya. Enjoy your month with the belt, champ. We'll get you a bigger one before you know it."

TONIGHT

PJ Black. Darewolf, whatever that means. You find yourself in an unfortunate place, my young friend. You have had a target placed upon your back, or rather on your jaw, and my bullet has been engraved "Boma Ye." Normally when I take my place in the ring, I am there as an instrument. I am fighting for honor and the greater good, and making art while I am at it. I hit hard, but it's nothing personal, that's just how I send the crowd home happy. They love watching Nakamura in action, you see, and they want to see him paint another masterpiece with the strong style. But you are catching me in a particularly foul mood, PJ. I have been told that my time in the Breakout division must come to an end, and to make that official I had to give my belt to a punk with no sense of style. And they tell me that you are in my way to getting to the next level. That does not bode well for you, wolfie. You're a high-flyer? Ask Kota Ibushi how I deal with high-flyers. You better bring all the speed you can muster up, because once I catch you, I am going to hit you. Hard. And this time, it is going to be personal.