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~~Brandon Moore~~ · **12-24-2016, 07:31 AM**

It is shortly after midnight and the town of Pittsburgh is quieting down the night before Santa comes through with presents for all. Unfortunately for one man, he may be on the naughty list. That man is Brandon Moore. Earlier in the night he was trying to enjoy a hockey game. However, Brandon has this sick obsession with anger and causing trouble. He started a brawl during a game between the Pittsburgh Penguins and the New Jersey Devils. That move ended with Brandon being arrested. A handful of others were taken to the Allegheny County Jail, too, but Brandon has received his own special cell. The authorities quickly realized he was sober during this whole altercation and that he does not play well with others. While the others that were arrested fade in and out of consciousness and regain their sobriety, Brandon sits alone in the dark, with only the moonlight coming in through a small window across the hall from his cell.

He does not seem too worried about his circumstances, though. He's sitting on a chair provided in the cell that is bolted to the wall. It's officially Christmas Eve now, so Brandon is simply humming “Jingle Bells” to himself. His humming is rather loud, actually. He is also rocking his head back and forth to the rhythm of his humming. He has already received his phone call. Brandon took advantage of that to the call the number he was given when he first signed his contract that said “In Case of Trouble.” Well, last time, when he destroyed a bunch of concert goers in a New Jersey mosh pit, Brandon rang the number and they simply got him the hook up. The cops came and told him to go. This time, it's a bit different. Brandon gets pretty startled by this turn of events.

A shadowy figure creeps down the hallway. Is it Krampus? It has to be Krampus. Brandon has been naughty and he's come to devour his soul or whatever the hell he does! As the shadow gets larger, it's obvious that whatever or whoever is there is getting closer and closer. The shadowy figure now reveals itself. Thank goodness, it's just a short guy in a suit with a briefcase and a large fedora covering his face. Brandon looks more confused than startled now. It's not Krampus, it's not any Ghosts of Christmas Anything, so who is it? Brandon gets to his feet and makes his way to the front of his cell. He surveys the stranger up and down as the stranger does the same to him. The stranger opens his briefcase and Brandon looks on curiously. Out of the briefcase comes the XWF Federweight Championship. The short strange man holds up the championship almost as if to mock Brandon that it is not currently in his possession.

-Brandon Moore-
“That's my fucking belt! Where did you get that and who the fuck are you?!”

-Mysterious Man-
“Manners, Brandon. Manners. I'm simply here to help you.”

-Brandon Moore-
“Manners?! Fine. Who the fuck are you, please?!”

-Mysterious Man-
“You called the number, Brandon. You should know who I am. I'm here to get you out.. You need to listen, though. This time, it's not free.”

-Brandon Moore-
“Wait, you're with XWF? To bail me out, yeah?”

The mysterious man seemingly ignores Brandon's inquiries and continues on the conversation path he had originally chosen.

-Mysterious Man-
“Beating up those kids in New Jersey was your first strike. Starting an all out brawl here in Pittsburgh is, of course, strike two. You're getting out, however, you owe a favor now, Brandon. You're careless and dangerous. We like that, but you're costing us money. At noon, in Bethlehem, you will be Santa Clause.”

-Brandon Moore-
“What. In. The. Fuck. Are you talking about?”

-Mysterious Man-
“You either comply or you'll rot in here. You do want to get out don't you? You have a match tomorrow night against Isabella Ravenwolf, correct? I know how much you love X-treme rules and how hurt you'd be if you missed the chance to hurt someone else. Would you say that's a correct assumption?”

-Brandon Moore-
“I don't know who the fuck you are or what you want from me. Santa Clause? But yes, I've got a match at Savage Saturday Night against the witch gal, Ravenwolf. Yes, it's X-treme rules. Yes, I like hurting people. I'm an angry fucking person and I'm going to pound Isabella. In more than one way if she's up to it, you know what I'm saying?”

-Mysterious Man-
“This is no time for sexual innuendos, Brandon. It's almost Christmas, Mr. Moore. Where's your Christmas spirit? I've arranged for a limousine to take you to Bethlehem. You'll be able to rest during the drive there if you'd like. At noon, you'll be required to arrive at the Stabler Arena. From there, find Steve Sayors. He's organizing and hosting the event.”

-Brandon Moore-
“You're fucking with me, right? I've got to deal with that fucking dweeb and the Ravenwolf cunt all on the same day? On Christmas fucking Eve, for fuck's sake?”

-Mysterious Man-
“Yes or you'll be stuck in a Pittsburgh jail without your wrestling career in the XWF or your Federweight title that you find so coveted for whatever reason. Once you find Steve, he'll lead you to the Santa suit. The kids want to meet an XWF superstar and Santa, so we are killing two birds with one stone. The whole thing is based on what XWF Christmas wishes the kids would like, so ask them about that. You'll find your Federweight title there if and when you show up. Agree and you'll get your belt back until the next lunatic claims it from you and you'll get to Bethlehem in plenty of time to prepare for your match with Ms. Ravenwolf.”

The mysterious man locks the Federweight Championship back up in his briefcase and awaits Brandon's response. Brandon turns his back to the short fella to think about the request and make things more dramatic. He takes a deep breath before responding, still disengaging the eye contact and face to face aspect of their conversation they held so well just moments ago.

-Brandon Moore-
“I believed in Santa Clause until I was fourteen years old. That's a long fucking time, you know? Until all those little shits in eighth grade ruined it for me! Where's the fucking magic anymore?! I'll tell you where it is...with Isabella Ravenwolf. She's a fucking witch. She has to know some magic, right? If there can fucking witches in professional wrestling, why can't there be a Santa Clause?! Fine, Mr. Short Fedora Fucker. This is for fourteen year old me. This is for all those kids that want to believe, but dirty little cocksuckers go and fuck it all up for them! Jesus, since when do I give a fuck about the kids? I'm only doing this so I can get my belt back and go fucking massacre Shitabella Fuckenwolf. You've got a deal, little guy.”

Brandon turns back around in an even more dramatic fashion than previously. The mysterious short man is no longer there. Instead, an officer from the jail is at the door of his cell. The officer has an odd look on his face. He pulls a key forward from a retractable doohickey on his belt loop. He begins to unlock the cell.

-Jail Officer-
“I have no idea who you were talking to, but you're free to go. It looks like working for a big bad wrestling company gives you the right to toss around strangers and kick them in the nuts with no consequences. You're one lucky bastard. There's a limo out front here for you. Get on out of here and don't even think about causing any trouble in my county again.”

The cell door slides open and the officer steps aside. Brandon exits the cell, confused as all hell at what just happened.

-Brandon Moore-
“Where did the little man in the fedora go? He had my fucking belt, dude!”

The officer starts to laugh at Brandon's expense.

-Jail Officer-
“Who?! There ain't no little man in a goofy hat in this jail, son. And you didn't come in with a belt. Hell, you didn't have anything on you except the clothes on your back. I'd suggest getting a wallet, maybe some money...or, you know, maybe carrying an ID around with you if you plan on getting arrested? Just a suggestion, pal. Now, get the hell out of my jail please.”

-Brandon Moore-
“You don't have to fucking say that twice.”

Brandon follows the officer and walks passed various other cells, some containing the men he enticed into a brawl at the hockey game. The officer shoves Brandon out the front door and quickly closes it behind him. The short fucker wasn't lying. There's a limousine waiting for Brandon in the front of the jail. Brandon shrugs, still confused, but at least accepting what had happened. He approaches the limousine and the doors make a pop sound, signaling them unlocking. Every window is tinted. He can't see the driver from outside of the car or from inside as there is a partition separating the front and the back. Brandon steps into the limo as snow starts to fall outside. He's free from jail and will make it in time for his match as long as he keeps up his end of the bargain with the shadowy short man. It's a Christmas miracle as snow starts to fall once the limo takes off. Shortly after and Brandon has fallen asleep, an easy way to pass the time on his way to Bethlehem. He's off to play Santa Clause for some shitty kids and lay a beating on Isabella Ravenwolf and show XWF that he's the real deal. That he's just plain better.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode It's Almost Christmas! (Part Two)
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