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~~Brandon Moore~~ · (01-19-2017)

The sun has been set for quite some time, but inside a home, a fireplace illuminates the walls, casting shadows throughout. The house is very neatly put together with a leather couch, a wooden rocking chair, and a grandfather clock being the main attractions. In the rocking chair is Brandon Moore, coming off of a loss to Robbie Bourbon. He is dressed in a red silk robe with a pipe in his mouth. As he breathes into the pipe, bubbles float out of the opening. One of his legs is crossed atop the other as he uses the foot touching the ground to slowly rock back and forth in the chair. Brandon appears surprised that he is being filmed, but of course, that is just a part of his act.

“Welcome to my humble abode. I’m so glad you could stop by. There’s a lot to discuss.”

Brandon blows into the pipe sending bubbles throughout the living room of this home he is occupying. He switches positions with his legs, crossing them the opposite way now, continuing to rock in the chair.

“Doctor Louis D’Ville, you and I have a date. You touched on some valid points by your little campfire. I came up empty-handed against Thomas Nixon. Twice. I came up short against Robbie Bourbon. I’ve got nothing that proves my worth other than the Federweight Championship and no one seems to think that title even matters. I’ve put on spectacle after spectacle. Putting on the match of the century doesn’t matter if you come out on the losing end. You’ll learn that lesson soon enough.

I don’t know what I’ve done to earn opportunity after opportunity, but one of these days, I’m bound to get even more lucky, right? My luck is going to keep pressing forward on your behalf, Doc. In case the news hasn’t reached you yet, we’re already set up for a second date. Who the hell knows what David Stone has been up to? So, on the next Wednesday Warfare, they’ve thrown me with Ronnie against you and Unknown Soldier…for your XWF Tag Team Championships.

I’m glad we get to preview that bout on Savage Saturday Night. Falls will count anywhere throughout the grassy knoll of Dealey Plaza. The plaza will soon be famous for another assassination, Doctor D’Ville. Believe that, but we will touch on that subject another time. Are you impressed with the performances I’ve put on since I entered the XWF? Are you surprised at the lengths others have gone to, to put me away? Those are rhetorical questions, Doc. Imagine what might happen to you if I go to even further lengths than my opponents previously have.”

Brandon uncrosses his legs and sends another furry of bubbles jetting out of the toy pipe. He gets up from the rocking chair, allowing his silk robe to flow to the floor of the room. Brandon strolls over to the opening of the fireplace. Now revealed above the flame in the fireplace is a caldron. The caldron is filled with water, boiling due to the heat emitting from the burning logs. Brandon leans against the mantle above the fireplace. His body is facing it, but his head has been turned to address the viewers.

“So, Doc, you claim to be the Big Bad Wolf of the XWF. Do you know what happens to the Big Bad Wolf? I may be wearing red right now, but I’m not a little girl headed to see her grandmother. There are three members of Havoc, though. Do you see what I’m getting at here? Does this make sense to your sharp mind, Doc? You’re going through me now. This house is made of brick.”

Brandon directs attention to the caldron of boiling water.

“All you are doing is huffing and puffing. You’ll be out of breath soon enough. And if you really are the Big Bad Wolf? Well, you’ll try and come down the chimney. Waiting for you will be this caldron of boiling water. You’ll land it in, screaming bloody murder, and I’ll slam the lid on top. Then the other little pigs and myself will cook you up and eat you. That’s how this goes down, D’Ville. You can claim to be as frightening as you’d like, but in the end, you’ll just be a giant ball of fur donating his body for a feast. That’s what happens when you’re the Big Bad Wolf.

Or if you'd like, we could take this a direction everyone is more used to from me. The Three Little Pigs by Green Jelly, great song, ever heard of it? Their version of the Big Bad Wolf was actually pretty cool. He had a leather jacket and rode a Harley. He doesn't get eaten in this story, though. One of the piggies calls 911 and they sent out Rambo just as fast as they could. Then Rambo unloads a machine gun into the Big Bad Wolf. Basically, what I'm asking is, would you rather be eating or littered with bullet holes?”

Yet again, Brandon exhales into the toy pipe releasing a stream of bubbles from the other end. He makes his way back towards the rocking chair and places a hand on the back. The chair sways back and forth from the force of Brandon's right hand.

“I can play your game, Doc. You're no king. You're no wolf. If anything, you're a sheep in wolf's clothing. You're smoke and mirrors. I'm begging you to share your diagnosis of me. Tell me something I don't already know. I've seen things. I've lived things. If you want to get fucking crazy, let's get fucking crazy. I have no problem with it.”

Brandon blows another set of bubbles out of the pipe before taking a seat and rocking in the chair once more.

“I don't need backup to defeat you. I finally know what it takes to make it in the XWF after coming up short over and over again. Ronnie and David are called Bad Attitude for a reason. Add me into the mix and we are called Havoc...for a reason. You want to talk nightmares? You're about to step into one, old man. I'll gladly take you on, man to man. No Ronnie Cage. No David Stone. No Unknown Soldier. Just Brandon Moore and Doctor Louis D'Ville fighting because we're sick and it's what we like to do.”

Brandon leans forward with the flames of the fireplace creating an orange flickering glow across his face. He rests his arms just above his knees with the most competitive look upon his face that he has ever given since he joined the XWF roster.

“Your office doors are always open? 'Little Doc, Little Doc, let me in.' That's your mistake. It's time someone shut down your practice for good.”

Brandon puts the bubble pipe up to his mouth one last time, but begins to hear some murmuring from up the stairs. Feet shuffling and whispers are heard as a elderly man with a baseball bat and his equally elderly wife begin to creep down the stairs. They notice Brandon and the old man shouts, hurrying his pace down the steps.

“How the fuck did you get in my house?!”

The old woman has a phone in her hand, presumably dialing 911. They won't send Rambo out, however. They'll more than likely just send the police. The old man comes down quickly, trying to attack Brandon with his plain wooden baseball bat.

“Get your ass back here!”

The idea is to get Brandon out of the house, but the old man yells at him to return so he can lay a beating upon him. That's not going to happen. The bubble pipe falls from Brandon's mouth and the cheap plastic breaks as he hit the floor. Brandon, keeping the robe that he stole, which is apparent now, darts for the front door. The old man gives chase as Brandon opens the door so hard that it almost flies off of its hinges. He takes off down the street, in a silk red robe, barefoot.

The old man gives up the chase after reaching the edge of his lawn. The old woman is now reporting the break-in to the police and looks worriedly confused at the fact that her fireplace has been lit with a caldron of boiling water above the flame. Brandon made his escape and avoided arrest for the first time in a long time. That's good news for the Doc and for the XWF. He'll probably, hopefully, be able to show up Saturday for the fight he promised.

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