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We Will Stay and You Will Go: Part 1 - Corey Smith - 01-20-2022 OOC: This RP is a direct continuation of the one found here. BEFORE If it was not the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. The grass tickled Corey’s skin as he laid back on the gently sloping hill overlooking the valley. A river etched its way down the middle, it’s cerulean waters painting pictures against the horizon. In fact, color was everywhere. It was in the subtle shimmer caught on each breeze, the cascading waterfall of flowers trickling down the sides of the valley. The vibrancy was the stuff of dreams made real, and Corey didn’t want to wake up. He heard Pan settle down next to him in the grass. He plucked a strand of the grass and inserted it in between his teeth, using it to produce a short whistle before settling it against the side of his mouth. Do you ever lose your sense of awe, looking at this? Never, Corey. Pan replied simply. He was glad for that reply. He was glad for this experience, as surreal as it was. One moment, he was holding Pan aloft in the shower at the hospital, and the next they were here. Neverland. Corey hadn’t quite ascertained what it was. An alternate dimension, perhaps. Corey was well traveled enough to know it was a possibility, despite his earlier reluctance to accept it. However, the thought of the hospital brought Corey back down to Earthly matters. He wheeled around to look at Pan quickly. How are you feeling? Pan smiled and lifted up his shirt, revealing the fading semblance of a scar on his abdomen. Corey feared he had blushed when Pan revealed himself, but Pan had not seemed to react or take note. There’s still a little sting, but mostly fit as a fiddle. Pan pulled his shirt back down, recovering the taut stomach that had brought on Corey’s bout of guilty self consciousness. That’s incredible. We’ve only been here a few hours…. Told you! The reply was without ridicule, laden with Pan’s typically sunny demeanor. As for the whole “few hours thing”, there was something important I forgot to mention. He squinted as though pondering how to proceed. Time as you know it doesn’t really happen here. …huh? He shook his head, offering up a twinkling little laugh. I don’t know how else to explain it, but once people are here they don’t seem to age and time doesn’t pass. Corey cocked his head at Pan. Well then how is it that you’re as old as you are? Wasn’t Peter Pan supposed to be younger anyway? I was once. His reply is wistful. But we do age when we enter a world other than Neverland. So, over the years, after spending so much time in your world, I have aged some. He decided to pull the trigger on the question that had been nagging him. How old are you really? I…I guess I’m not entirely sure. He shrugged. I don’t spend too much time in your world, so it’s taken me a long time to even age to this point. I do remember your Victorian era though! It was fun, except for all the poop everywhere. Another twinkle of laughter. My God… Corey marveled. You’re well over a hundred years old. I guess. But like I said, that doesn’t mean much here. It occurred to Corey then what Pan had sacrificed in the time he spent outside of Neverland. He could have maintained his childhood indefinitely, retaining that innocent naivete as long as he wanted. But his calling, his drive to do right, had caused him to dip between realities time and time again, effectively forcing him to surrender his childhood. The profundity of that notion came down on Corey like a leaden weight. Nevertheless, he followed it up with another question. Do you like being grown? Pan smiles, this time bashfully, and looked at the ground. It’s….interesting. And often confusing. Then, looking back at him pointedly. Corey, why did our lips touch? Yeah. That. And the innocent way he asked the question didn’t help matters, refusing to even call it a kiss. An almost kiss…an… Christian’s image passed through Corey’s mind’s eye. I’m sorry about that Pan. It was an accident. An accident? Yeah. Well, I didn’t mean it, ya know? Oh. Pan’s expression became inscrutible. Was that disappointment Corey was reading? Or did he just desperately want it to be disappointment? Christ, what’s wrong with me? We should head back to the kids. It’s almost supper time. Pan got up, dusting off his slacks. He offered a hand to help Corey up. Corey looked at for a moment that was just a little too long before accepting it. A Little While Later…. Neverland was beholden to a permanent summer it would seem, with the long days reluctant to turn into hazy nights. Corey would have guessed it was 8 PM. 8 PM his time anyway. But at any rate the sun was just disappearing behind the horizon as Pan and Corey came upon the village. Corey found himself marveling yet again, even with this being his second go round at seeing the village. But never before had he seen it alit so, with dozens of lanterns beating back the encroaching night, creating a veritable sea of warm hues deep into the woods. The village itself was a latticework of crisscrossing bridges, with huts built directly into the trees. The woodworking on many of the homes was simply exceptional, as thought they were the product of a bygone era’s artistry before ergonomics began to pinch out aesthetics. Corey and Pan mounted one of the many staircases, which took them about 20 feet above the forest floor. After a brief jaunt they arrived at one of the larger huts, a communbal dining hall. The parallels with his own home were not lost on him, and seeing such an experiment repeated here instilled a warm, familiar feeling in Corey. Pan gestured for Corey to have a seat anywhere. The long table was already replete with children and adolescents, with ages ranging from 6 to 16 by Corey’s estimate. Some of them were clothed in such a way that suggested they were fully of their forest environment, donning clothes made of natural materials and wearing things like flower laurels or bracelets made of twined plant roots. Others still wore more contemporary clothes native to Corey’s world, perhaps indicating they were newer to Neverland. Of course, that wasn’t even the most spectacular thing about the occupants in this room. All of the missing children were here. Every single one. And despite the enchanting beauty about him, the situation still didn’t sit quite right with Corey. Pan had told him that he had rescued each of these children from horrific conditions: abuse, poverty, neglect, even some that were involved in trafficking that the Feds weren’t aware of. And Pan had been doing it for some time. Of course, good intentions notwithstanding, this did in effect mean he was guilty of the crimes he was being accused of. Corey couldn’t shake the notion that the word “kidnapping” did apply here, and although the children seemed content, nay, happy in many cases, the fact remained they were taken from what was home and displaced by Pan himself. Corey wondered how many of them had been afraid rather than eager. How many of them, despite their terrible circumstances, missed one friend or family member or teacher that actually did care. Pan had also indicated that any of the children were free to leave as they wished, but to go where? What waited for them back home? In that sense, choice was illusory at best. Hi, I’m Will! Corey snapped out of his reverie and saw that a boy of about 8 or 9 had planted himself next to Corey. He clapped a plate on the table and was scissoring his utensils together playfully as he addressed Corey. Hi Will, I’m Corey. Are you a friend of Pan’s? Am I a friend? Yeah, but we just met recently. How do you like it here? Will kicked his legs out playfully and smiled wide. I love it! Everybody’s super nice and I have so many friends! Do you miss your old life at all? Something flashed over the boy’s features, as though he was stymied by the question. Maybe a few things. I loved my auntie. And my dog Grover. But…I didn’t love working all the time. Working? Hey, how are my White Sox doing?! The boy reached into his pocket, which seemed to be some kind of woolen breeches, and pulled out a tattered White Sox pennant. From the looks of it, it was very aged. Corey chuckled. I’m sorry Will, you’re talking to the wrong guy. I’m not much for baseball. I wish I could tell you. Not much for baseball! He responded incredulously, placing the tattered pennant down on the table. Corey’s eyes were drawn to again. It was incredibly faded. And that’s when he noted something unusual. 1917 World Champions. An uneasy feeling took Corey then. He narrowed his eyes at the pennant as he addressed Will. Will, where did you get that? My auntie bought it for me. Will, when did she buy it for you? Will pondered a bit before replying. Uhhh, I dunno. It was for my birthday. Like, a couple years ago. This wasn’t giving Corey the information he wanted, so he decided to press the issue directly. What year do you think it is back in my home? Will puffed out his cheeks as though this would require some serious contemplation. Well gee, I guess I don’t know for sure. I’ve probably been here for a few years by now. So, like, 1921? Corey’s stomach lurched. Of course this would be the case. Given what Pan had told him earlier. Of course it would be. He suddenly didn’t feel very hungry, but in an ironic counterpoint to his feeling a couple of the older youth brought in a steaming pot of some kind of stew. At the other end of the table Pan was starting up a song. Little Poll Parrot Sat in his garret Eating toast and tea. A little brown mouse Jumped into the house And stole it all away. And as Corey listened, he found himself torn between promise and apprehension. NOW To what do I owe this pleasure? When we can see where Corey is, it becomes plain that he’s on a boat. He has a pair of binoculars about his neck, and behind him some other sightseers are milling about, looking out at the ocean. I am of course speaking of the fact that I have not one, not two, not three, not four, not five, oh wait it’s just five…..FIVE potential opponents for Fire and Ice. Whew. Just then, there is a commotion behind Corey. Some of the other guests point and exclaim in English, French, and German (if you’re familiar with the lingua francas). Corey wheels around, slapping his binoculars up to his face. I can’t see it! Did I miss it? One of the passengers says something to him in French. Damn it! Then, to the camera operator. Why did I have to do this on my Icelandic Whale Watching Tour? Sorry dude, boss man wanted a clip today. Ehhhh…Corey curls up a lip in disdain. The same bossman who’s making me ref Duke vee Duke? He can go suck a fart. Corey sighs. As I was saying before I missed a glimpse of nature’s splendor, I’ve got five potential opponents gunning for my title. Apparently, my original opponent just couldn’t handle my swagger and dropped out of the XWF. Actually, I heard a rumor that she had a death in the family. Corey’s face drops. Oh Jesus, really? Just kidding. She caught a sad because Thad dumped her. Ass. Corey continues despite the NUMEROUS distractions. As I was saying, I have a veritable cornucopia of challengers to consider. But I’m not one to play the world’s smallest violin for myself here, because as bad as I have it, the rest of you lot have it SO MUCH WORSE. Think about it, each of you has to overcome three other guys and a shapeshifting lizard man (I presume). Except for the shapeshifting lizard man who only has to fight, uhh, four other guys. Yup. But then, you have to face me. And I’m preeeeety good, as they say. So, advantage: Core’meister. That’s not to say there isn’t some talent here. Three of you have already proven your mettle, or lack thereof, in an XWF ring. While two of you have done…well…nothing. I’m sure management has a sound reason for your inclusion that doesn’t involve copious amounts of bribery and or free drugs. Corey sits back on a railing overlooking the somewhat balmy Icelandic seas. But if there’s one thing veterans of the XWF know about me, it’s that I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE lists. I’m like Dustin Hoffman’s character Rain Man in the movie of the same name. The character’s name wasn’t Rain Man. Shush. That’s like saying the main character in Die Hard was named Die Hard. SHUSH! Have I not had enough interruptions! Corey bellows with mock imperiousness. Ah-Ha-HEM. So! I’m going to list my potential opponents in the order I most want to fight them, with five being about as much fun as a Chalupa diet with IBS and number one being MAH SPECIAL GUY. Ready? #5 The Chameleon AKA Mortal Kombat’s lamest hidden character. Much like the aforementioned palette swap ninja, I’m just not feelin’ this guy. I mean, I had to consult the bio on the XWF homepage, which I hate doing because it just feels so low effort, just to get a sense of who he is. And… You mean who THEY are. No, I mean…huh? They use the pronouns him and her interchangeably, indicating they probably fall somewhere on the gender fluid spectrum. Corey’s jaw drops as he realizes he just broke a staunch LGBTQ social norm. Oh my God Chameleon! I am SO SO sorry! How did I miss that?! I totally presumed your gender! My bad. Corey clears his throat. So, even after reading all that, I’m still not feeling THEM. He claps his hands together to highlight his use of the correct pronoun. I mean, to continue the Mortal Kombat motif, you would think I would be excited to fight a mirror match, ya know? But not really. Because as you all know, the mirror match was merely the final stop before Goro and Shang Tsung. Surely not boss battle material. So, am I just afraid of the prospect of facing myself? Well, honestly, yeah, but not for the reasons you think. Because the fact is, I am tremendously insecure. Fun fact: I never watch ANY of my own matches. It’s kind of like that thing where everybody hates the sound of their own voice. “I make THAT stupid face when I do that move?” “Why do I habitually touch my junk during a fight?” “Why does my ring gear make me look like I have some belly chub?” I’m just guessing at all these things by the way because as I said I never watch my own matches and certainly don’t obsess over them like I’m some sort of pathologically self effacing teenage girl mentally replaying a talk with their crush ad nauseum for weeks. SIGH. So yeah, long story short the prospect of facing them is a fucking nightmare come true for me so noooooooo thanks! But I do respect your right to identify as the gender of your choosing, or even no gender at all. Baby, you were born that way! #4 Dick Powers What form of syphilis is this? I’m kidding of course. I know Dick Powers is a human being. A scummy, disease ridden, making Harvey Weinstein look like a paragon of chivalry, human being. And I’m not interested in facing him. Reason? It’s because your shtick, Dick. See, I’ve always envisioned a wrestling company’s hierarchy a little differently than most. Most people divide it into main event, midcard, and curtain jerkers. But, I think there’s a fourth tier that lurks between the jerkers and the midcarders. And that tier is the schtick tier. Not meant to be taken seriously. But just funny enough to be slightly above enhancement talent, the guys and gals in this tier know what makes themselves tick and they’ll hit you over the head with it time and again. Some might call them one note jokes. Some are…well…correct. Dick Powers is shtick through and through. And hey, you could do worse! You’re in funny company, Dick. BX3. Calypso. Ghost Tank. Oh, oh, oh! And the crown royale of shtick tier, Robert Main! That guy is a barrel of laughs with his whole “I’m no longer a main eventer but I’m oblivious to it” persona! I mean, that’s gotta be self aware, right? …right? Anyway, while shtick might bring the funny, I’ve got nothing to prove against shtick tier. And they just don’t interest me. Dick Powers doubly does not interest me because we’ve seen the classless lech character done over and over. And Dick’s list of accomplishments? His team getting it pushed in at War Games. Yeah, there’s nothing for me here. Moving on! #3 Rampage Oh brother, it’s muthafudgin’ RAMPAGE! 7 feet, 460 pounds of bonafide BEEF CURTAIN baby! Ya know, I was tempted to put this guy higher. I mean, unlike most of the characters on this list, this guy’s actually done something, winning the TV championship very early on in his tenure. Nice work. Granted, you lost it to a feisty vampire (?) minx a month later, but hey, you’re in the history books. And man, the David v. Goliath story here just writes itself. I honestly don’t think I’ve faced a guy as big as Rampage. Bourbon’s the closest. But 7 feet? Mama mia. I got to admit, you would be a challenge. Hence you definitely not being scrub level on my list. Would my menagerie of strikes be enough? Could I even get you in the End of Ages if plan A doesn’t bear fruit? These are the kind of questions that make my scrotum tuck. I’m not sure I like the potential answers. But then again, I had a look at your scorecard since you last the TV title, and I gotta say, it ain’t so hot. In fact, since you lost the belt you haven’t won ANY matches. John Black Beat you. Michael Graves beat you. Some guy named MSG beat you. Why, I dare say, you may have been the quintessential flash in the pan. Plus, as we’ve seen, it’s not like you can’t lose to smaller competition. Vita’s smaller than me. And even though she probably has some freaky undead strength now or something, on paper that shoulda been a lock for you big man. It seems the further I plumb the depths of the details of your career Rampage, the less scary you are. So, what you REALLY got? We’ll see. Corey shifts his body a bit. Sorry, had to untuck the boys from before. NEXT! #2 Jay Omega Stop the presses! Has anybody told Robert Main that somebody’s cribbed the whole “Omega” thing? No? Yeah, I don’t blame any of ya. I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell him there’s another Omega running around who’s actually interesting. Corey mines putting out a cigarette on someone’s flesh. And holy hell, is this guy interesting. He’s got a spaceship?! Laser guns?! Cybernetic enhancements?! And I heard a rumor that this guy has a freakin’ dinosaur as a tag team partner? Corey throws his hands in the air. Jay, take all my money, PLEASE. I’ll buy all your merch from now until kingdom come. And don’t think Vinnie hasn’t already conceived of a myriad of ways to monetize you. You’re gonna be marketed in every Hot Topic, Gamestop, and Boxed Lunch from here to Peoria. But we’re not here to talk about Jay Omega the brand, we’re here to talk Jay Omega the wrestler. And once again, what we have is a newcomer who hasn’t been tremendously impressive. You lost your first outing to Lycana, and beating Lycana is like a rite of passage here for anyone who’s any good soooooo…. Corey shrugs. But then you beat Tommy Wish, and beating him is a rite of passage for anybody who’s mediocre. So, good job I guess? You would think that with all those cybernetic doodads you would have come in here like a house of fire, looking nigh unstoppable. But you haven’t. Now, I’m not one of those haters who’s gonna call bullshit on who you are and what you’re about. I think that time here in the XWF has passed (mercifully). So I’m assuming everything you said about yourself is true. So, where did you get your cybernetic enhancements then? Did you buy them direct from Apple? Or did you cheap out and go the flea market find, route? Ahhhh geez, you cheaped out didn’t you? Man, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life it’s that you never go cheap on toilet paper or technological augmentation! Didn’t anybody tell you that? But hey, if you know any hot aliens, give ya boy an inroad? Corey shoots the camera a double thumbs up. #1 Hayato Okamoto Ya sound like an anime, brah. Joking! Joking! I mean, you kinda do. But all kidding aside, I bet nobody was placing their bets on this guy being number one. Because Hayato has done zip dip zilch so far in the XWF. Now, my critics might say that I’m placing him in the number one spot because he’ll be easy pickins. In which case, “shit up critics”. Because in actuality, I’m putting him in number one for all of the tedious moralistic reasons you all know and love coming from me! I read your bio, Hayato. You’re the kind of decent that’s a rare breed in the XWF. But, we’re growing in number. I’ve got my eye on a couple others too. His mouth thins into a line as he remains tightlipped on this cryptic comment. Folks are gonna be quick to say you didn’t earn this. And honestly, you didn’t. It pains me to say it but you haven’t done anything yet to warrant this. But then why did I put you in my number one spot? Well, for the reasons I just stated. More than anybody else in this thing, myself included, your soul is bright and promising. Of all my potential opponents, the prospect of losing to you wounds me the least. The championship wouldn’t fall into lesser hands that would tarnish its brief legacy. Now, that isn’t to say I’m going to roll over and let you win. Far from it. I’m not done yet. He speaks these words with intensity. So if you want what I have, you’re going to have to come prepared to push your body to its breaking point. It’s your first XWF match Hayato, and if you make it to me, it’s gonna be a big ‘un. Nothing this side of perfection will suffice. You feel me? Now bring it in, tiger. Rawr. He chuckles playfully. Just then, the crowd of onlookers “ooooohs” yet again. Corey spins around just in time to see… Corey marvels at the sight. But, just barely, in the periphery, something else is lurking there too. A sadness working it’s influence, causing his smile to falter. The camera closes in on Corey’s face, and the operator speaks again. You finally got to see it, why you look so glum? Because there’s someone who would have loved to see this with me. Corey’s intones with a faraway mien in his eyes. BEFORE Corey enters his room, unraveling a makeshift knapsack that he certainly hadn’t left with and tossing it on the bed. His hair is discheveled, and his clothes sweatstained. A shower is calling. But before he can continue, Dolly Waters rounds the threshold into his room. Corey! Where have you been?! Corey smirks. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I tried to call you so many times! My phone died, and something tells me I wouldn’t have gotten great reception anyway. It dawns on him that something is wrong. Dolly, what’s going on? Dolly looks sick. It’s Christian. I tried to stop him, to talk to him, but… Corey’s eyes flick over to the folded piece of paper on the nightstand that had hitherto gone unnoticed. His heart sinks. He doesn’t even need to read it. Its mere presence, simple as it is, is a droning death knell. A tear creeps into his left eye. And all he can manage is to croak out… Oh no….