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**03-02-2015, 09:35 PM**

They say time heals all wounds, but had they lost what he lost?

Sure, it’s easy enough for them to sit in their comfortable chairs, behind their screens; typing up those heartwarming little sayings that young girls can hang above their door frames to cheer them up when they go through the oh-so-difficult prepubescent break up.

But all wounds?

With his very heart ripped from his chest, this saying was just as likely to send Marcus Jean-Baptiste into a murderous rage as it was into a fit of hysterical laughter.

All the hourglasses in the world wouldn’t contain enough sand to undo the heartache that he felt when he lost his daughter. The hopelessness, the despair that followed him likely would’ve driven a typical man to end the pain himself, but ironically the thing that saved him was the immeasurable guilt he felt for allowing it to happen. The very guilt that lead to his constant self-punishment kept him going. Kept him going, long enough to find a real cure for the pain. This one was real, however, not some corny line meant to entitle a lifelong boyband fan’s MySpace page.

He found the woman with the cure.

And then Beatrice found him.
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Several months it took for Marcus to wrap his head around the thought that this tiny, yipping animal could possibly be the result of some voodoo reincarnation magic. Not possible, right? Afterall, he grew up in a small, sheltered home. There was no talk of voodoo magic outside the occasional joke at dinner time about the local crazy woman who played with chicken bones and promised stronger erections with her snake blood stew.

And yet here he was, driving aimlessly around the country with his new companion by his side. She brought back all those warm feelings that had abandoned him so long ago. It wasn’t a quick process by any means. Many mornings were spent laughing at himself in the mirror for even considering that this sometimes pesky creature could contain any part of his beloved late daughter.

And yet just when he would convince himself that he was the victim of some dubious prank, the dog would do something that would instantly evoke memories of Beatrice: Wagging her tail at her old favorite song, growling viciously whenever Marcus would let a four letter word slip out at a negligent driver, or taking just a few extra minutes to stop and smell the flowers.

Was it Beatrice? Was it therapy? He didn’t know, and frankly he stopped caring. All he knew was that for the first time in years, he was no longer alone in the world. He finally had a purpose, and with that a revitalized will to become the best person he could be. The extra pounds of flab that encased his once chiseled frame melted off as he began to push himself back into the man he knew he could be. Gone was his sedentary, quiet lifestyle; replaced by a boisterous nomad with renewed passion and determination. The face of the man who simply stood by as life happened to him became obscured by a war paint that sent children running and their parents trembling.

Like Beatrice before him, Marcus Jean-Baptiste met his untimely end.

And like her, he was reborn…

He became Coco Mojo.
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As much as he enjoyed driving the countryside with his canine companion, Coco knew that with his newfound zeal that his life was still missing direction. He tried to hold down a regular job, but surprisingly few people were willing to hire a large man with face paint and a satchel holding a small dog permanently affixed to him. It wasn’t until a chance encounter with a backyard wrestling promoter did Coco find his true calling.

Coco met the man outside of a rundown gas station just outside of Reno, Nevada. The man was doubled-over, hyperventilating near the gas pumps. Curious and concerned, Coco’s natural instincts to help the man brought him over to offer assistance. The man took a mere moment to look Coco up and down and breathe a sigh of relief. The man explained that he ran a small wrestling show who just had one of his top draws come down with a crippling case of appendicitis. Despite no knowledge of the business, the man assured Coco that his size and his look would be all he needed to replace him, all he had to do was be able to fall gracefully. Coco wasn’t swayed by the money, but for the opportunity to get in front of all those people and prove to himself that he belonged in the limelight. The show was small, 20-30 in the audiences at most, but that night he learned something new about himself.

He belonged in a wrestling ring.

It wasn’t long after that the XWF offered the raw prospect a chance to join the roster, with an immediate opening in the Lethal Lottery. Coco was more than excited to join and show the world exactly what he could do.
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-+ Little Miss Bayou +-
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We pick up as Coco and Beatrice are making their way to the ‘Little Miss Bayou’ beauty pageant, and contest held for children around the New Orleans area.

WOOOOOOO BEA! ARE YOU READY!? WE’VE GOT THIS THING IN THE BAG!

Beatrice wags her tail and tilts her head, confused.

DONT’T BE NERVOUS! JUST BECAUSE THESE OTHER GIRLS HAVE FANCY DRESSES AND POOP INDOORS DOESN’T MAKE THEM ANY BETTER THAN YOU! WOOOOOOOOOOO! WE HAVE GOT THIS!

Beatrice’s tongue darts out of her mouth as she cracks the equivalent of a canine smile. Coco nods enthusiastically along with her as he turns his focus back towards the road.

And after that… We have my little competition. The big, bright lights of the XWF. So. FUCKING. Beatrice begins to growl.PARDON THE FRENCH BUT I AM EXCITED! My first match in the big time, and it’s against the Universal champion himself and some chump partner. The good doctor even took time out of his busy day to address me personally. HOW EXCITING IS THAT!? I mean sure, all he really did was re-tell the story of how I got here. Kinda weird I guess, but if he enjoyed the story so much that he felt the need to tell it himself, then paint me flattered. Thing is, I don’t think I particularly care for this guy from what I’ve heard. He sounds like a grade A prick and he looks like one of those mutant Barbie dolls from Toy Story.

Creepy as fuck. A louder growl.

WELL IT IS! And he keeps calling me ‘mister’ which is just a little too polite for my tastes. Do I look like a guy that wears suits and worries about diversifying my portfolio?

And then he called me his friend. That was the real puzzler. We’re not friends. Not homies, bros, amigos, compatriots, BFFs, bosom buddies, bromigos or anything near it. Fact of the the matter is, he’s an opponent and one that I’m going to respect because even though he couldn’t square up and face the true champion like a man when he was fresh, he’s still the guy to beat around here.

Beatrice lets out a loud yip, lays down and places her paws over her eyes.

Yeah, yeah, I know he’s going to come back with some terribly canned response about how he earned his title and blah, blah, blah. And you know what? He’ll probably then go off onto some rant about how I’m nobody to talk because I haven’t accomplished anything here yet. And he’d he be right, I haven’t done anything around here yet. But I will. Everyone knows that this guy is just a placeholder. He’s just keeping that title warm until someone like Justin Sane or Peter Gilmour come along and take it from him. What we see from Doctor D’Ville right now, is the pinnacle of his XWF career. Not bad, being at the top of the mountain and all, but how’s he going to be remembered? That’s an easy one, he’s going to forever be remembered as the guy who cashed in on Gator and lost his title when he got cashed in on just a couple weeks later.

But not Coco Mojo, no sir. Unlike the Doctor who admits he feels the need to prove himself, I’m just going out there to be me. I’m going to have fun and I’m going to show this guy why it’s a bad idea to just look past big Elijah and I. Because the moment he does, I’m going to pluck that fake ass eye out of his skull and I’m going to invite your little ass inside the ring and you can take a nice little poopy right inside the doctor’s eye socket. Bet he wouldn’t call me ‘friend’ after that!

I’ve done my research and I know what I’m up against. The XWF needs a new class of wrestler, at present it’s just plagued by a bunch of toddlers running around calling each other

. This is what the big league has to offer? Well if that’s the case it’s in for a rude awakening, and it starts with the universal champion going down in the very first round.
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A burly woman with a clipboard patrols the doorway to the hotel where the auditions are held. Her look exudes that of someone either suffering from a yeast infection or a hatred of their job. Coco takes a whiff of the air as he nears her and his lip curls, confirming his assumption: yeast infection. Sensing that he needs to play nice with with this moldypussed lumberjack of a woman, Coco approaches with a giant toothless smile on his face, to which the woman recoils in horror upon her noticing of him. Coco gives an uneasy smile as the woman shakes her head at him and Beatrice.

May I present to you, madam Beatrice Jean-Baptiste, the girl who’s going to win this whole competition.

“Sir. You realize this is a modeling competition for young women, don’t you?”

What are you saying?

“You can’t enter your dog…”

DON’T YOU CALL HER THAT! SHE’S A REAL GIRL! YOU’RE THE FUCKING DOG!

Coco gets into the woman’s face as she begins to speak, startiling her.

“You don’t need to WOOF!.. Sir you don’t WOOF! WOOF WOOF!...Are you seri--WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF! HOW DO YOU LIKE IT!? IT’S FUCKING ANNOYING ISN’T IT!?

“Sir, I’m sorry, there’s just nothing that I can do for you. I cannot allow your dog to enter the contest as it would make a mockery of the prestige of the event. Now if you’d like to speak with someone about entering her into a dog show, I’m sure one of the parents here would be happy to help you out.”

NO! NO DOG SHOWS! C’mon lady, surely you can see past that mustache of yours and realize that my baby girl has the talent, the looks, and the charisma to dominate this damn thing! What do I gotta do? Huh? Name it and I’ll do it.

The woman looks around and then motions for Coco to follow her into a nearby janitor’s closet. The woman points down toward her crotch and gives him a grin. She reaches for the door handle and the door closes as Coco takes a few deep breaths. The door slams shut and Beatrice wanders over, whimpering before laying down.

WHOA! THIS THING IS MOIST!

To be continued.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Part II: The birth of Coco Mojo
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