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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Relentless Day 1 (August 22nd) PPV RP Archive
"Loverboy" gets a room.
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Vincent Lane Offline
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#1
08-17-2014, 11:43 AM Heart  "Loverboy" gets a room. -->





(("Loverboy" Vinnie Lane is having a hard time. Having run out of the nice hotel room in Phoenix after his nightmare became too real and dropping a hotelier through a room service table, Loverboy did the only thing he could think of. He ran. He is sitting on a Greyhound bus, typing into a small laptop he bought earlier in the day at the airport before everything around him went to shit. It is a fitting first entry for a road journal.))

Saturday, August 16, 2014 - 5:45 pm.

Today I sat and watched from outside of my body while my mind dissolved. I left the Phoenix Westin without signing out. I left an employee snoring in a pile of blood and beer on the floor of my room. I left my rental car and I ran to a bus bench. There were homeless men sitting there, and I scared them away.

((Loverboy manages to chuckle at the memory as he types. The absurdity of it all is funny even in times of mental anguish.))

I scared away two men who were talking to themselves and smelling like they hadn't been inside a bathroom in months. They were afraid of ME. Why was that? I had time to think while I waited for the ValleyMetro bus, as it took over an hour for me to pick one I wanted to get on to. I needed to get somewhere, but I wasn't sure where. It ended up being Tempe. I've never been to Tempe. I just walked, thinking. Not knowing what to do or where to go. Azrael Erebus was in my head. Every time I blinked I saw his draconian eyes burning in the dark. Each shadowed alleyway was full of writhing black scales.


((Just then, a disheveled woman slumps into a seat right next to Loverboy. She had apparently been sitting elsewhere and watching him type for a little while. ))

Woman: Hey there, cutie. Whatcha writing in that computer you got there?

Loverboy: It's personal. Please go away. No offense.

Woman: Yeah? You sure? Look... I got no place to live, baby. I'm rolling down to Tucson just like you, but it looks like we're one of few people on this ride. How about I suck your dick back here for you and you give me a little cash for my next ride?

((Loverboy stands up suddenly, digging into his pocket until he fishes out a crumpled wad of bills. Tossing them down at the weather beaten woman without a glance in her direction, he finds a seat across the aisleway from his previous spot and sits again, typing rapidly into the laptop as the woman mutters swears at him and wanders away.))

Tucson. I found a Greyhound station in Tempe after what felt like forever walking in circles downtown. The hot Arizona sun is unforgiving in August, and I was coated in sweat. The problem is, even after I bought this ticket, seemingly at random, and got onto this bus headed south, I still haven't stopped sweating. It was over an hour ago. The bus is air conditioned. I'm cold, but I'm sweating. What the fuck did Azrael do to me, and how did he do it? I wasn't worried about the match at Relentless. I have been preparing for the big stage my entire career. I was born to be a headliner. Guys like Mastermind, Morbid Angel, Steve Davids - they don't scare me, because I know they're just placeholders, saving my spot for me for when I finally climb that ladder. When I got booked for Relentless in Phoenix next Friday and I saw I was up against Sebastian Duke, Enigma and Azrael I was excited. These were the cream of the crop. Azrael is a two time Universal Champion. Enigma is a multiple title holder. Duke's held every title out there too. They didn't intimidate me though, they thrilled me. Those big names, those title histories, they were my shot. I planned on riding the wave of taking away their trios titles all the way to singles megastardom. Who could ignore the guy who pinned any of those three dudes when he came calling for a shot at any other belt? But something happened in that Westin hotel room. I wasn't high. I wasn't drunk, but fuck I wish I was right now, and I definitely plan on being that way as soon as possible. That was more than a dream.


((The bus slows and the hydraulic brakes let out a hiss, startling Loverboy from his concentration. The doors across from him snap open and the dozen or so patrons of the Greyhound all start to file off of the bus as the driver announces the location.))

Driver: Tucson. End of the line. Everybody must exit. Sir? Please gather your things and disembark the vehicle.

((Loverboy snaps his laptop shut and gathers his bags, hoisting them both over his right shoulder as he slowly walks down the three steps to the cement curbside below him. Almost immediately the doors behind him slide shut, and the bus rolls forward into a bay. The Greyhound station is dirty adobe, like everything in the desert. Loverboy walks and soon comes to a run down by-the-hour motel, the sort you get when you find a date on the side of the road. He heads in and walks to the counter, brushing the omnipresent sand from his hair and jeans. Behind the counter is a bored, middle aged man of ambiguous ethnicity, who barely looks up from his small TV, ironically playing a repeat of XWF Warfare, while checking Loverboy in.))

Cashier: Ten dollar a hour, my friend. You want a night it is 45 dollar.

Loverboy: Whatever, that's fine. Cash.

Cashier: Sign here my friend. You get room six. It good room. Where is girl?

Loverboy: No girl. I'm here for the night, alone. I just want some privacy.

Cashier: Yeah, good, sure. No police bother you here my friend. Hey! You like the wrestles?

((The cashier is looking back and forth at Lane and his ID, seemingly about to make a connection, but confused by Lane's real name on the identification. He shakes his head and hands the card back to Loverboy along with a key on a rubber fob.))

Cashier: Room six. Be check out by 11 am.

Loverboy: No worries, dude.

((Loverboy turns and walks out of the office as the cashier's eyes grow wide and he opens his mouth to call out to him. The door closes behind Loverboy before he can hear anything, however, and he turns down the row of peeling wooden doors until he finds room number six. Right next to the dumpster.))

Loverboy: Good.

((The key slides into the lock and the door opens after sticking a moment. Loverboy walks into the room, which is practically bare. Even the television is gone. There's nothing more than a desk, a small table, and a bedside table with a basic alarm clock and one drawer, undoubtedly holding the ubiquitous copy of Gideon's bible. Loverboy drops his bags and sits on the bed, which creaks under his weight. He opens his laptop again and fiddles with the mousepad for a moment, then smiles suddenly.))

Loverboy: Son of a bitch! This rat hole has WiFi! God damn... I really need to unwind.


((Loverboy opens his web browser and types in the address to a webcam site he frequents:
http://www.myfreecams.com/#LilHolliePop
The screen lights up with the face of a young, pretty blonde girl, lying naked on a bed. She smiles as soon as she looks up into the screen.))

Hollie: Loverboy! Hey babe! You want to do a private with me?

Loverboy: You know I do, sweetheart.

((Loverboy types in the reply and then clicks on the appropriate button, then waits while the camera shot goes black for a moment and slowly returns.))

Hollie: It's just you and me now baby, how have you been? I saw your match...

Loverboy: Yeah? Shit was awesome, right? I just about broke Fandango's neck.

Hollie: You really did baby...

((Hollie spreads her slender legs open, showing the large gun tattooed on her inner thigh as she reaches her hand between her legs and begins to play with herself.))

Hollie: Aren't you gonna get comfortable, baby? You've got a big one...a match, I mean... coming up Friday. You need to relax a little.

Loverboy: Yeah... you might be right. Duke and Enigma are no joke, even though I think they think I'm one. Enigma has talked more about Tommy Gunn and Steve Davids than he has about me. And Duke? Who knows where that guy's hiding... what have you got for me, sugar?

Hollie: What do you want, baby? You want to see me pet my kitty for you? Just get that dirty shirt off and come back to me so we can play, okay? I want to see that body while I make myself cum for you.

((Loverboy stands from the bed and kicks off his boots, walking toward the small bathroom. He peels the sweat drenched Van Halen t-shirt off of his lithe upper body and tosses into a corner while he goes to the sink and turns the knobs to get the water flowing. It takes a second, but the water eventually pours from the small faucet and Loverboy catches it in his cupped hands, bringing it up and washing it over his tired face. The wetness drips down his chin as he braces himself with one hand on either side of the sink, then lifts his head to look into the mirror.))

Loverboy: JESUS! FUCK!

((Loverboy jumps back from the sight. His reflection is covered with blood pouring from his ears, nose, mouth and scalp. He reaches up to feel his face, but as he touches his skin the reflection shows the flesh falling from between his fingers. Then, through the wounds in his face, insects start to crawl. Small beetles, followed by nightcrawlers and cockroaches. As Loverboy opens his mouth to scream he sees a black scorpion on his tongue in the mirror. He wails incomprehensibly and runs from the room, jumping back onto the bed and crying into the webcam.))

Loverboy: Hollie! Help me! My face!

Hollie: Your face? What do you mean, baby? Why are you yelling?

Loverboy: MY FACE! MY FACE! IT'S AZRAEL AGAIN I KNOW IT. WHAT THE FUCK.

Hollie: You are freaking me the fuck out, Vinnie. I'm blocking you.

((The laptop screen goes to an unavailable notice and Loverboy shoves it off the bed. He stands and starts trashing the room, throwing the end table into the wall and flipping the desk. The bible falls from the drawer of the broken end table and Loverboy momentarily stops screaming as he reaches for it. He sinks to the floor, hugging himself with his free arm and rapidly flipping through the pages of the good book with the other, rocking back and forth.))

Loverboy: Azrael...


Azrael...



Azrael...

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