Scene 1: When Your Love Gets Cold

Two lovers sit together on a gray blanket as they bask in the arctic moonlight. The biting winds whip imperfect snowflakes through the air around the couple as they hold each other close for warmth. The bearded lover is wrapped from head to toe in a variety of coats, scarves, and salopettes- multiples of each. He speaks softly to his fully nude soulmate as he caresses the tramp stamp of his name etched into her plate.

“You know, Goldi….all these riled up snowflakes are starting to remind me of the XWF locker room. They can’t help but work themselves up into a frenzy every time they set eyes on The Nickleman. I know I have them all mad, I have them all fuming. They still can’t believe I brutalized their precious Betsy. And now I heard through the grapevine that everyone is calling me a No Good Bastard after what me and my boys did to Terry Borden. Ohhhh I know I’ve got damn near three quarters of that locker room pissed at me, or rather, pissing their drawers when they look at me!”

Charlie looks up at the moon with a satisfied smirk as he holds the championship belt in his arms.

“And it’s all thanks to you…”

Charlie looks up into the moonlight with beaming satisfaction as he clutches his lover to his chest. A few seconds roll by before a look of confusion washes over Charlie’s face. He holds the championship belt out in front of him and looks down at it with mild distress.

“Wait, baby….are you pissed at me too?”

As Charlie ‘listens’ to Goldi’s response his eyes start to water. A few tears start to drip down his face but they almost immediately become frozen to his cheek.

“Why? What did I do wrong?! I haven’t been anything but kind to you!”

Charlie raises his voice but it isn’t out of anger. He sounds confused, remorseful, even scared. The winter winds continue to whip snowflakes through the air as Charlie holds Goldi out in front of him. His expression turns solemn and his demeanor softens as Goldi ‘speaks her mind’.

“Oh….I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Charlie drops the TV championship into his seated lap as he stares off into the distance.

“I….I….”

The Nickleman sighs softly as he closes his eyes. He was about to do something he had never done before, and it was awfully difficult for him.

“I….I suppose I should apologize to you.”

Charlie lifted the TV championship up so that it was directly in front of his face. He opened his eyes and stared into the centerplate of the championship.

“I don’t have much experience doing this, but I owe you my best shot. I am trying to grow as a person, after all. I want to grow old with you, build a life with you- I want to have the kind of relationship with you that so many women have wanted to have with me. I think it’s finally time I settled down for good. I want to be a better person for you Goldi, I want to be the kind of man you are proud to be held by, proud to be represented by.”

Charlie stared into Goldi’s ‘soul’ with solemn eyes as a few moments of silence passed. Then, Charlie continued to apologize to a literal belt.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you like that. Of course you are the only apple for my eye. You are the only cherry pie I want to indulge in. To be totally honest with you, Goldi…”

Charlie sighed softly.

“I should have known better. The love that we have is special, and letting some poverty-stricken single mother dance all up on me isn’t proper monogamy. I did it to showboat, I did it to flaunt, I did it to make Terry Borden look absolutely foolish, I did it to make myself look like a star….I didn’t even think of how it was going to make you feel.

That was selfish of me. So selfish.”

Charlie spoke those last two words with self-directed venom. His brow furrowed as he raged internally against himself.

“I need to be better, you deserve better. You deserve so much better. You deserve the whole world, Goldi.

I’m so sorry. I need to put you first, that’s how relationships work- that’s how relationships function. I mean, what kind of hypocrite would I be for chastising Betsy’s narcissism only to fall into the same selfish habits? You’ve had a difficult and trying last couple of months, Goldi, and I can’t allow myself to put you through any more pain.

I mean, how did I feel watching you hang around another man’s waist? I couldn’t stand those images, I couldn’t stand them at all. It is so unfair for me to put you through that same pain. I won’t let it happen again, I promise you.”

Charlie nodded affirmation in the direction of his championship belt. Then, his mouth went agape and his eyes went wide. He shook his head from side to side as he held the TV belt in front of his face.

“No, no, no, no! No way! It’s not going to happen! I promise you my next match stipulation has NOTHING to do with floozies or tramps! In fact, I brought you here to give you the first look at what I have in mind for Saturday night’s main event!”

A few moments passed before a smirk spread across Charlie’s now frostbitten face.

“Well then baby, why don’t you allow me to show you?”

Charlie stood up with his championship belt in tow. He grabbed Goldi by the center plate with his right hand and stepped off of the gray blanket. Charlie bent over and placed the championship belt on top of the blanket.

“This will keep you warm and dry, my love. I’ll get you wet when we get to where we are going.”

Charlie winked at his championship belt before blowing a sloppy kiss her way. A bit of his saliva dripped down onto the belt’s leather strap. The Nickleman wrapped the blanket around the belt until the fit was tight. He grabbed the blanket with his right hand before he began his trek out into the snowy tundra. The camera zooms out until Charlie is just a tiny speck on a mostly white screen. A faint whisper from Charlie is carried along the winds as the scene fades out.

“My Christmas gift to you, Goldi, is the first step along our path to redemption…”

Cut to black.

Scene 2: I’ll Warm You With My Flames

The Nickleman approaches the snowclad manor with the blanketed belt in his right hand. The uncovered fingers on Charlie’s right hand appear to have turned pale blue during the perilous journey. Charlie is completely covered in snow from head to toe. The champion uses his left hand to wipe the frosty perspiration off his face with an officially licensed XWF mitton. After the snow is mostly cleared from his face Charlie looks down at his mitton with appreciation.

“Being the television champion has its perks. They give you freebies off all the good stuff.”

Charlie looks down at his discolored right hand.

“It’s a shame they only give the quote-unfucking-quote “midcard champs” half of what we’re owed. But I don’t need to impress those pindicks in pinstripes….the only person I need to impress is you, darling.”

Charlie unwraps the television championship and leaves the gray blanket laying in the snow. The Nickleman brings the championship plates to his lips and gives it a loving kiss before he wraps the belt around his waist.

“I told you that would keep you dry, baby. Now it’s time to get you revved up and wet again. We both know how much you love it when I give those dirty tongue lashings to my opponents.”

Charlie grins devilishly as he secures the straps of the championship belt on his lower back.

“Do you remember this house, Goldi? Do you remember this rooftop?”

Charlie began the long walk up towards the front door of the megamansion.

“Well yes baby, the original building was burned down last Christmas- but I had the XWF stage crew reconstruct it. When you’re the champion they just do whatever you tell them to do if you say it’s part of your stipulation.

You see Goldi, I have come back to you to make everything right. To correct every wrong we had, to unblemish our perfect love. That long journey starts here, during this very holiday season.”

Charlie Nickles began closing in on the house’s front door. The snowy footprints behind him were almost immediately covered up by the snowflakes being pushed around so roughly by the wild winds.

“You remember that foul night, don’t you? That accursed stipulation? The ‘Rooftop Clatter Spectacular’. The match takes place atop a large, snowy rooftop surrounded by barbed-wire Christmas lights. The first person to stuff their opponent down the chimney was declared the winner. Only someone as sick and cruel as Doc D’Ville could come up with such a ridiculous pretense for outright cheating. The chimney being rigged to collapse mid-match, the house burning to the ground, and Barney Green interfering to snatch away my victory were never part of the plan…yet I wasn’t powerful enough to stop it. I wasn’t powerful enough to overcome the treacherous conditions….

It’s time to right that wrong.

This Christmas Good Saint Nickleman is back again but this time, you can keep the milk and cookies cause I ain't going down any damn chimneys!“

Charlie smirked with undeserved pride after that last line. He walked up the steps to the house with a slight shiver in his step. His lips were turning purple as he approached the front door of the manor. He placed his swollen right hand on the door and knocked on it softly.

“It’s time to redeem ourselves Goldi. It’s time to begin the greatest run of all time. Our love will go down in history as the greatest of all time- our names will be etched alongside each other in the Hall of Legends by the time the sun sets on our reign. One by one we will dispatch each and every enemy they place before us, and one by one we go back and fill every pothole we ran over along our road to glory.

It starts on Christmas Night."

Charlie opened the unlocked door with his left hand and stepped through the doorway with haste. The lights in the manor were already on. Charlie slammed the door shut behind him immediately and breathed a sigh of warm relief.

“I wasn’t sure we were going to make it out there, Goldi. Those winds are treacherous. Leave it to XWF management to book the most inhospitable locations for our shows….I wonder if this was the cheapest venue they could find.

Regardless, I have a special show planned for you, Goldi. I think you’re going to like it a lot.”

Charlie and Goldi walk through an elaborately decorated mansion. XWF paraphernalia hangs from every wall and every surface. It’s safe to say the interior designer made sure this reconstructed house was dripping with swag. Charlie and Goldi pass beneath immensely tall ceilings as they step on golden-crusted marble tiles. Charlie can’t help but chuckle at the excess.

The pair turn a corner and walk into a dimly lit room. There is a lit fireplace in the wall decorated with elaborate brickwork. The only other light source in the room comes in the form of a small candle sitting on a wooden end table. The candle’s intermittently red, white, and green wax drips straight onto the tabletop. Charlie rubs the golden plates of his championship belt with his discolored hand as he speaks quietly to it.

“This is going to be a nasty thrashing. After we’re done here I’m sure you’ll be begging me to take you upstairs. Don’t worry you nasty little thing, I’ve got the dungeon all prepped up for us.”

Charlie winks down at the belt on his waist as he walks further into the room. Right between the multicolored candle and the chimney’s fireplace there is a velvet cushioned chair. In front of the chair there sits a camera perched atop a tripod. As Charlie walks by the camera he pushes the power button causing the red ‘filming’ light to pop on.

The perspective of the camera switches from XWF drone footage to that of the tripod. Charlie walks into frame with a confident swagger, suddenly bereft of all of his winter clothing. He’s wearing his usual goodwill rejections while Goldilocks remains strapped just above Charlie’s groin. The Nickleman sits down in the chair and gets comfortable before he addresses the camera.

“Last Christmas The Nickleman gave an incredible gift to each and every one of you dirty motherfuckers that enjoys XWF programming. I put on a 5 star classic, all time great match. But that Christmas I also gave Fraud D'Ville the gift of a gentleman’s agreement to keep our match clean and above board- yet STILL he relied on outright cheating to win.

But:

It’s water under the bridge. I’ve made peace with the fact that I wasn’t good enough to overcome both Barney Green and Doc D’Ville last Christmas. I know I need to be better in the future….and the future starts next Saturday night on yet another rooftop.

I told Karen Hunt and Mr. Big to find me another great match-up so I can deliver another 5-star clatter spectacular to all the disgusting little brats that watch our shows during the holidays. I told them to put me across from another legend, another Hall of Famer so that we can showcase the best action that the X-treme Wrestling Federation has to offer.”

Charlie stared deadpan into the camera.

“Unfortunately, management failed. So now I’m matched up with Elijah Martin.”

Charlie throws his hands up in a plea of innocence.

“Look folks, my hands are tied. I pressured them to give me someone good, I pressured them to put me across from a winner. But did you all see that booking room? I suppose not, but folks let me tell you how the sausage is made. When Karen Hunt was calling out for folks to sign up for holiday matches on Savage that room was damn near EMPTY. Half the folks came in demanding a tag match, and half the folks didn’t come in to get booked at all!

It turns out that ending four careers in one year makes people hesitant to fight you. My reputation makes people run away from the booking room on the off-chance that they may be promoted to a main event match-up against The Nickleman.”

Charlie Nickles squinted into the camera as he leaned forward. He placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together.

“That’s right Elijah. Four Careers. The lives of four XWF professionals, altered forever after their encounters with yours truly.”

Charlie unclasped his hands and started counting the numbers out on his frostbitten right fingers.

“Dallas Marshall.

Lynx.

Dick Powers.

Terry Borden.”

Charlie grins sadistically as he sticks his thumb out.

“Five careers if you care to listen to what Centurion says. He said Betsy Granger may never be able to recover from the mental anguish I put her through at Bad Medicine.”

Charlie cocked his head to the side with a douchey demeanor.

“Do you want to make it six, Elijah Martin? Because trust me: I’m prepared.”

Charlie cracked a smile and leaned back in his chair casually.

“But of course I don’t want to do that to you buddy. You’re the most entertaining act on Thursday nights! Watching you bitch it out with that tiny little puppy is grade-A stuff! Losing matches because a dog barks at you, duking it out with nobody commentators just to get a shred of momentum going, god you’re the gift that just keeps on giving every Thursday night!

If I ended Elijah’s career who would be around to put over the young talent we have on Anarchy? This guy’s not ready to be the television champion- he would just drop the strap right to Harmon Hays! Seriously, this guy is busting his ass every Thursday night to make HGH look the way I make Doc D’Ville look! Elijah Martin is putting in overtime to make HGH look the way that Betsy Granger keeps making me look!

What kind of Urban-fucking-Meyer champion would we have in Elijah Martin? This dude is out here blaming literal chihuahuas for his pinfall losses! He blames his tag partners for his tag losses, he blames the commentators for his championship losses! The dude talks a big game but he doesn’t take any accountability at all for his failures. He’s not up to snuff but instead of improving his game he just casts blame. Typical fucking New Yorker.

The difference between you and me, Elijah Martin, is that The Nickleman has finally taken control of his own destiny. I’m owning up to my mistakes so that I can chase greatness with earnest and open eyes. You’re blinding yourself to your own missteps and that’s why you’re bound to repeat that vicious cycle of failure.

You won’t catch me slipping again Elijah, you can bet this entire fucking house on that. I know your weakness now.”

Charlie grins as he leans forward in his velvet cushioned chair once more. His grin morphs into a snarl when he furrows his brow.

“If you don’t like dogs you best not even show up next Saturday night because The Nickleman is the meanest dog of them all and he might just put you down, Elijah Mutt-en!”

A few seconds pass before Charlie’s snarl turns to a smile. He leans back and waves at the camera as we fade to black.