Title: Swedish Treats & Wicked Beats [Dual Halo & Night One RP]
Featuring: Wicked Ways
Date: The Week Prior to Culture Shock
Location: Canada / USA / Russia

March 4th, 2009

The story-tall glass window pane shatters of the extremely geeky Apple Store all over the sidewalk. Onlookers stop and watch in fright. Nerds run in hysteria. And the raging Swedish Shark steps over the glass, crunching enough little pieces to make sounds that in turn spin the downed Apple Store employee to his back. He scrambles for freedom.

"Please mister," he screams. "I’m not the guy- don’t hurt me, please!"

Rippa lifts the scrawny, pimple-covered Trekie to his feet and then tosses him back into the store through the other window. Smashing it into pieces and making two brand new and exciting exits for the remaining customers of the Macintosh retailer. Two people inside, however, stand firm at the counter.

"Sorry about that. He hates when people assume he’s from Switzerland," Ruby playfully banters with the frightened staff member of this technology sphere from Heaven.

"Fuck that," Scraps steps up to the counter and slams his fist on the counter. He holds up an iPhone. "Who won? You, (pointing) peasant. Tell me now."

"Who won…" the employee pauses, waiting. "…what, sir? Who won what?"

A smooth fist sends Doofy McDweeb against the wall and then into a nice and neat pile of person on the floor. Scraps looks around for some other available help. He snaps and points at another redhead. Common ties makes friends for life. "You, Ginger Boy. Who won the Haiku contest? The winners are announced today."

"Haiku…contest?"

"Smart ass…" As Scraps rears back to split this know-it-all’s head in two a hand grabs his arm. The soft touch he remembers from some time ago. He looks down to his right and notices a petite African-American woman. She courteously smiles amidst the carnage.

"Who are you, wench?" Rippa says, clutching his fist around her collar and lifting her well above his head. Scraps frantically brushes off his arm

"Space dust, gross." He looks up. "Alright, Nerdluck. Where are the results for the iPhone Haiku contest? And where is my twenty-five thousand space bucks?"

The woman is dumbfounded. Her blank stare is most likely the reason Rippa drops her all four feet she was lacking and crumples to the tile floor. Another Apple Store peon stands nearby with a Mac Book. It is open to the results page.

Scraps tears it from the clutches of this young man as Rippa pushes him away. The two scour the page for their name. From top to bottom the eyes zip from left to right. The two looked at each other and then at the smaller man in front of them in his blue polo.

"Sorry guys." He shrugs apathetically and extends an open palm. "I tried too. I guess there’s always next year, right?"

Scraps lowers one eyebrow at this hand in front of him invading the space he uses for babes or whooping ass â€" a dangerous zone, indeed â€" and Rippa looks down at him, confused.

"Next year?" Rippa asks Scraps. The two look at the little man.

"Yep. We didn’t win anything."

Scraps’ expression changes. "We?"

Rippa cracks his knuckles slowly. "Did you say didn’t win?"

*****

One week earlier…

The scene we find is not one of much rarity. The walls are dressed with things you would typically find in the current residence of the Heeliest Heels in PRIME. A Nazi flag drapes over the window to block out all light and create a Hell-like red, always. A pile of ripped up teddy bears and unicorn bones rest, freshly charred I add, in a makeshift burning barrel-slash-treasure-chest that sits in the corner of the living room. Hey, sometimes it’s hard finding entertainment in Canada â€" which is where we find ourselves just days after the latest ReVolution.

Oh, you missed? Well basically the "nobodies" Wicked Ways did a number on Tyler Rayne and cemented themselves as the new Public Enemy. By way of a little help from Devin Shakur, Ruby got her boys smack dab in the middle of the spotlight, putting a lick on the Underground Gimp in front of millions worldwide. I’m sure it won’t be long before things get real messy when Rippa gets his hands on Rayne during the Halo.

Either way, PRIME’s latest plague sits next to one another in everyday threads. Rippa actually is wearing a no. 16 Joe Montana jersey and black sweats. He also is wearing a pair of rockin’ shades. The venomous Ruby sits, cross-legged, across from Rippa with her arms folded over her ample chest. The look on her face spells a feeling of...disbelief.

"A what?" she snaps. "A haiku contest? Can you write a haiku, Swedey?"

Rippa snags the cellular device from Ruby. His eyes light up as he looks back at the screen.

"Correction, dear" Rippa responds Swedishly soft and with a waving his finger. "Not just any haiku contest... an iTouch haiku contest, Ruby. Winner gets twenty-five grand, man!" Rippa and Scraps high fives Scraps who are both pumped. They glance at Ruby who stares on, annoyed as you with pee on your face. "Oh, and..." Rippa awkwardly stumbles onto the fact he’s forgotten her as a part of the team. He’s no sexist, even women count. Raising his arms and rising he shouts, "…aaaaand woman!" He smiles graciously at Ruby who just rolls her eyes, remembering he’s probably more of an ape than his primordial ancestors.

Tom’s face scrunches a bit. He furrows his brow then folds his arms over his brawny chest. "I wrote a fuckin’ wicked haiku yesterday. Read it to you guys and everything. Right fuckin’ here. What is this bullsh-"

"That’s right!" Ruby snaps to and sits forward, bouncing her index finger to Tom but looking to Rippa. "It was yesterday. But was it a haiku?"

Scraps held slumps to the other side as his eyes narrow at the jet-head (jet black hair, doof). He shakes it a bit and offers no response. She can figure it out herself. As the two share a battle of non-blinks tension seemingly grows.

"Yeah," Rippa chuckles. "But it is not going to win us twenty-five thousand bucks! Do you remember what it was? You were here. And, unfortunately…" Rippa begins rolling to the ground as Ruby is bewildered by this question. "I was too!"

"Shut the fuck up," Scraps snaps and shoots a short jab into Rippa big bicep. The Swedish Shark flinches away and clutches his damaged limb.

"I was?" she asks. "I don’t. Tom…"

Shit. She said Tom. Anytime Ruby says Tom, she wants something, or needs something, or has something pretty damn annoying to say. Scraps looks up, slowly, waiting for something he really did not want to hear. Without lifting his head, he gave his attention to the managing third of Wicked Ways in a casually calm manner. "Yeah...?"

"Why don’t you read it again?" Ruby quickly demands. Her look did not help any effort to get out of it. Cold, decisive; Tom felt like he was eye to eye with the Devil herself. Those grayish blue eyes were peeling holes into his soul. what soul?

"Why don’t you fuck yourself, Rube?" drops the rising Scraps into an otherwise pleasant room. He looks to Rippa. "Fuck you, too, Swiss." Pointing with both hands, Scraps sticks out both index fingers at eye level. "Fuck both of yas. You want me to do somethin’? Kiss my ass. I do what I want how I want…when I want." Kicking over his chair Scraps backs away from the table as Ruby’s facial expression shifts from demanding to regretful. Tom glares at Ruby.

"Tommy...please," she pleads reaching her open palm toward him on the table.

Shit. She said Tommy. Anytime she says Tommy she is everything he loves. So sweet. So gentle. So...submissive. He reaches for his back pocket in advance to her request.

"Just read it. We won’t laugh." Ruby smiles a bit and Rippa bite his tongue as he looks on in enjoyment. Tom reveals an unfolded piece of notebook paper in his left hand. Holding it with both hands, he bows his head down to begin reading from the piece of paper ahead of him. Ruby clasps her hands together and curls her lips in hesitation.

"Fuck the Union... by Thomas O’Connor." He starts with authority. Lifting his eyes to his peers, Tom swallows whatever second thoughts he has. He looks up suddenly. "This is a haiku, by the way."

Both members roll their hands in the air, egging him to continue. Scraps clears his throat, throwing an empty hand through his flowing red mane, and reads aloud:

"Luis and Jack are crap
Booked against us? That is whack
Board must be smokin’ crack"

Ruby’s head falls into her hand. She tries to hold in her laughter but simply cannot. Rippa stands and points into the face of his partner. The stern look from the Swede seems serious. "I can only imagine what your iTouch Haiku will say. I put all of my faith in your haikubilities. Now, we just need a B-list celebrity to say it on camera and a time machine."

Ruby’s face scrunches in question. "Why a time machine?"

"Just in case..." Rippa says mysteriously foreshadowing or something.

*****

"And after that, I never even got tired during sex." Rippa and Tom share a look over a red light as they wait in traffic. Glancing up, Tom notices the light change and he moves on through the city.

"Look, Ripp. I don’t know about you but for me there’s got to be more to life than wrestling" he said waving his finger from right to left. "I mean how many times can we get inside a four-square and hit the ball around, ya know? I mean the Brain Trust barely even honored that fluke win DUI took over us. They barely even knew about the Just stunt. The excitement factor only gets so high nowadays. You got to find your own... outside the ring... if ya dig what I’m sayin’?" Smoke exits Tom’s fuming nostrils. He blows the rest into the passing breeze through the window. "sure. All this is great. It’s comfortable, it’s practical to an extent. this is what Ruby wants for us, ya know?" Tom pauses briefly. "But is this what you want?"

The Swede looks to his partner painted with confusion. His eyes say it all. Wide open and waiting for the next thought to come into his head. He sits there, silent, and slowly comes to a realization that is perhaps one of his most life altering. "What else is there? I come to America for reasons you can’t imagine. You, you are a man of spirit. Of fighting and constant pain. You drink to ease this life-long pain and to forget your lack of impact on the world and in your own meaningless life."

Scraps’ head turns slowly to his new-found co-worker. The blond is looking forward, paying no mind to the redhead who can’t help but tune in closer and grow a bit agitated.

"Me," Rippa starts with a brief pause. A slight chuckle comes to break the silence. "I am a champion. A born competitor destined for glory and trophies and parades and t-shirts... I was born to become the greatest wrestler to walk the Earth. I have started my path here in PRIME but trust me, my friend, I have sought new opportunities daily and will not hesitate in my path to glory... to greatness... to gold."

Tom’s eyes narrow but then correct as he comes to a realization of his own. His counterpart wasn’t too wet behind the ears to be playing this game. Veljumin Rippa was simply a Swedish man who had the same calculating maniacal schemes Scraps had but just wanted to be called the best at it. That’s the difference. The similarity is their difference. Their difference is their similarity.

Veljumin’s eyes stare out of the window as blocks disappear in the distance. His whole life had been trying to become the greatest at something. First it was weight-lifting and after that was basketball. The last resort was Greco-Roman freestyle in Greece. All were successful in terms of making the team or show or placing but none were exciting. All the thoughts of the past run around Rippa’s head as a silence grows in the cab of the Yukon.

Veljumin turns back to the redhead who had been gracefully navigating his way through the city confines. Rippa’s jaw slowly opens while his eyes stayed fixed to the traffic. "I want what you have, Toms…"

"Me? Wait a minute kid" he says. Scraps’ eyes shot to the side of the car. Honking and beeping would have you think he’s about to crash but he isn’t. Tommy does a double-take to confirm he heard right. "W-what I’ve got? What the Hell do I have anybody would ever want? You said it yourself, I’m filled with pain and agony and I’m-"

"No." Grabbing his thick beard and chin, Rippa looks into the near future. His face goes from uncertain to absolute. He raises his finger. "You’re fearless…"

Something in his head clicked. Tom’s eyes went almost blank except his autopilot had kicked in just about the time the crash was to happen. O’Connor’s thoughts scorched his brain with tire-tracks as he contemplated his partner’s psychological evaluation. Tom looks to Rippa, grinning. Fearlessly.

Clutching the side of his leg, Tom pulls out his iPhone. "Hey Rube."

A brief pause. "Wait…what!?" Tom’s head snaps toward Veljumin and his eyes widen for miles. "Bleeding? How bad?" Another brief pause. "On a scale from one to ten."

Rippa waits anxiously and clutches his lower lip with his big, meaty paws. Tom hangs up the phone and slams the gas pedal down, making the car sound like an accelerating rhinoceros impregnated with a Hemi. The redhead glances to Veljumin but says nothing. He doesn’t need to.

*****

"Alright," Scraps says softly. "This is it."

Rippa glances up and down the building on his side of the car while Scraps leans forward, getting his look through the windshield. "This is it? It doesn’t look like..."

"No, rip. This is it. Trust me, okay?" Tom’s hand gesture cuts any doubt from the conversation as Rippa nods firmly. The two look to one another. "You sure you wanna do this?"

Rippa grins. "I want what you’ve got. The fearlessness."

Tom flicks the handle on his door and nods to Veljumin. The two exit with haste and pull their jackets tightly closed. Scraps tosses his expired cigarette and reaches inside his jacket. He spreads a skull cap over his head and covers his hands in black gloves. He removes a pipe from his jacket before zipping it up. Rippa, simplistically, storms up the stairs to a pair of old wooden doors. The kind a big man could kick down given he had enough size and strength. Scraps taps his partner’s shoulder.

"Your cap" he whispers to his bigger ally.

"No. You’re crap." Turning away and leaving Scraps’ face covered in confusion, Veljumin curls his foot up and sends his right foot into the middle of these wooden doors. The frame begins to creak and suddenly, as expected, the lumber gateway falls to floor with the roar of a whore.

Scraps looks at Rippa through the dust. "I meant your hat."

"Oh!" The blond frantically pulls it over his thick mane and then smiles down at his partner. The sound of appears to be foot soldiers can be heard storming to the scene. Scraps steps over the wood pile meanwhile Rippa stands waiting for approval. "How’s this?"

*****

Ruby’s sun-soaked legs glisten in the sun as only super models do. In a skimpy sun dress, her figure is quite noticeable around the Universal Studios campus. She wears a straw sunhat also and a big pair of dark sunglasses. Her mini purse in hand, she finally makes it up to the door with a big ‘C STUDIO’ on the front. She surveys her surroundings then opens it quick enough to sneak in.

"Jesus Mary and Mother…" The dark set makes finding footing hard as Ruby clutches onto the metal around her in hope of safety, although it is likely controlling some super important piece of equipment. She makes it an opening and spots a group of people. Walking up, she smiles brightly, and waves. "Hi y’all! Chastity Banes. Can ya tell me where I might find Mr. James van der Beek?"

She follows directions from one man who simply thumbs over his shoulder. She makes her way by them, recognizing a few less than popular smells and turns around. "Oh, thanks for all the help. I’ll be sure to tell him you said hi. Thanks!"

As James van der Beek spots the striking woman approaching him he stops talking to notice. Shooting him a look of ‘Hey you’ and lowering her glasses, Ruby winks to the Beek and strolls on down toward the Dress Rooms. She reaches for the handle of the one with his name on it and luckily finds herself inside the room of the Beek.

"Oh God" Ruby scoffs as she notices the hair gel, facial crème, and hand lotion. Not her type of man. Which would be why as the door opened behind her, she revealed a retractable baton and clubbed Mr. Moxon with it square in the forehead. "Oopsies!"

Ruby jumps at the fact she was aiming for his back and now had a Level 4 bleeder on her hands. Pulling out her iPhone, Ruby fidgets with it a bit and then throws her hands in the air. "No I didn’t touch that!"

"Mr. van der Beek? Ten minutes." A voice from behind the door says, knocking twice. Ruby throws her hands at that matter and goes back to the phone.

"Tom?" she says to the other end. "Okay, but hurry. I tried to hit his back but hit him in the head. He’s bleeding pretty bad." Ruby waits again and looks back to the Beek. "From one to ten?" Her face squishes together a bit. "Umm... I’d say an eight. Did you hear me? (pause) Tom?"

She pulls the phone away from her ear and then puts it back. "Hello? Tommy?"

*****

"Swedish Treats & Boston Beats" starts the beaten and battered van der Beek. "By Thomas O’Connor. Intended for the iPhone Haiku Contest."

Scraps clicks the button on the camera. "Van der Beek! Chris, boy! If you don’t get this right I’m going to make your last film a snuff, okay!? Get it right. And please, for your own sake, give me some emotion! You’re gonna come out this flat in your shining moment? Rookie mistake, Jimmy." Being inches away from Van der Beek’s face, Scraps backs off and picks the camera back up.

"Take it from the top," calls out Ruby. Scraps shoots her a look of ‘I’m the director!’ but quickly goes back to his cinematic masterpiece in a 2 inch box.

"Swedish Treats and Boston Beats... by Thomas O’Connor. Written and created for the iPhone Haiku contest." Van der Beek swallows whatever pride he has and goes with it.

"Rayne bleeds like a sieve
Bleeding, tattered, broken, battered
Pimp’s blood will run again"

Van der Beek looks to the camera. A stern pipe knocks him cold again. "Rippa! The fuck dude!?"

"Oh, right…" Rippa stands over the unconscious Beek and grins into the camera. He does a scissor-like gesture. "CUT!"

*****

Rippa drags a box into the doorway of the small apartment. Panting and heaving deeply, Veljumin slumps his entire mass into the couch and begins to fall asleep on impact. Ruby strolls into the room, unaware of Veljumin but notices the giant box. She inspects and then sees the blond heap of hair.

"What’s this Veljumin?" She knocks on the box. It sounds fairly sturdy. And very metal. "Metal... did somebody drop this off?"

Rippa lifts his finger and head, slightly. "I... (pant) I bought it. (sigh) For Scraps. Just have to replace... (deep breath) replace the flu-"

Tom walks out of his room, two bourbons deep, and realizes he is not wearing any pants. He looks down and immediately wants to go put some on. He doesn’t though nor will her ever if you were to ask him. "Whoa. Mega blow up doll chamber of sex! Veljumin, your girl moving in or somethin’?"

"Time machine," Rippa spouts out nonchalantly. He looks up when he doesn’t hear anybody moving. "What? I know, I know. How much was it? Don’t worry. I got a good deal on it."

Scraps leaps over the couch, stumbling a bit but landing next to the closed eyes of his big, burly partner. "Deal!? Who sold you this thing?"

Rippa fades off for a few seconds. A loud snap from Scraps gets his attention. "These two dudes who hang out with my Sous Chef, Rufus."

*****

Ford’s Theatre
Washington D.C.
April 14th, 1865

The shot rang out through the theatre as Ruby became entangled with Major Rathbone. President Lincoln lay slumped over his own body with a gaping wound in the back of his head. This sinister bitch had just killed the Union’s finest man. She reached for her pocket and pulls out a blade, slicing Rathbone to the bone on his arm and then a sharp stab to the chest. Jumping to the banister, Ruby cries to the crowd: "Sic semper tyrannis!"

Dropping the long ways to the theatre floor amongst the hysteria breaks Ruby’s leg on impact. With the limp, she would easily be apprehended. Making her way toward the back of the theatre she travels through the shadows of the night to the horse two-hundred paces back. But there is somebody not even history thought would be there.

"Little Miss Ruby," the subtle voice speaks. "What a terrible thing you’ve done. Causing pain seems to be your favorite thing to do."

"Back off whoever you think you-" she was cut off.

The distinct click of a hammer locking into place behind the bullet sounds from the darkness. The horse is let loose riding off into the night. A loud roar comes from behind ruby. She turns, frantically, knowing that the people approaching will surely kill her. This is not how this happens.

The pewter barrel of an aged revolver comes out of the darkness. Following it is a pair of grayish blue eyes underneath a bonnet of black hair. A coy smile arises from the lips of this woman as the look on ruby’s face shows her distaste for whoever it is.

"I warned you..." Ruby says as the mob gets closer and closer. "Get the fuck out of my way."

The barrel inches toward Ruby’s head and presses the cold steel against her soft cheek. She feels nothing. Not quite what she expected. Opening her eyes she...

"Whoa what the Hell?" Ruby sits up abruptly. Her heart is racing and her hands shake. Sweat covers her body. She wipes her forehead and chest and then runs a hand over her eyelids, rubbing the dreams and reality back to their normal positions in her brain. She looks to the window and the cold Moscow sky. She lights up a cigarette and sits against the headboard. Picking up her copy of the Russian wrestling magazine complimentary with her stay, she flips open to an insert for Culture Shock. "Please boys... change history."

FIN
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